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ghouljams · 1 month ago

Text

Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?

Rating: E (MDNI) Words: ~11k Tags: Ghost x f!Reader, Dirtbag!Ghost, strangers -> ???, groping, non-con kissing, coerced consent, oral (F!Receiving), fingering, squirting, piv sex, kidnapping? Summary: A stranger online promises he'll make your parents' Christmas hell, and you're eager to take him up on the offer. You may have bitten off more than you can chew.

<Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?

[casual encounters]

“I am a 35 year old former SAS operator with no A levels, tattoos, and a motorcycle. I can play anywhere from 30 to 40 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and I work late nights at my mate’s bar. If you’d like to have me pretend to be in a long term serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.

I can do these things, at your request:

Openly hit on female guests while you act like you don’t notice

Start instigative discussions about religion and/or politics

Propose to you in front of everyone

Talk at length about my time in the army including what it felt like to kill a man(good or bad your choice)

Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on(don’t drink much these days, but I know the drill)

Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.

Only pay I want is the free meal and the entertainment.”

-do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers

RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To:[email protected]

From:[email protected]

Is this offer still open?

RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Depends how far you want me to travel.

-S

RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Any chance you’re in the XXXXX area? I’ll buy you lunch and we can talk details.

RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Close enough for a free meal. I’m in XXXX

-S

RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Let’s meet at Gallery Eats. Also can you send me an ID or something so I know what you look like?

RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

[attachment] [attachment]

Know you birds get jumpy, send it out to your little friends.

Tuesday 15:30

See you there

-S

He’s already at the shop when you get there, scrolling through his phone with his legs spread wide under the little wooden table, a full-face motorcycle helmet taking up more than half of the tiny tabletop.

You hadn’t realized how big the guy would be. Even sitting down he’s massive. You’d bet money he’s over six foot, and he easily eclipses the little cafe chair he’s settled in. His craigslist ad wasn’t lying when it said “tattoos.” The guy’s arms are covered in swirling black ink, and you follow the line of it up to the dark collar of his shirt where it peaks out to creep up his neck. He’s perfect. Your folks will hate him.

Dark eyes meet yours and a smirk creeps over his face, it tugs at a thin scar bisecting his lips.

He stands, and you bee-line for him.

“Thank god you look like your picture.” You huff, settling your bag on the chair across from him.

“That any way ta greet your man?” He grunts, holding a hand out. “Simon.”

You take his hand with a smile, and feel thick fingers wrap around your own. You glance down at the dark seal on the back of his hand, the carefully inked numbers already fading with age spelling out “141.”

��So,” He smiles, leaning so far back in his seat that the chair tips, “How mad are we talkin’?”

It turns out Simon’s motorcycle isn’t his only mode of transportation. You roll up to your parents house in a half-wrapped muscle car that Simon claims he’s been “working on” and you can almost smell the distaste radiating off of your folks when they peak through the front window. Simon makes a big show of ignoring you while you try to get the oddly shaped Christmas gifts out of the trunk, lighting a cigarette and checking his phone while you struggle. Finally your parents decide to wander out onto their front step, and your father stalks over to take the bulkier gifts from you while Simon eyes him.

You grin at him, already pleased with his grumbling and glaring at Simon. Simon, for his part, offers a, “Sure it ain’t too heavy old man?” That makes a vein on your father’s temple throb angrily. He ambles after you and your father, and makes a show of giving your mom a once over.

“Sweetheart!” Your mother grimace-smiles at you, “Who is this?”

“This is Simon,” You sigh, leaning against Simon with a dopey smile, “My boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend.” Your mother grits her teeth, “You didn’t say you were bringing a guest.”

“Oh I know, but you can pull up a chair, right?” You gasp, “We’re not messing up your table are we?”

Your mother’s eye twitches. You know her well enough to know she’s already thinking about people bumping elbows at an overcrowded table. You can almost hear your little cousins complain about the lack of space. You also know she’ll never admit her annoyance in front of a guest.

“Of course not.” She smiles tightly, “The more the merrier.” She turns to Simon. “It’s nice to meet you Simon.”

Simon finally takes his cue, tossing his ashy cigarette onto the stone walkway with a flick of his fingers. He exhales nearly into your mother’s face before seemingly remembering last minute that, that’s rude.

“Nice to meet you,” His eyes flick down to your mother’s chest, “Can see where the bird gets ‘er tits from.”

You could scream with laughter the way your mother’s lips tighten into a thin line and her brows twitch down ever so slightly, the picture of barely contained shock and disgust. You can feel your father fuming on the other side of you.

“Why don’t we put presents down?” You chirp, trying to play at oblivious while Simon leers at your mother. She does her best to subtly cross her arms and tug the neck of her sweater closed. “Simon, do you have a hand to help dad?”

“Course, sweet’eart.” He hums, leaning to kiss your temple. A sweet gesture if he didn’t grab a handful of your ass at the same time, angled precisely so you’re sure your dad can see. “Christ you got a fat ass,” He mumbles, his voice low and graveled as he squeezes you again. You feel your cheeks heat in spite of yourself. It’s all pretend, all things you’ve talked about, but that doesn’t stop your body from reacting. His big hand lingers, fingers dragging over your ass as he pushes past your parents into the house. Uninvited.

You ignore your mother’s pointed look under the pretense of juggling presents, pushing into the house after your fake boyfriend.

Simon unceremoniously snatches the gifts from your father as soon as he’s in the house, haphazardly tossing the boxes under the tree while you carefully place your own presents, seemingly ignorant of your boyfriend’s lack of care.

“So how was the drive?” Your dad asks, trying to find something to talk about.

“Bloody awful,” Simon butts in before you can answer, he jerks his head in your direction, “‘ad to listen to the bird’s music the ‘ole time.”

“I thought you liked my music,” You pout.

“When tha fuck ‘ave I ever said that?” He snaps at you. You stifle the flinch and watch Simon’s brows draw down ever so slightly.

When you’d gone through all the details for this he’d told you to try and temper your flinching, assured you that you didn’t need to be scared of him, that if you were dating he’d never lay a hand on you. That didn’t stop his quick, harsh, response from startling you. At least the small crease in his brow made you think he didn’t enjoy the reaction.

“When we first met.” You smile, playing it off.

“And you believed that?” Simon huffs, “Can’t believe I’m the first one to grab ya off the street with ‘ow gullible ya are.”

You blink at him, and turn to hastily cover for him to your dad.

“A consensual grabbing.” You assure him.

“Think I’m still deaf in my right ear from ‘ow loud ya screamed.” Simon grumbles, digging a finger into his ear as if to demonstrate his hearing loss. You feel your cheeks heat reflexively. Even fictional it’s embarrassing to imagine that you might have met a long term serious boyfriend in a kidnapping attempt.

Nevermind that the idea of someone like Simon grabbing you off the street is a major plot point in some of your favorite videos. You try to keep your mind out of the gutter, a difficult task with Simon’s fingers grazing your ass.

“It was a prank.” You continue covering.

“Bet actually.” Simon corrects in an attempt to make things worse. “Seein’ ‘oo could take the prettiest bird ‘ome.” He nudges your dad as if he’s bringing him in on the joke, “Should’ve seen ‘ow much this one struggled, should’ve known she’d be an ‘andful.”

“Your friends sound-” Your dad swallows whatever distaste boils behind his tongue in an effort to keep the peace, “interesting.”

“Served together.” Simon sniffs.

“Oh!” Your father seems to brighten at this new information.

“Lost a lot of good men, but kept all the worst, eh bird?” Simon tosses a smile your way. The playful grin lights up his face, tugs at his scars in a way that’s far too charming.

“Where did you serve?” Your father asks, too eager for war talk.

“Went where I was needed.” Simon grunts. It’s an end to the conversation. You can see your father trying to think of where to go from there, if he should push for a different answer or ask about if Simon enjoyed his time in the service. He settles on exactly what you’re sure Simon was hoping for.

“So what do you do now?”

You almost brace yourself for his answer, and you’re glad for the added tension in your shoulders because it stops you from barking out a laugh.

“Beside fuckin’ the bird?” He doesn’t get another word out before your father growls out a loud.

“Alright-” that your mother cuts off with her well timed, if sudden entrance.

“Your aunt is on her way,” She informs you, “She’s excited to meet your boyfriend.”

“You got a lot of people comin’ ta this thing?” Simon asks, as if you hadn’t given him a full guest list.

“Just a few,” Your mother smiles, “my sister lives nearby so she’ll be bringing her boys.”

“Would’ve been nice ta know there were brats comin’ ta this thing,” Simon gives you a look and you pout.

“I told you this was a family thing.” You remind him.

“Didn’t know ya had so much family,” He sniffs, “Brother isn’t comin’ ta this too is ‘e?”

You have to stop yourself from grinning at the family landmine Simon so perfectly walked into.

“Henry doesn’t come to family functions anymore,” Your mother tells him curtly.

“Heard ‘e got tired of havin’ you scare off ‘is girls,” Simon grins, “thought you’d be a bigger bitch.” You choke. You mother’s gaze whips to you and you carefully go about adjusting the presents under the tree just so you don’t have to look at her.

“Well I don’t know where you heard that,” The high note in your mother’s voice betrays her, the faux-calmness barely covering the boiling anger that’s starting to show, “but it’s not true.”

“Are you callin’ me a liar,” Simon’s voice takes an icy note in response and you glance over your shoulder to watch him roll his shoulders back. You can see the way his musculature moves even under his jumper. The threat is palpable, and also completely inappropriate for the situation.

He’s good at this.

It’s your father’s turn to diffuse the situation.

“You a footie fan?” He asks, because he’s ass at calming your mother (or anyone else) down. You can practically feel Simon’s attention shift, like the air in the room has to adjust to the pressure he exerts.

“City.” Simon huffs. You dad grins, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. Playful ribbing that somehow always ends in a screaming match.

“Manchester boy, eh? Ya find it hard losin’ to Liverpool all the time or do ya get used to it?” Your father jokes. The question hangs dead in the air. Simon hasn’t moved a muscle, so still it scares even you, and you know it’s just an act.

“You like chewin’ your food?” Simon asks, his voice so deathly calm that you grab his arm with a laugh and pull at him.

“He’s just kidding Simon,” You placate, trying to pull your --wow this guy’s bicep is huge-- fake boyfriend away, “Right dad?”

“Oh come on,” You father tosses your way with a shake of his head, “I can handle a Manc-” He snorts and turns to Simon “-at least better than their players handle the ball.”

Simon flexes under your hands, and you physically can’t restrain him from shaking you off to stalk over to your dad.

“Simon please,” You plead, you don’t even have to act, the way he grabs your father by the shirt collar you all but leap to wrap your arms around his waist and try to pull him back, “not again!”

“Again!” Your mother yelps as your father holds his hands up, eyes wide with fear.

“It was a joke,” Your father assures Simon.

“Fuckin’ better be.” Simon relents, releasing his hold on your father and turning those dark eyes to you.

“Look’t you grabbin’ me,” He grabs you before you can let him go, your muscles still vibrating with adrenaline. He holds your face with the same hand that had held your father, squeezes your cheeks with his fingers.“Real cute, thinkin’ you could ‘old me back.” Your stomach flips. “Taught you better’n that didn’ I? You want somethin’ you gotta ask, yeah?”

“I don’-” You try to shake yourself back to your senses and Simon squeezes you a little tighter, “Please let go.” Embarrassment settles hot in your stomach at the spark of… something in Simon’s eyes.

“There’s my girl,” He smiles, “Now give us a kiss love.”

You feel your stomach drop out, and you’re sure it shows on your face. Simon raises a brow. Your tongue feels too big in your dry mouth. You swallow and glance at your parents.

“I thought you said no PDA,” You try. This wasn’t in the brief.

“Just on the cheek then,” His smile is absolutely devilish, you wonder where he learned it, “Wouldn’t want ta embarrass you in front of your folks.” Your mother scoffs. Simon turns to glare at her and you rush a quick peck on his cheek just to get it over with.

His stubble is sharp where it pokes against your lips, but his skin is surprisingly soft. You almost hesitate pulling away. Your skin already feels hot with the humiliation of kissing a veritable stranger whose only goal is to antagonize your parents for the evening, so you don’t waste time with the action.

You’re saved by your aunt opening the front door with a loud, excited:

“Happy Christmas!”

Before she freezes in the doorway. Your cousins rush in, seemingly unaware of the tension and you take the opportunity to pull out of Simon’s grip.

“Is this a bad time?” Your aunt asks as tactfully as she can given the energy in the house.

“It’s a great time,” Simon answers for the crowd with a smile. Your mother throws an alarmed look your way and does her best to plaster on something less emotional for her sister.

“I thought you were gonna help with the presents,” Your uncle calls from behind your aunt, who immediately turns to help him get the boxes in. You see her vaguely gesture at the house through the crack between the door and the frame and wonder just what she’s trying to convey.

This holiday is already off to a terrible start. Which is great. But you can’t shake the feeling that it’s going… worse than you’d initially thought it would.

“When are we eating?” One of your cousins asks, you turn to see the teen, Jack, staring at you. You suppose you’re the only adult that ever really gives any of them the time of day, makes sense he’d ask you.

“Uh,” you blink, trying to come up with a decent answer for him, “probably soon.”

“I wanna open presents,” One of the little ones whines.

“You gotta wait,” Jack tells him.

“Ok!” Your aunt announces as she comes back inside, now holding gifts, “Looks like you’ve already started the party!”

“Haven’t even started drinking yet,” Simon assures her. Your uncle joins the fray, shuffling past you to set his gifts under the tree as well.

“You drink.” Your mother clarifies with a smile, she’s hiding the horror well.

“I’m the life of the party love,” He tosses your mom a wink and turns to look around. You assume for the liquor.

“What do you drink?” Your uncle asks, good natured as usual. That’ll change.

“Bourbon.” Simon hums, “But I’ll take a beer if that’s all ya got.”

“Sure there’s somethin’ around here somewhere.” Your uncle meanders over to your parent’s short liquor cabinet and starts rifling through the bottles. Your mother shoots you a look that practically begs you to stop him.

“Do you need something mom?” You ask, oblivious.

“It’s just a little early to start drinking, don't you think?” She asks, a leading question. You know what she’s trying to do.

“You sayin’ I can’t get a drink?” Simon asks.

“Let the man have a drink,” You uncle cajoles, “It’s a holiday!”

Your mother’s lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t comment on the glass your uncle pours for Simon, but she does retreat to the kitchen with your aunt in toe. You’re almost tempted to follow them and see what they’re saying. Maybe you could throw some fuel on the fire. Simon throws an arm around your shoulders before you can move, holding you against his side to keep you in place. You glance up at him, he doesn’t look at you.

You tug your phone from your pocket for something to do, trying to look busy and uninterested in the chaos Simon is sowing, when it’s all you can think about. He manages a normal conversation with your little cousins, going through introductions like a regular person, even commenting on the shirt Jack is wearing. You glance at it and just know that was a fight with his mother. Looks like it’s based off some horror movie, blood dripping off a knife held aloft by a masked figure. Not very Christmas-y.

You can almost hear the argument that must have taken place when he’d put it on.

Simon must be smart enough to figure that out because he’s really hyping up the teen over the shirt. Talking about the movie and complaining about how his mom sounds like a bitch. Your cousin blinks at the swear before you see a grin split his face.

“Fuck yeah, is aunty letting us swear now?” Jack asks, too excited to contain it.

“The fuck is she the queen of England?” Simon laughs, turning to you, “Your mum’s not lettin’ ‘em swear?” You shrug.

“She says it isn’t ‘proper’.” Jack rolls his eyes.

“Fuck proper.” Simon snorts. He shoots you a look as he sips his drink. You’re sure Jack will be cussing the rest of the evening with Simon to back him up. Your mom’s gonna love that.

Your aunt comes out of the kitchen and grabs her husband to whisper in his ear. Your uncle glances at Simon and makes a confused face. One of the younger ones runs up to them and loudly asks:

“What’s fuck mean?”

Simon averts his gaze and you feel his shoulders shake with restrained laughter. You have to hold it in yourself, the glare your aunt sends Simon’s way is too funny. The kid was bound to hear it from his brother eventually. Really, Simon is saving the teen from being grounded with that one.

Your mom comes sweeping into the living room just in time to save Simon from getting an earful. Your aunt’s glare transfers to her before she can fix her face. Your mother’s lips pucker, an unpleasant understanding that something is happening crossing her eyes. She ignores it, much like every other unpleasant thing you’ve witnessed with her, in favor of normalcy.

“Dinner is ready!” She announces.

“That was fast,” You blink, usually she spends more time milling about and waiting for people to finish a few cocktails.

“Well,” She smiles at Simon, “I thought I’d speed things up so nobody misses any other christmases.”

“Got nowhere to be.” He informs her.

“Oh I’m sure you’re mother would-”

“Mum’s dead.” Simon sniffs.

“Then your fath-”

“If the bastard was still alive I’d kill ‘im myself.” Simon smiles at her over the rim of his glass before knocking back the rest of the bourbon and pouring himself another two fingers, “You got me all night if I want.”

Your mothers lips pucker again, the slightest hint of distaste in her expression before she manages a smile.

“We’re glad to have you.” She offers. You expect she’ll still try to force you out early. “Dinner?”

“Bloody starvin’.” Simon grunts, pushing past her towards the kitchen.

Your uncle is already serving himself from the various pans laden with food. Your father isn’t far behind him, eyeing the roast like a man starved.

You grab one of the Christmas patterned plates and hold it out to Simon, letting him queue behind your father. He glances around and you watch his eyes land on your cousins hovering nearby.

“Adults serve first,” You whisper to Simon when he steps back from the line for food to let the kids cut in front. It’s a quiet motion that presses him into you, he glances back like he might give you an apology before he makes eye contact with your aunt and loops his arm around you instead.

“What?” He asks loudly, “Your mum tryin’ ta starve the poor buggers or somethin’?” You blink at him. He raises a brow. “No heart under those tits, eh?”

Your aunt gasps and he gives her a once over. You keep your eyes on your little cousins as they happily load up their plates with turkey and mashed potatoes. One of the older boys smothers his whole plate in gravy and honestly, you can’t blame him.

“Can’t be jealous, ya clearly got the better ass.” Simon tells your aunt as you scooch around him to get your own plate. He catches you around the middle and pulls you back, curling over you. He tips your head back with a hand on your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to dimple the skin.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks. You barely hear him over the roll of butterflies in your stomach. Your cheeks blaze with heat, and you clench your thighs together tight at the way he glowers down at you.

“I’m gonna make you a plate,” You tell him, he pinches your cheek and lets you free.

“Good girl,” He tells you, “Got ‘er well trained don’t I?” He jokes to your aunt, who you can feel radiating anger behind you.

You don’t really know what he likes, but Simon is a big guy so you get him a bit of everything, loading up his plate like you do this every day. It’s probably too much food, but part of you sort of likes the idea that he’s eating what you “made” for him. You hand him the full plate and he smiles, you turn back to grab your own food --you must still be nervous from having his hand at your throat-- and he smacks your ass. You bite back the yelp that threatens to break free. The sharp sting of pain spreads through you like wildfire, blossoming over your skin even through your skirt.

You quickly pile food onto your plate, hoping your aunt takes your speedy exit as one of embarrassment and not one of- well a different sort of embarrassment.

You manage to squeeze into the seat next to Simon, feeling his thick thigh press against yours like a warm anchor. Your mother gives him a dirty look as he reaches to fool with one of the candles in the middle of the table. You’re sure she heard his loud announcement that she doesn’t care about her nephews. His other hand settles on your leg under the table and you stiffen. Thick callused fingers grip your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh with something you desperately want to call reassurance. He knows no one can see that, right?

You watch the rest of your family fill the table, your little cousins already picking at their food, stuffing salad leaves into their mouths and pretending not to lick the gravy off their fingers. You wait for everyone to take their seats before you pick up your fork and your aunt shoots you a look.

“I’d like to-” your aunt starts only to be cut off by your fake-boyfriend.

“I want ta make an announcement.” Simon tells the table loudly, the conversation goes dead, your mother’s eyes bore holes into you, begging for anything but an announcement. You think she might bend her fork with how tight she grips it watching Simon shove his chair back to drop to one knee. You clasp a hand over your mouth, doing your best to play the part of shocked girlfriend, despite having planned this.

“Simon!” You squeal as he tugs a black ring box from his pocket.

“Lemme talk baby,” Simon hushes you and you shut your mouth quickly, “I know it’s only been a couple a months-” the look in your mother’s eyes could kill an elephant, “-but I’m mad fer ya, an’ I know birds like you get off market quick so if I wanna keep that ass to myself I bloody well better get ya tied down.” Your mother gasps.

“Shut ya gob, I’m tryin’ ta propose.” He snaps at her, and she leans back like she’s been struck. Simon turns back to you, and you feel a rush of heat drip between your legs at the look in his eyes. This guy should be on TV with how good an actor he is.

“Will you marry me?” He finally gets out and you nod.

“Of course I will!” You fling yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

His big hands find your waist and squeeze. You pull away to take the ring box and he nearly pulls you out of your chair, only to push you back into it as he kisses you.

Your eyes go wide and you struggle to keep your hands on him when all you want to do is lurch away. Not a good look on an excited and newly ringed up girlfriend.

But the way he kisses you makes your stomach churn. His lips cover yours and almost as quickly as you get used to the feeling his tongue is trying to force its way into your mouth. You rush to close your eyes only to feel his tongue, thankfully, retreat. And be replaced by his teeth, biting your lip hard enough to bruise, prying your lips apart to slip his tongue in and lick your teeth.

Your head swims, your eyes rolling at the way his hands grope and squeeze you, tagging every soft scrap they can find while he attempts to devour you. He does something with his tongue, twists it against yours to tickle the roof of your mouth, and you make a noise without meaning to. It’s all you can do to remember to clumsily slide your lips against his. You’re not sure you make a pretty picture when he pulls away, his spit trailing off your slick, swollen, lips. You suppose this evening isn’t really about painting a pretty picture.

It makes you squirm to feel his big thumb swipe over your lower lip, dragging the poor thing down to see your teeth.

A chill racks your body as his eyes follow the motion of his thumb.

Your father loudly clears his throat. Your mother looks mortified. Your little cousins are covering their eyes while the teen pointedly looks at his phone.

Simon rubs the ring on your finger, pressing the metal back and forth against your skin. When the fuck did he put that on you?

“I’d like to say Grace,” Your aunt tries to wrestle the evening back into familiar territory as Simon sets you back in your chair.

Your family bows their heads and you smack your knee on the underside of the table as you jump, unprepared for how high Simon’s hand settles on your thigh. You don’t even hear whatever prayer your aunt is saying with the way the blood rushes in your ears at the wide splay of Simon’s fingers. So. Close.

You settle your hand on his and try to push him back to safe ground.

Jesus this guy is strong. Pain in your-

“Everything okay over there?” Your uncle asks. You must have looked like you were struggling more than you thought you were.

“Fine,” You tell him, even though things are decidedly not fine and Simon won’t move his hand, “Just fussing with the ring.”

“Oh yes,” Your aunt holds her hand out across the table, “let’s see it.”

You hesitate before taking your hand off Simon’s. He doesn’t move, seemingly settled with where he’s settled. You hold your hand out for her to grab, let her turn your hand this way and that. Simon had told you he’d grab a ring, so you haven’t actually seen it yet. It’s pretty. A nice pear cut diamond with a trinity of what looks like pearls on either side. You wonder where he got it, you’re just glad it looks less fake than costume jewelry usually does.

“How nice,” Your mother coos, it sounds even less sincere than her compliments usually do.

You’re thankful you don’t need to do much talking at dinner. Simon more than makes up for you. He talks at length about how “mint” your friends are --he’s never met them-- and how his mates are begging for a go with you. He explains to your teen cousin, at length, how his violent video games could be worse, after your aunt bemoans the fact he’s been playing war sims. He makes no move to censor himself, actually from the few conversations you’ve had with him, you think he’s swearing more than he usually does. He even manages to start an argument with your father about “taking the gloves off” during combat.

“Different once you’re in active combat,” He explains like he’s talking to your father, “You do what you have to, keepin’ your ‘ands clean isn’t exactly front of your mind.”

You glace across the table at Jack, the teen looks completely invested in whatever Simon is saying. You can almost hear the look your aunt has fixed you with, you’re sure you’ll get a call later about your fiance “encouraging him to get himself killed.”

“Oh please,” Your father blusters, “if that were the case the royal service would be under investigation. We’d see it on the BBC: Special Air Service members torture civilians. What a load of horse-” Your mother coughs and your father shuts his mouth.

“Got plenty of men like me givin’ orders,” Simon digs into his pocket to pull his cigarettes, stopping with his teeth around the filter of one when your mother coughs loudly. He shoves them back into his pocket with a grumbled swear. “Like I told ya earlier, ‘s not the good men that come back.”

“You’re so cool,” Jack tells Simon with wide eyes. Your aunt smacks his arm with the back of her hand, reprimanding. Simon’s eyes narrow.

He watches your aunt the rest of dinner. The conversation drifts as plates are emptied. You attempt to stand to help clear the table, and Simon holds you in your chair. Your mother putters around the table with your aunt, you smile and thank them. You’re almost done. Then you can go home and wait for the flood of texts/calls from your mom.

You can just imagine the way she’ll try to convince you to break off your (fake)engagement. You’ll wait a few weeks before spinning up some story about Simon cheating on you. Your family will be so grateful Simon’s gone they won’t ask any questions.

“Does anyone want pudding or are we going straight to-”

“Presents!” Your youngest cousin cuts your mom off, rushing to the tree as soon as his plate is cleared. Your aunt grabs him and brings him back to the table only for him to run over again. She manages to pull a gift from his little hands, and bring him screaming back to the table. You wince at the sharp sound, the fat tears rolling down the kid’s chubby cheeks, crying about opening presents. Your aunt reminds him shortly that there’s still dessert to get through. It barely makes a dent in the tears. The kid pulls at his mom’s grip, screaming and kicking.

Simon’s hand on your thigh tippens its grip.

You know, you know. It’s never fun sitting around with a kid throwing a tantrum, but you’re sure your aunt will handle it-

There’s a sharp crack as your aunt spanks the kid. Hard.

Simon shoots up from his seat.

Your little cousin’s tears turn to sniffles and a wobbly lip as his mom gives him a hissed warning.

Your hands shake as Simon stalks around the table to grab your aunt’s hand.

“The one thing you’re not gonna fuckin’ do,” He tells her in a low warning tone, “is hit your fuckin’ kid in front of me.”

It’s so different from the anger he’d had with your father over football. You know that, that was acting, but this… It radiates off of Simon like a miasma, dark seething hatred, anger like you’ve never seen. Your aunt looks at him like she’s seen a ghost. Her eyes are wide and scared, her hand still holding your cousin’s arm squeezes tighter, like the child is her only lifeline.

“Ow!” The kid whines, the sniffles starting again in full, “Mum that hurts.”

Simon cocks his head, his own grip tightening.

“Let ‘im go,” Simon presses, his anger as cold as death, “Or I’ll break your arm.”

“Simon,” You don’t know what you’re hoping your voice will add to this, not even sure what you should do, all you know is that you brought Simon into this house which makes him your responsibility.

“He’s alright,” Your aunt tries to assure Simon, “aren’t you sweetie?”

“Mum!” Your cousin whines again. Your aunt lets go of his arm like it’s burned her.

“Now apologize.” Simon demands. Your aunt nods sharply and swallows.

“Mum’s sorry baby,” She directs the comment at your cousin but her eyes are fixed on Simon, watching him like a rabbit watches a wolf. “It was just a little spank.” You think the pleading justification makes it worse with the way Simon’s eye twitches.

“I ever catch you hittin’ ‘im again-” Your aunt’s eyes dart to you, to the fake rock on your finger, “-and it won’t just be your arm I break.”

Your glance to your mother for- God you don’t even know, help? Maybe? She glares at you like this is your fault. Fair enough. Your uncle seems quicker on the uptake.

“Maybe we take Christmas to go,” He chimes in, “Grab the kid’s gifts, since they seem tired.”

Your mother grabs hold of this lifeline as quickly as she can wrap her head around it.

“Absolutely!” She hurries to the tree to start sorting out gifts, “Oh I didn’t realize they’d be so exhausted, we all know fits are just fits, right Simon?”

“I look like I’m throwin’ a fuckin’ fit?” Simon asks her, his voice still cold.

“You know I’m pretty tired too,” Your aunt agrees.

“I’m not.” Jack chimes in.

“Yes, you are.” His mom hisses.

“And it looks like snow,” Your uncle adds, “so we should go.”

You hardly get a word in before your cousins are rushed out the door, no hug or forced familiarity from your aunt as she and your uncle juggle presents and strapping kids into car seats.

Simon takes one of the armchairs in the living room amidst the chaos, dangling his glass with his fingers on the rim as he glowers at your aunt. Your attempt to help them gather presents is stopped by Simon pulling you down into his lap. You stiffen reflexively to try and leverage some of your weight off of him, and he pulls you to lean against his chest.

Maybe it’s good you don’t say good-bye. You’re not sure anything you could say would sound sincere with the way you’re perched on your fake fiance. You’ll definitely be hearing about this later.

You’ve never seen anyone in your family leave that fast. Your mother must blame you for this social faux pas with the way she glares at you. She’s not even trying to hide it, seemingly having deemed Simon as unworthy of her usual polite routine. She stops just short of yelling at you in front of him. Must be too afraid of what he’ll do to her if he’s willing to break your aunt’s arm over her kid.

You’re not sure when you lost control of the evening, but you’re ready to go. Your aunt’s exit should be your exit too. You even open your mouth to tell your mother it’s been a lovely evening.

Simon beat you to it.

“Let’s open presents.” You’d almost call it an order with how edged his voice is.

“We don’t have any for you,” Your mother attempts, “it wouldn’t be fair to open them now.”

“Don’t need a present,” Simon assures her, “Bird’ll gimme somethin’ later.” Your mother’s eye twitches. Simon’s hand slides over your thigh, his thumb rubbing gently at the sensitive, clothed, skin. Your nerves must be on high alert to feel his touch so acutely. He gestures with his glass at the tree. “Go’an,” He orders again.

The tension in Simon’s form slowly seeps out of him as your parents shuffle presents out from under the tree. His body, which had previously seemed poised to leap at the slightest provocation, relaxes back against the chair as your mother hands you a present. She smiles at you warmly, almost pitying, when you thank her. Simon’s hand doesn’t leave your thigh, possessive in a way that feels too close to reality.

“Oh wait,” You tell your mother as she pulls one of the gifts you brought from the pile. You slip from Simon’s lap, and for some reason he lets you, bent at the waist to point to a different box. His hand slides over the swell of your ass with an appreciative hum and you have to stop the tremor in your voice as your blood rushes south. “That one first,” You smile, “otherwise this one won’t make sense.”

The normalcy of it is more welcome than you’d thought. Somehow your usual family Christmas doesn’t seem as tense or fraught with conversational landmines now that Simon’s intruded. If nothing else you suppose he’s given you that. It’s certainly easier talking to your parents when they keep casting nervous glances at Simon to make sure this is an appropriate line of conversation.

Simon, for his part, does little except keep you in his lap as you tear into the paper wrapped boxes. Occasionally his hand moves from your thigh to squeeze your stomach, or your side, as if he’s checking that you’re still all there. It’s not exactly casual, and the heat that builds between your legs as he drags his callused fingers across your stomach makes you want to squirm back into his chest, just to try and escape the ticklish feeling.

You try to focus on the gifts, drumming up the appropriate amount of excitement to look grateful while all of your attention is on the spread of Simon’s fingers. His hand splays wide against you and you try to trace the outline of it, distract yourself from how big his hand is.

But distracting yourself from the spread of his hand directs you towards the spread of his legs, to the firm muscle of his thick thighs, to the slight softness of his stomach when your back starts to hurt and you lean against him with less stiff of a spine. Your eyes drift to the window as your mother coos over the knitting supplies and class pass to her favorite craft store. It’s so dark out, the sun already disappeared behind the horizon and the streetlights are doing their best to shine even when the night dims them. You’re already tired.

Your phone buzzes and you check it with a glance.

It’s a weather alert.

You scramble off Simon’s lap only to be dragged back into it.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” He asks, his hands grip your sides, fingers just brushing the edge of your bra. You can’t deal with the way being pulled like this makes your head swim. Fuck, maybe he could just grab you off the street and- NO.

“Simon,” You push at his hands, “problem.”

“No problem love,” He hums. Lips brush the shell of your ear and you stiffen as heat blooms over your cheeks, “‘Cept you gettin’ up oll the time.” “It’s snowing.” You insist, still pushing at his hands.

Your father looks at you with confusion and glances out the window. It’s hard to see when it’s so dark out. You’re suddenly hit with a grim understanding of why the street lamps seem so dim. Your dad walks to the front door and tugs it open only to be pushed by the gust of cold wind and snow that rushes into the house.

The wind is positively howling.

Your father muscles the door shut and your mother nervously clicks on the TV to check the weather. She doesn’t even help your dad brush all the snow off him, worrying her lip as her eyes fix to the screen.

“Not gonna be able to drive home in that,” Your father grimaces. Your mother shoots him a look before skirting her eyes around you to watch Simon. You can almost feel his smile.

“You wouldn’t mind us stayin’ ‘ere would ya?”

You flip on the lights in your childhood bedroom. Simon looms behind you. Reasonably you understand why he insisted on staying, even why he insisted on sharing a room. As far as your parents know you’re happily engaged, and as far as you could tell there was a blizzard raging outside. Honestly you’ve never seen anything like it, and if you didn’t know any better you might have blamed Simon for it.

You have never in your life been more aware of another person’s presence.

“In you go love,” Simon tells you, pressing you forwards with a hand on the small of your back. You stumble into your room and turn in time to watch Simon close the door. He bends down to unlace his boots and you manage to kick off your shoes in the time it takes him to straighten again. Now that you’re alone you feel on edge. All the casual friendly airs that Simon had been putting on when you’d met him before have done nothing to prepare you for the weight of his full attention. You’re only too happy when he turns to survey the room.

“I can take the floor,” You inform him, already gathering the spare blankets and pillows your mom had set on your twin bed.

“Sit down,” Simon orders, your ass hits the side of your mattress so fast you haven’t even registered the command before you’ve followed it, “You’re takin’ the bed.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. You suppose it could almost be called kind of him to give you the bed.

“Sorry,” You tell him quietly, mindful of your parents in the next room.

“What’re you actin’ sorry for,” He huffs, “Sweet bird like you doesn’t mind sharin’, does she? Besides,” He knocks your knees apart with a big booted foot, “I still gotta get paid.”

You stare up at him, confusion plain on your face.

“I thought you just wanted the meal.”

“Meal’s not finished, is it?” He tells you, “Never got dessert.”

“Wha-”

“Take your fuckin’ pants off.” His tone is clipped, short, and deep. It sinks into your skin, prickling goosebumps everywhere he’d touched earlier. Which feels like it must have been, well, everywhere.

You should say “no.” Literally nothing about this man has given you any indication that he’s someone you should want to get undressed for, and he’s spent the better part of the day tormenting your family. Granted you did ask him to do that, and honestly his efforts do land squarely in the “pros” category, but he’s a little too good at playing a dirt-bag. And this? This just seals the deal on that particular observation.

So you should say “no.”

But the way his big hands had grabbed you, the way his tongue had wound against yours, the way he looks down at you now, hungry, makes you desperately want to do whatever he asks you to.

“My parents are in the next room,” You whisper, glancing back at the wall that separates the two rooms.

“Who gives a shit?” Simon snorts, “Don’t ‘appy couples celebrate their engagement?” Your eyes flick down to his trousers, the implications aren’t lost on you. He must catch you looking because his hand grabs your hair and tips your head back. “Trust me birdy, I’m tryin’ ta be nice, but if ya wanna choke on it…”

You race to get your trousers open, fingers shaking as you push them down. You don’t need to see his cock to make some leaps of logic that it’s just as big as the rest of him, and if he’s offering you the choice between his mouth on you, and your mouth on him-

Simon leans forward and unceremoniously shoves his hand into your panties, your trousers barely down your thighs. Your train of thought comes to a full halt as big fingers stroke through your folds.

“Atta girl,” He hums, “much ‘appier like this, aren’t ya?” He tugs his fingers free, spreads them in front of your face with a pitying pout at the way your slick glistens on his skin. “Least your cunt knows what’s good for it.”

He pushes your head back, tossing it towards the bed as he releases your hair. Your back hits the mattress and you have to work to keep from hitting your head on the wall. Simon’s fingers find the hem of your panties and drag them down your thighs, catching your trousers to discard the lot on the floor.

You snap your legs shut against the chill of the room and he growls.

“None of that now,” He advises, prying your legs apart. His fingers dig into the soft meat of your thighs, his gaze fixed on the wet mess between them. The way he stands over you makes him feel massive, makes the way he leans over you feel looming.

His hands slide over your ticklish inner thighs and you have to stifle the giggle that threatens to spill from you. You doubt Simon would appreciate your laughter, might even think you’re laughing at him. Again your eyes dart to the hard length straining against his trousers as his thumbs spread your folds.

“Pretty,” He says it so plainly, casually, like he’s judging a toy. It blazes through you, lighting up your nerves and making you shiver. Any other protests you might have had die on your tongue as Simon drops to his knees.

Seeing him between your legs makes your stomach clench, makes your cunt pulse with desire. One of his thumbs rubs up and down the seam of your cunt while the other keeps you half-spread. He presses his thumb firmly against your clit, the pressure makes your hips squirm, makes you ache for more stimulation. The pressure stops, and his thumb traces its way back to holding you open.

He spits.

You flinch when it hits your spread folds, body vibrating with embarrassed heat as it slides over you. Simon’s eyes follow it the whole way down, and his tongue drags it back up.

Simon’s tongue cards through your folds, warm and wet, and he groans low in his throat. It’s positively sinful the way he pulls his tongue slow and flat over you, like he’s trying to savor the taste. You snap your hand over your mouth, stifling the soft whimper that the attention brings to your lips.

Simon’s eyes flick to your face and he makes a frustrated noise. You feel his teeth touch your skin just before he bites you. You yelp at the sharp pain, your hand shooting from your mouth to his head in an attempt to push him away. Simon tips his head back to bite at the meat of your palm, his teeth digging into the firm flesh before his tongue licks over it. There’s a sharpness to his teeth, chipped edges that scrape at your skin and ache before he soothes them.

You don’t want him to bite you again.

You don’t think you do.

Do you?

His tongue rolls over your palm, wetting the dry skin with spit and slick. His mouth has a heady sheen to it that makes you want to drag your tongue over his lips, to clean up the light prickle of his beard with your own mouth.

“No sense lettin’ you breath if you’re not gonna scream for me,” Simon informs you. Your face has never felt hotter than when his teeth scrape down your palm to tease your pulse. You’re too enraptured by the way he moves to let spit drip off his tongue and onto your clit to really register what he said.

His tongue rubs against your clit, working the firm bud back and forth before letting his tongue roll over it. Each hot swipe sends a new shudder of heat and pleasure through your body. You whimper, your wet hand tangling its fingers in his short cropped hair just to feel him shake his head like a dog.

It’s filthy the way he drags his lips over your folds, sucking and slurping at you like he’s trying to be loud. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, prickly and sharp next to the warm wet mouth that sucks at your clit. His tongue keeps twisting over it, keeping it sensitive and tingling before he’s ducking down to fuck the slick muscle into your hole. Simon moves his tongue against the entrance to your cunt like he’s hoping to stretch out the hole with it, circling around the delicate outer edge before pressing inside, over and over until your brain feels like it’ll melt out of your ears.

Then that wet heat is dragged up to your clit, circled and sucked, licked in broad strokes that wiggle against you just so he can hear the way your voice pitches up in pleasure.

He turns his head to wipe his mouth against your thigh, lips parting to lick a long stripe before he sinks his teeth into the meat of it and sucks. Your own lips close tight around the whimper the dull pain of it pulls from you.

He muscles your leg up against his shoulder, his arm moving to find a comfortable angle as he hooks his thumb in your fluttering cunt. You blink at the intrusion, the thick digit may as well be two of your own fingers the way he pulls at your entrance and stretches you open. That isn’t what steals your focus from his mouth though, what tugs at you is the way his other thick fingers rub over your ass, spreading your slick and attempting to soften the hole into something pliant.

He’s grabbed your hips to roll you onto your stomach before you can raise a protest to the searching fingers, big strong hands dragging your hips up so your knees settle on the edge of the bed as he stands. It forces your face into the quilts, muffling the noise of surprise that the motion shakes out of you. Again you find protests on your lips, you hadn’t even come, and again they’re snuffed by his fingers.

Two of them push into your cunt and you moan low in your throat at the burning stretch that they provide. Your hips rock back into them, your stomach fluttering with need as more heat courses through you. His fingers crook and he thrusts them down into your cunt, hitting some throbbing tightness that makes you cry out.

Simon makes a low cooing noise in the back of his throat and his fingers stroke against your walls. You turn your head to rest your cheek against the bed, your lips pouting and your lashes fluttering as he gives you just long enough to suck in a breath before his fingers are pressing against that soft aching spot again. Your eyes roll, your breath caught tight in your throat at the thrum of pleasure that tightens like burning heat in your aching cunt.

His fingers pump faster and faster into your cunt, and you cry out, your hips wiggling and your fingers gripping at the quilt. The wet squelching noise that comes from his fingers fucking into you makes an embarrassed heat rush over your skin, and you burry your face in the blankets just to gasp out your moans. Your mouth hangs open, drool dripping off your tongue as your breath stops in your throat. The tight heat between your legs feels like it’s winding its way all the way up through your diaphragm. Your muscles are tensed so tight you think you might snap, and you let out a low moan as your breath finally shakes free. You suck in air between sobs, each punch of his fingers into your cunt pushing a new noise free of your lips.

The wet noises just get wetter.

And then something inside you snaps. Your stomach clenches tight and your cunt follows, spasming around Simon’s fingers as they pump in and out of you. Stars dance across your vision and you bite the quilts to stop from screaming. Something trickles out of you and he rewards your orgasm with a throaty chuckle.

He pulls his fingers from you and rubs soaked fingers over your ass before he’s trying to push one inside.

“Been eyein’ this ass all night.” He hums.

The firm pressure hurts the harder he presses, and you whimper out a sniffled reproach to the feeling, a soft “hurts” that you’re sure will fall on deaf ears. Simon stops, pulls his finger back and slicks it in your cunt again, the feeling of his fingers twisting against your soft spot making your eyes roll. It hurts, an overworked burn that makes you whimper for an entirely different reason.

He pulls his thick fingers from your cunt and you feel the tip of one teasing your ass again. It’s barely a pressure when his finger tries your ass again, and he lets out a slow breath as you’re filled.

“Just sunk right in,” He tells you, pumping his finger in and out, the drag of heat has your lashes fluttering, your head spinning at the deep pressure that makes your cunt clench, “Isn’t that pretty.”

His thumb catches your cunt again, tugging at the slick hole. The click of his belt and rustle of fabric clues you in to what comes next.

That doesn’t mean you’re prepared for how big his cock feels nudging at your entrance. A chill runs over your skin, goosebumps raising to meet the air where your jumper has slid down your back. The blunt head of his cock presses against your hole, and you arch your back into the feeling, desperate to find the right angle for it to slip in.

Simon doesn’t seem as eager. He pushes into you slowly, lets you feel the way you burn and stretch around him, lets you feel every centimeter of that big cock. You feel tight, even as wet as you are, you feel like you’re squeezing the life out of him. Your cunt is hot and tingling, and your clit throbs with the need to be touched.

You feel his hips press against your ass, and he grinds into you. Another wave of goosebumps rushes over you at the deep ache he pushes into. You squeeze your eyes shut just to stop the way they keep trying to roll back in your head.

Simon pulls back, and you can almost feel the drag of his head against your walls. He grinds the tip against the soft spot near your entrance before punching his cock back into you. You make a choked noise before your throat seems to open and a flood of moans and pleas flows from you. Each push of his cock into you pitches your voice up and you moan in desperate panting sounds.

You ache. You’ve never felt so full. He hasn’t taken his finger from your ass, instead he presses it down to try and feel his own cock stretching out your walls. You shove a hand between your legs to try and stroke your clit only to feel the stretch of your skin around his fat cock. You’re so wet that your fingers slip over your folds, uncoordinated, and you can’t get a good angle. You open your mouth but can’t find the words to ask for what you need.

One of his thrusts pushes you up the bed and your hand moves immediately to push against the wall with a ‘thump.’

“Simon,” You whine, “Simon.”

His free hand pets up your spine, bunching your jumper up under your armpits to unhook your bra, before finding its way to your hair. He curls his fingers and finds a tight grip near your scalp. The bite of pain makes you want to push back into him. The deep pressure, the slight sting, from your ass makes your body stutter, your brain crashing into itself.

Oh God.

“Not a thought in that pretty little ‘ead is there?” He asks, the fingers gripping your hair tight pull your head back, you moan your pleasure for him as he gives a hard thrust into you, your bleary eyes opened just enough to focus on the white wall. “Course not,” Simon grunts, a huff of laughter edging his voice, “Wouldn't've responded to my ad if there was.”

You reach back to claw at his thigh and find it still, painfully, clothed. A burst of humiliation shoots through you at the thought that Simon hasn’t even bothered to get undressed.

“Stupid thing, really could’ve just grabbed ya off the street.” He mumbles, there’s a touch of fondness to his voice, a smile that doesn’t feel appropriate for the way he fucks into you. Like he’s trying to teach you a lesson.

The only thing you’re learning is that Simon’s cock hits something deep and needy inside of you. The finger in your ass starts to pull out and you scream. Simon groans as you tighten around him, your cunt desperate to keep his cock inside. You’re buzzing with your orgasm, settled right at the edge with nothing to push you over the edge. There’s too much stimulation. His cock pistoning into you and his finger starting to tug at your ass. You’re still sore from his fingers but you can’t stop yourself from clenching tight around him.

“Mad fer it,” Simon chuckles, “tell me what ya need bird.”

“Clit- clit,” You stutter out, still barely able to keep the words straight in your head.

“Louder love,” He teases, “don’t think I heard ya.”

“Please,” You sob, your moans still tearing from your chest on each thrust, “touch my clit.”

He drops your head back down onto the bed, and you muffle your noise with the quilt clenched between your teeth. His finger pulls from your ass and you scream your pleasure into the bed. It’s so hot, your ass burning with something that isn’t entirely painful. It just makes your clit pulse harder.

Simon’s fingers find their way between your legs and he pinches your clit between them. One roll of the tight bud between them has your legs shaking. The second has tears brimming at your lash line and your mouth hanging open as you flutter and drip on Simon’s cock. You tense and release around him, your orgasm crashing into you like a train. Waves of it rush through you, shaking your muscles loose until you’re laid like a doll against the bed. Your skin is burning and you ache,

And Simon keeps fucking you.

The smack of his hips against yours fills the room, his breath heavy and his fingers now tight on your waist. You push back into his thrusts and it makes stars dance across your vision. That deep aching part of you makes everything draw tight again.

Simon’s thrusts grow quicker, rougher, his fingers grip you so tight it hurts. You scream for him again, his hard thrusts pushing you to the edge a third time. The blistering heat of his come hits your overworked cunt and you moan.

“Too much,” You whine. Everything is sore when he pulls out. You don’t think you can move.

Your knees slip off the edge of the bed and you just lay there.

Simon rolls you back onto your back, and manhandles you into laying on the bed properly.

You sit up just enough to tug your jumper off and toss your bra to the floor with the rest of your clothes. Simon ditches his shirt and you sleepily take in the cut musculature of his chest as he wanders to turn off the light.

You pass out before he ever gets his pants off.

Your parents have already gathered the presents from last night by the front door when you wander downstairs in the morning. Your father doesn’t look at you, but your mother positively glowers. You try not to think about how loud you’d been last night.

Simon’s had his hands on you since you woke up. His fingers splay wide on the small of your back, as your parents attempt to rush you out the door.

You’re settled in Simon’s car, driving down the street when you finally let the laughter take over. You giggle and snort, pressing your fingers against your mouth to try and stem the flow of them. But really, what can you do? Despite being forced to spend the night putting a dent in your plans it’s worked out perfectly. Your parents won’t be asking about you getting a boyfriend any time soon.

If you’re lucky your mom will never ask you about your relationship status again, even when you “break up” with Simon.

You’re still giggling, glowing with happiness at a successfully executed plan, when you try to pull the ring off your finger.

Something sharp digs into your skin and you yelp in pain.

“What the fuck?” You question, whimpering when you pull harder and it only sends the sharp bit further into your skin. You raise your hand to look at the ring, and find a sharp tooth just under the diamond, clearly a feature not a bug. Still you glance at Simon. “I think this ring is defective,” You tell him, “It keeps stabbing me.”

Simon hums, turning right down a street.

“Then stop tryin’ ta take it off.” He advises. You twist the ring around your finger, trying to find a way to work it off.

“I can’t get it off,” You grunt in annoyance.

“Not suppose ta,” Simon tells you plainly, taking another turn, “That’s how bein’ engaged works.”

Something squirms in your stomach.

“We’re not engaged.” You remind him.

“Wearing my ring,” He reminds you, like he’s explaining it to a child, “said ‘yes’ to my proposal-” A smile splits his face, predatory in a way that makes you press your legs together, “-probably still buzzin’ for my cock too. Sounds engaged to me.”

You balk, your mouth hung open as you gape at him. Is he insane?

Simon doesn’t even look at you, just reaches to the side and presses against the underside of your chin with gentle, firm fingers, closing your mouth. Then he leans past you to open the glove compartment and tug a crumple of papers out onto your lap.

“If ya get bored you can look over those.” He tells you, flicking on his signal to hop on the highway.

You glance down at the mess of papers settled on your thighs, a mass of text and fine print that your eyes can’t focus on because they’re so shaken by the two poised at the top:

“Marriage License.”

divider by @/saradika-graphics

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aaaholdinggroupus · 11 months ago

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thelovelyruin · 1 year ago

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𝖘𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖊.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 : yandere choso x fem reader

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𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘 : hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading! this was a request i’ve been working on for a while lol; i hope you enjoy it; if so, follow me for more. au revoir!

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When Choso first met you during rush week a couple years ago, you were an aspiring freshman looking for a sorority to pledge to, and he was a normal guy. Sorta. You’d spoken to him once and he became absolutely in love with you. Not like he hadn’t been with other girls in the past, a few relationships here or there. But you were different. Not like any other girl he’d seen. You hadn’t shared too much with him that day, but he was determined to figure out, well, everything about you.

I don't mean to scare, but you're just so cute.

It started with your name, which he’d simply just asked someone in your class. But then, Choso needed to know more, when was your birthday, were your zodiac signs compatible? He’d gotten that information from stealing your campus ID out of your purse while you two were in class together. Choso was paying really good attention to other things too though. He’d paid attention to your screen while he sat behind you, online shopping when you were supposed to be paying attention to the lecture. That’s how he found out what size you were and the brands you liked, but other things got a little trickier. He noticed the way you did your makeup, it was always so pretty, but it’s not like he knew what any of it was, so he’d slowly started stealing things out of your makeup bag. It was harder to get your perfume, though, until you reapplied it on the campus lawn one day. Pink sugar, huh? Sweet just like you. Choso wanted to be even better, he’d send you flowers with no receipt of who sent them, an array until he found your favorites. He’d pay for your food when you went out to eat, then leave to remain anonymous. He just loved seeing that smile on your face whenever he surprised you with something, always grateful, looking around to see if you could catch your secret admirer, but blushing when you realized you wouldn’t. God, you were perfect.

Lucky for you, you had actually gotten into Kappa. You walked around on this high horse though, one of those kiss-my-ass kind of attitudes. Not like anyone was gonna check you for it, well, ‘cause you were hot. Always well dressed, always groomed, always punctual. There was nothing anyone could really say about you other than you being a bitch, at least never to your face. Little did you know, Choso was your bitch. If you ever even glanced at him, he’d almost faint, and as the sophomore and junior years came and you’d gotten classes with him, he’d go back to his dorm and fuck his fist at the thought of you every day. But now, it was Senior year, and he was running out of time to make you his.

Every move you make, you're fucking sweeter than a cake.

Choso originally planned to just ask you directly, but he had to make sure it was gonna be perfect. He couldn’t leave room for error in the possibility that you weren’t interested at all. So, he’d gotten as close as possible to you. It wasn’t stalking, it was just studying an interest. He was pretty good at photography, so he got hired as a photographer for school events, such as parties or games. He’d walk around and take pictures of everyone like usual to not raise suspicion, but whenever he could, he’d snap as many pictures as he could of you, slipping them into his pocket. When there was too much going on at the party downstairs, he’d sneak upstairs to find which room was yours, for research purposes of course.

Well, that research went directly to Choso knowing which window to take pictures outside of. You were so oblivious, often leaving your curtains wide open as you just got out of the shower, dressed in nothing but a towel. Now, Choso never got a snapshot of you naked or anything like that, but the hopes of the day he could got him pretty damn hard. He’d take pictures of you walking around campus, doing fundraisers with your sorority sisters, running for the pageants that you always won, with the exception of Miss Junior, who you exposed for cheating on her boyfriend so she’d be out of the running. So, you’d won that too. You were practically perfect, Choso felt you were made for him, there was a true possibility he could nurture and care for you, allow you to let your guard down a bit and let him someone in. He imagined himself taking you out to all your favorite restaurants, he had all of them written down along with your favorite menu items. Nights in his room cuddled up watching all of the movies you liked, you’d be so excited to see all of your favorite snacks already waiting for you. You’d wear that glitter lipgloss you loved, he’d make sure you had more than enough, considering he’d already bought two tubes for whenever he made you his. He imagined making love to you, hearing you moan for him as he pleasured you, then put you on his chest as you fell asleep, resting his eyes as he held you. You two could truly be in love.

I'd love to wipe these other bitches out, so it's just you and me.

But, you had a fucking boyfriend. It’s not like he didn’t like seeing you with other guys. He fucking hated it. Choso thought the guy was pretty scummy, he had that douchebag personality and always looked at guys like Choso like he was a piece of shit. But that asshole was truly a piece of shit. Megumi, or something like that. Choso didn’t bother doing too much digging up on him because it wasn’t gonna matter very soon. You guys had been dating since the beginning of the school year, not very long, but that didn’t stop him from talking to other girls when you weren't around. He’d forget your dates, and make you cry. Wouldn’t post you on his socials, almost pretended he was single. Choso had half a mind to stab him to death, mostly because he didn’t like the way he treated you, but also because then he wouldn’t be in the way anymore.

Then, there were your damn sorority sisters. Those bitches were definitely in the way. They took up too much of your time, making you busy every day with planning and meetings, to do what? Party and maybe, fundraise? He’d see them sometimes talking shit about you, saying you were weird or a bitch, or something else that wasn’t true about you. Choso would never say those things about you or treat you like that. You deserved someone who actually loved you and cared about you, none of these other distractions. He would give you the world, but that meant getting rid of the world you had first.

Oh, oh, this shit is scaring me…

Now, when Choso originally thought of doing this, he thought it was a little nuts. It was a little extreme, sure, but it was just an obstacle in the way to get to you. Sometimes, we do bad things for the people we love. It doesn't mean it's right, it means love is more important.

Choso originally thought of actually stabbing Megumi like he wanted to. That fell quickly when he really considered the situation. Megumi was on the lankier side which meant it would be more tactical to get a hit in, plus he’d need to find a time he’d be alone in a discreet location to hurt him with no one noticing. Not that he’d really care if someone saw, it would just mean he wouldn’t be able to live the rest of his life with you; that was not an option. Shooting would be just as difficult, shell casings and the sound of gunfire could get him in deep. Could steal the brakes from his car, but then there was the possibility you were in it when it crashed, and for that, he’d never forgive himself. He’d need something that anyone could have done, an accident perhaps, something that wouldn’t kill Megumi, just get him out the fucking way. Then he got a little idea.

Don't wanna stick my fingers in this, or I'll start to bleed…

“Hey, Megumi!”

“Do I know you?”

“Well, we literally live on the same floor, but um, no. Anyways, wanted to talk to you about something…”

“Get on with it.”

“It’s her birthday today, your girlfriend that is.”

“Oh yeah. Well, why the fuck do you care?”

“We’re kinda close, wanted to get her something, but I’ll be too busy with classes to give it to her. Do you mind giving it to her for me?”

“You got my girlfriend a gift, bitch? What the hell’s in this box?”

“Well, that’s kind of a surprise for her…”

“Get the fuck out of my face before I beat your ass. Leave my girl alone, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

Megumi had slammed the door on him, just like that. Usually, Choso would’ve been really torn by his insult. He was pretty pissed Megumi forgot your birthday too, but how could he be pissed, truly? Not when a sweet resolution to Megumi’s shitty ways was on the horizon.

“Megumi’s like totally dead!”

“Omg, what do you mean he’s dead?”

“Well, he went to the hospital ‘cause he came down with like a fever or something? Todo said he couldn’t even talk when he found Megumi in the hallway and his eyes were all watery. The doctors said he died of, shit, what’s it called again? Whatever, like he couldn’t breathe! I don’t know what the fuck happened, but damn, really sucks, ya know?”

“Babe, I’m so sorry. To be fair, he was a dick.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He didn’t have a big one either TBH.”

Well, shit. Choso didn’t mean to kill him, not really. He knew Megumi was a fuckin’ asshole, though. Paired with someone crushin’ on his girlfriend and his ego, Choso knew Megumi was gonna open that box. And what was in it? Initially, Ricin covered the inside of the box, which when inhaled, caused damage to the respiratory system, which Megumi could technically recover from. Choso had extracted the Ricin from some castor beans. The same castor beans that were crushed inside of the cupcake sitting in the box. All 10 of them. Originally, Megumi would’ve lived, had he just thrown it away and not have been nosy, and if he did end up giving it to you, Choso would be there to intervene and he’d deal with that explanation later. But Megumi chose to be a nosy bastard, open it, AND EAT THE CUPCAKE! It was comical, really, considering Ricin can’t be found in an autopsy, so Choso got away with it. It’s okay. It had to be done. That greedy asshole got what was coming to him, and with him out of the way, Choso was cleared to enact Phase 2.

It's sweet like saccharine, what I’d do to have you sitting here next to me.

A couple of days after Megumi died, you pretty much got over it, walking about as if nothing happened. To be fair, he was cheating on you all the time, lied to you, and overall treated you like shit, so it wasn’t that hard. What Choso didn’t expect was for you to get kicked out of your sorority house.

“Listen, babe. Your dead boyfriend is really throwing off the vibe here. Plus, it’s bringing a lot of bad looks to the rest of us because it seems like you honestly don’t give a fuck that he died, and truthfully, neither do we, but damn bitch, try acting like it!”

“Please, Chapter President, I can act like I care, I just-”

“Sorry girlie. You’re still a sister, don’t worry. You do have to leave the house though.”

Choso felt a little bad. A little. They really were bitches, but this was perfect. He’d just saved himself from starting a gas leak at the Kappa house when you weren’t home. He didn’t like that your feelings were hurt though, and he beat himself up about it. Choso himself wasn’t really a good guy, killing your boyfriend on your birthday? Almost killing your sorority sisters before they pretty much kicked you to the curb? He was doing the exact opposite of being a good boyfriend. He’d be on his toes from now on, can’t risk ruining his chances with you. However, it was all in good light. You were becoming more and more ready to fall into his arms.

Apparently, you pretty much kept to yourself and stayed in your room. Your classwork was slacking a bit, and you couldn’t live at the house, but that didn’t stop you from still trying to be involved, participating in some campus events, and fundraising with your sisters despite your exile. You were a normal girl, humbled for sure, but Choso didn’t like that very much. He never intended to break you down like this, while you were still sweet in his eyes, he knew you loved the life you had before. He can’t unkill Megumi, which wouldn’t make sense anyway because Choso was your boyfriend now, but he’d give you a life even better than the first. One where you and he were together.

Like cherry pie, will you be mine?

Now, Choso was a real sweetheart, getting you so many gifts for when you came along, preparing how he’d approach you, compliment you, fuck you. But he was getting a little impatient. At this point, it was already the tail end of courses before winter break so he didn’t have much time to see you every day, even though he’d make that happen regardless. Plus, all of the shit that had happened to you would wear off in a couple of days, so he needed to act now. Choso knew he couldn’t make you fall in love with him overnight, and it would be too hasty to try to take it slow with you now. So, he had no choice. He was gonna kidnap you.

Now, “kidnapping” is a rather strong way to put it. In reality, Choso was gonna come to see you and talk a bit, but if that didn’t work, he’d hold you at knifepoint and make you come back to his dorm with him to enjoy all of the things he’d set up for you! He would never hurt you intentionally, so it’s not like he was gonna use it, but he had to make you think he would. He wished kidnapping you was legal, why wouldn't he want to be able to love you and take care of you all the time? It’s okay, you’d learn to love him back. After all, Choso wasn’t your ‘maybe’. Choso was your ‘one’.

Sweet to the core, I want some more.

Choso decided he’d make his move on you the night of the last Kappa party of the season, too many people for anyone to notice him running off with you, plus he knows you’d look so pretty in your party dress, hair all done up, heels making those legs of yours look so pretty. And you did! Except, you were crying. When Choso got to the party and spotted you, you were sniffling as you walked out the back door of the house. Now, he had to be strategic about this, so he exited out the front in time to catch you walking from the back. When he’d gotten outside, he saw you walking down the sidewalk, but it wasn’t very well, your heel had broken and you were having to walk barefoot. He felt terrible seeing you like that. You looked so sad, so scared, just broken. Choso had to make things right.

“Hey, you okay?”

I love you.

I can hear your words breaking down my core…

You looked up at him with those beautiful doe eyes of yours, bloodshot and watery from crying, but still, you looked stunning.

“Oh, hey Choso. Honestly? No, I’m like not okay at all.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, my ex died and everyone’s making a super big deal about it. Like, people kept coming up to me asking questions and stuff like I was there when he died or something.”

“Oh, um-”

“Sorry, I know I sound like a twat right now, but he cheated on me like all the time! It’s honestly a long shot to say we were even together, not be cocky or anything, but I think he dated me to make himself look better. Plus, he got me in hot water with my sisters, like he’s haunting me after death or whatever.”

“Sounds like he wasn’t really a good guy…”

“Yeah, pretty much. Anyway, now I have to walk back to my stupid dorm with no shoes because I fell over like a klutz and just embarrassed myself to the nines. I don’t even wanna go back there, just makes me sad, ya know? I came out to this stupid party to get my mind off things and it’s like things are just bleh. It doesn’t even feel like anyone likes me anymore. I wish someone just loved me for me, ya know?”

I think about you every day at least a hundred times or more.

Choso walked up and hugged you, bringing you into his embrace. It was a bold move for sure, especially with the knife sheathed on his waist, but he just hated seeing you cry like that. Soon, you’ll feel how nice it is to have someone care about you so much. To have someone who wants to revolve their entire life around you.

“It’s okay. Know you don’t know me very well, but I’m here for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna be too forward or anything, but you can come back to my dorm for a few, that is, if you don’t wanna go back to yours.”

“That’s so sweet, thanks!”

Fuck, this was perfect! He didn’t even have to threaten to kill you! Choso offered to pick you up, which you happily agreed to, holding your heels in your hand as he carried you back to his dorm. On the way, you talked about a bunch of stuff you liked, mostly things he already knew about you, but there were a couple of new things that enticed him. You’d stopped crying, that sweet smile back on your face as you found comfort in Choso’s arms. He’d gotten back to his dorm fairly fast, not wanting to waste much time to get things rolling. He figured he’d start with telling you about his love for you, really seeing if you-

“OMG, YOU HAVE THIS???”

You pointed at the movie poster on his wall, one of your favorite movie. He’d studied it a lot, trying to figure out why you liked it so much. He’d watched it over ten times by now, buying the poster as a touch when you finally came, which worked!

“Yeah, it’s a pretty good-”

“Pretty good? It’s like the best movie ever!”

“We can, uh, watch it if you want.”

“Yes, I’d love that!”

Choso was so lucky. Here you were, sitting with him on his bed as you watched the movie. You’d stop every few minutes and point out something about it you knew a fun fact about or laugh at the parts you’d seen so many times. You were so damn cute. You’d pretty much forgotten all of the stuff going on, able to just relax with him for once. Don’t you see how nice this is? How special things can be?

“Oh wow, it’s getting late. Shit, I still have to walk back.”

Just like that, the movie was over. You looked tired, not just physically but mentally too. You couldn’t leave though, that’s not how this was gonna go.

“Are you sure you’re good to walk?”

“Whatcha mean?”

“I mean, your heels are broken and it’s too dark outside to be out there by yourself. Something could happen to you.”

Fuck, Choso was a little too bold with that last part. He was probably coming on too strong, he’d need to fix-

“You’re worried about little ‘ol me?”

“Something like that…”

YES. He was so fucking worried that sweat was about to drip from his face, red with anxiousness that the love of his life was about to leave him behind.

“Well, you could always walk with me. Or do you just wanna spend more time with me?”

You gave him a little smirk and wink, it went straight to his dick as he tried to think of a way to respond.

“I, um… yeah, I would.”

Your answer to his statement would be the deciding factor between you staying or him picking up that knife from his jacket on the chair. Fortunately for you, you smiled and put your things back down, sitting on the bed as you looked up at him.

“Fine, but we’re gonna watch another movie. Your pick this time.”

You make me afraid, come closer, wait no, go away…

Ten minutes into this movie and he felt like he was gonna fucking explode. This time around, you’d gotten closer to him. Instead of sitting at the end of the bed, you laid beside him, not quite touching you, but he could definitely smell you, and fuck, you smelled so good. It was becoming painful to not touch you, but he couldn’t risk fucking this up. You looked so nice like this, chest moving up and down as you laid comfortably, eyes low, obvious you were getting tired.

“Hey, Choso?”

“What’s up?”

“Thanks for, ya know, being nice to me. I’m not anyone’s favorite these days…”

You looked so sad, but Choso couldn’t be happier. You were starting to recognize the only person who really cares about you is him!

“Yeah, but you’re my favorite.”

“Really? But, you barely know me.”

Choso actually knew you very well. Probably better than you know yourself.

“You’ve just got that type of personality that’s really easy to like, is all.”

You sat up now and looked Choso in the eyes, making him blush instantly.

“Oh yeah? So, you like me?”

Choso started stuttering and sweating, flustered beyond reason as you gave him one of those smirks. At this point, he didn’t even have to tell you. His body language was more than obvious.

“I was just kid-”

“Yes, I mean-”

You both looked at each other in shock. Why the fuck would he say that? You were fucking joking. Choso was stupid to think you were serious, not like he really had any chance with a girl like you. But that’s okay. He was gonna make one. Although, he didn’t know whether to love or hate you right now, most likely both. You looked up at him optimistically, like you were waiting on his response, but also blushing a bit as he nearly popped a blood vessel in front of you. He couldn’t even speak, choked up on his words as you brought your hand on top of the one he had leaning on the bed.

“Tell me, do you?”

“I do, for a while now.”

“So, why not ever talk to me?”

“Because you’re pretty hard to talk to.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re usually, um-”

“A bitch? Yeah, I am. But these past few weeks have humbled me.”

Choso wanted to laugh a little. Of course, it was because of him and the precautions he’s put in place for you two to end up together. You didn’t need to know that part though. You looked down, that same broken look you’d been putting off all night. Everything in him told him to stop, don’t be too hasty and he could probably get back to the plan, but it hurt him to see what he’d caused. It definitely didn’t help that you were crying again, bringing your knees to your chest as you fell into the realization of how messed up you felt. Choso pulled you into his arms, laying your face into his chest as he rubbed your back. You felt so warm, so soft, he didn’t want to let you go. Ever.

“It’s not your fault. So, don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“Thanks, you’re right.”

It was hard to feel like the bad guy when you were smiling at him, finding comfort in his words. You two were dangerously close now, eye contact had him feeling like a deer in headlights, while you remained cool and collected, like usual. That’s one of the main things he loved about you, despite all of the crazy shit going on, you still try to appear fine, but that was far from the truth. He’d be a shoulder for you to cry on, someone you could depend on and pour your feelings into. Give your heart to someone who’s worthy of loving you back and spending their every breathing second devoted to keeping you happy.

Saccharine, what I’d do to have you sitting here next to me.

You’d kissed Choso softly, leaning in slowly enough to feel his breath hitch on his lips when he realized what you were doing. It was perfect. Your lips felt even softer than he thought they would, gentle and loving as you brought yourself closer, closing the distance between you. He had to get his head together, he’d practiced this part over and over again, and all he had to do was focus and execute it. First, cup your face with his hand. You smiled into his lips when he did this, allowing him to move to the second step, and bring his hand to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. You softened into his touch as he laid your back on the bed, opening your legs to let him on top of you. You were so sweet, moaning softly into the air as he began sucking the skin of your neck. Choso wanted to claim you, he’d finally gotten to kiss you and he needed everyone to know you were his. He sucked a little harder and felt ecstatic when you didn’t stop him, instead groaning as bruises began to flower on your skin.

“Choso…”

Shit, you moaned his name. It felt exhilarating, something he’s been waiting for for so long finally coming true. It lit a fire under his ass, coming up to kiss your lips once before he brought his lips back down to your collarbones, moving lower as his hand massaged your side. Once he’d reached the skin of your breasts, he’d stopped, looking up to you for the green light to keep going. Even though you didn’t really have a choice in spending the rest of your life with him, consent was still pretty important to him, so when you gave him a nod, he took off. Choso brought his fingers to the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head as you brought your arms up to aid him. God, you were beautiful. Your tits were on full display to him now, nothing covering you but a lacy pink thong. He was gonna start hyperventilating, your tits lifted as you breathed, nipples calling out to him like they needed saving. He brought his lips down swiftly and wrapped his tongue around one of them, immediately putting the other between his fingers to pinch as the rest of his palm massaged your breast. You started whimpering for him now, touch-starved since your boyfriend died, but Choso hoped it was also because he was doing things better than anyone you’d been with before. He alternated his mouth, groping and sucking as much as he could, relishing in the feeling of your tits in his face for the first time. As much as he could stay there all day, he knew you needed more, so he kissed his way down your stomach, lips grazing your pantyline. Choso sucked the skin of your stomach as you bucked your hips against him, turned on as he took care of you.

“Choso, please…”

He looked up into your eyes as he brought his lips off your body, fingers hooking into the fabric of your thong as he pulled them off of you. Holy fuck. You were soaking wet, lips glistening with your juices as your hips shifted slightly to invite Choso in. Without hesitation, he brought his lips down to your pussy, beginning to devour you. You tasted amazing, drinking the nectar of a fruit long awaited and it almost made him regret not planning to kidnap you sooner. You smelled so fucking good too, your pussy engulfing all of his senses as he ate you like his last meal. Your fingers found their way into his hair, moaning his name into the air with every lick of your clit. Sideways, up and down, circles around your bud, anything he could to hear you moan for him, to make your pain go away. He’d brought your legs over his shoulders and rested his hands under the arch of your back, angling your hips so he could eat you exactly how he wanted. Messy and slow, he took his time spreading your juices all over his face as you panted and pulled at the sheets. He was self-indulgent, tongue pumping in and out of you as he lived out his fantasies of eating your pussy.

“Choso…I-I…”

Shit, you were close. Choso was about to make you cum! He doubled down immediately, bringing his arms over your thighs to keep you in place as you felt your orgasm approaching. He’d picked up his pace too, tongue moving at a hungry pace as he anticipated your cum in his mouth. The hand you had in his hair gripped tighter, Choso taking it as a cue to bring his lips up and suck your clit, suction bringing your bud against his tongue. You came fast and hard, grinding your pussy against his face as you came for him, his name slipping off your lips over and over as you rode out your high.

You’re sweet to the core.

You looked so pretty for him, chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. Choso slowly kissed his way back up your body, lips finding themselves on yours. This kiss was different from before, more intense and confident. At that point, you’d already started unbuckling his jeans, kissing him feverishly as you helped him take his clothes off. Hovering over you, he looked at you in awe. Legs on either side of his, big doe eyes looking up at him, waiting for him to fuck you.

“Holy shit…”

Your hands found his hair, gripping and tugging at it as he slipped in at a slow pace. Choso took his time, exploring the walls he longed for the feeling of. Every stroke nearly sent him over, wet and warm, you were like heaven wrapped around his dick. You felt even better than he’d imagined, much better than his fist he fucked to the thought of you. Especially with how you were moaning for him, it was driving him crazy, all he could do was praise you.

“You’re perfect…so fuckin’ perfect…”

“I know…”

God, he’s never felt like this. You were sucking him in like you were made for him, holy shit, he was losing his mind. Touching him, feeling your warmth on his shaft as he fucked you faster. You were so beautiful, lips pursed as you breathed up and down, eyes fluttering as he fucked you.

“You feel so good, baby…”

“Choso…”

His name was killing him. He’d put in so much time to make sure he fucked you exactly the way you needed him, he had to make the first time perfect. A man that could care for you. Love you. Please you. Choso finally had you, and he was going to give you the fucking world.

I need to hate you before it's too late…

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby…”

Choso gripped your legs tight as he fucked into you fast, making you scream his name out into the room. You were doing this for him! Moaning for him! And you felt so fucking good wrapped around him, more than anyone ever before. There wasn’t anyone before you and there wasn’t anyone before him. Your world would revolve around him now like his revolved around you, every waking moment of being in love would be magical.

“Choso, I-”

“Let me have it, baby. I’ve waited so long for it…”

He didn’t care what he was saying anymore, too high on you and your pleasure that he couldn’t think straight. If you were gonna cum for him, he needed it now, like his life depended on it. Something to signify the beginning of all of the pleasure he’d give you from this point forward.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this, baby? Fuck, I’m close…”

“That’s it, baby, let go, let me make you feel good…”

“So pretty, cumming on my dick like this…”

Choso was so fuckin obsessed with you. You came down like an angel, eyes fluttering as you murmured his name softly, body melting into the bed. He halted inside you as he came, losing his mind over the way your nails dug into his arms. You two lay there panting for a bit, Choso’s arm bringing you into his chest. So beautiful like this. He’d finally made it, you in his arms, right where you belonged.

Before I crave you…so please go away.

“So, I’m not going back to my dorm tonight, am I?”

No, of course, you weren’t.

“Do you really want-”

“I don’t want to.”

Choso was shocked to hear your words. You actually wanted to stay here with him, he didn’t even have to scare you into doing it!

“Do you have a T-shirt or something? It’s kinda cold in here.”

“Uh, yeah, let me grab-”

“No problem, I’ll get it!”

Stop it. FUCKING STOP. You were getting too comfortable, about to open Pandora’s box with your hand on his closet door. Choso should stop you, whatever it would take. By the time he’d gotten to the knife, you’d opened the closet, pictures of you all over the walls. Choso lingered behind you now, knife behind his back as he waited for your reaction. You just had to be so fuckin nosy, you’d ruined everything.

“Choso…are these pictures of me?”

He gripped the knife tightly in his hand as he watched you look through them. He couldn’t even speak, heartbreak and murderous intent flowing out of him. Every picture put another pin in his heart. Photos of you around campus, through your dorm window, in class, all open for you to see. You brought your hand up to one, pulling it down as you looked over it. The picture he took of you on Valentine’s Day. You’d been sitting in class that day, sad because Megumi hadn’t gotten you anything, which Choso figured he wouldn’t. That’s why he had three dozen roses delivered to you on the lawn later that day, eyes brightening as you held them and read the card: “Happy Valentine’s Day, Princess. ~ your secret admirer.” You were so damn happy that day, so perfect. Now, you had to die.

“It was you, huh? All this-”

“Yes. It was always me.”

You pulled another one down, the one of you winning Miss Sophomore. Your face had the brightest smile, holding that crown on your head as you cried tears of joy. You smirked at it, cheeks blushing a bit.

“I look really good in this one, glad someone got a shot of it. So, you liked me this much?”

You’d turned to look at him now, giving him a confused face. Probably because Choso was sweating buckets. His hand shook behind him as he looked at you nervously, analyzing everything about you, any sign that you were scared or wanted to leave.

“I’d call it more than that.”

“So, why not-”

“Because I wanted things to be perfect. I wanted to be perfect for you.”

You gave him a nervous nod and turned back to the closet, pulling down a photo of you in your room back at the Kappa house.

“How’d you do it?”

“I…huh?”

“How’d you take this without getting caught?”

You looked back at him now, a serious look on your face that told him he better fuckin’ answer. What was he gonna do? There was no point in lying to you, everything was there for you to see.

“I learned you and the other girl’s schedules to make sure everyone was asleep.”

“So, what else ya got? Pictures can’t be the only thing.”

Choso pointed to the top shelf of the closet hesitantly. You brought down the bin carefully, sitting it down on his desk as you opened the lid.

“What the fuck, Choso? I was looking everywhere for this lipgloss!”

You’d begun rummaging through the bin, picking up things in remembrance of when you lost them. A couple of hair ties, eyeliner, lipstick napkins. You acted as if there was nothing wrong with this, and it was making it really hard for Choso to read you. His hand alternated between wanting to drop the knife or use it, heart pulsing frantically as you tried on old jewelry of yours. Satisfied with your findings, you moved back to the closet, pulling down the other box on the shelf. The one with his gifts for you.

“Wait! You’re not supposed to see that yet!”

“What is it?”

“It’s something really special... just please, you’re gonna ruin everything!”

You shot him a concerned look and rolled your eyes, walking back over to the bed to take a seat.

“Answer a couple of questions for me, ‘kay?”

“I-I…”

“Question one, when did this start?”

“...Freshman year, rush week…the first time we met…”

You looked at him surprised. That meant he’d been stalking in love with you for almost four years now and never acted on it.

Just confiscate you, my teeth are in pain…

“Question two, what’s behind your back?”

“Nothing…important…”

Choso was shaking in fear, so much so, he dropped the fucking knife. You both watched it fall to the floor behind him, your mouth agape in shock as he frantically bent over to pick it up. He couldn’t tell what was more awkward, him dropping it on the floor or him picking it up and sitting it on his desk like nothing happened.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU GONNA DO WITH THAT?”

“DAMAGE CONTROL.”

“FOR WHAT?”

“FOR WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!”

“YOU WERE GONNA STAB ME?”

“NO, I WAS JUST GONNA MAKE SURE YOU DIDN’T LEAVE!”

“ARE YOU FUCKIN’ CRAZY?”

“I’M NOT CRAZY, I’M IN LOVE!”

You scoffed and chuckled, stunned at his statement. Choso was bright red, on the verge of a panic attack. So many thoughts, so many mistakes, you knew almost everything now. All of the things he wanted to do for you, show you, give you, it all meant nothing now. Still, you sat there completely calm, aside from the fact the guy who just fucked your brains out was possibly about to kill you.

“Question three, this is an important one. Did you kill Megumi?”

“It was ruled a death from natural causes.”

“Yeah, tell that shit to someone else, did you kill him?”

Choso didn’t really care to hide things now, too far gone. Especially not how he got rid of that asshole you called a boyfriend.

“Yes, I did; and I don’t regret it.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I poisoned him with Ricin.”

“RICIN? HOW THE FU-”

“I put it inside of a box I told him was supposed to be for you.”

“Why?”

“Because he was a terrible boyfriend to you and you didn’t deserve to be with a guy who couldn’t even remember your birthday. Not to mention, he would’ve never died if he didn’t open what was meant for you, nosy fucker.”

“So, you were jealous? Most people would just beat the guy’s ass, you definitely knocked it out the park with that one.”

“Yes, he didn’t deserve to have you! He took you for granted when there was somebody much more fit to make you happy!”

“And that’s you?”

“Yes, just…please…don’t leave. Not before I make things perfect for you!”

You sat back on your hands, thinking a bit and bouncing your leg. Choso had said too much. Not only did he admit to killing Megumi, but now if you really did hate him, you could get him arrested too. Which meant you two would have to live apart. That was no longer an option.

“Even If I wanted to leave, I don’t think you’d actually give me the choice. Plus, it’s kinda…sweet?”

“Sweet?...”

“Yeah, never had someone like me this much, let alone kill my boyfriend to get closer to me.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“No, not really. Well, maybe for planning to stab me. Not like I can make you untake the pics, but I’ll need some of my stuff back. I’m more impressed than anything. I’m not even gonna ask how you got the Ricin or half of this stuff.”

Choso didn’t know how to feel, or how to react. Why were you so calm about this? Why weren’t you scared? Why were you still here willingly? He couldn’t move at all, locked in place in fear as he watched you get into the bed and turn on another movie.

“You gonna come lay with me or just stand there?”

“I just…I-”

You sat straight up now, looking him dead in the eyes as his body quivered in reaction.

“What’s your deal, huh? Didn’t you kill a guy to be with me?”

“Yes, technically, I-”

“So, be with me, Choso! Unless you’re just like a murderer or whatever, that’s kinda fucked up.”

I'm gonna break you before I can say…

Choso was lost for fuckin’ words. You were laying on his chest now, holy shit, he was losing his mind. Touching him, feeling your warmth as you finally relaxed. Everything he had done to get you with him had paid off. You were so perfect, lips pursed while you breathed up and snuggled your face into him. Just his sweet, sweet girl.

“So, the whole, um, thing…”

“What, you being fucking insane?”

“I’m not insane, just very dedicated to the woman I love!”

“Well, the way I see it, all my other boyfriends couldn’t stop looking at other girls, but you? You’re perfect, you’re already obsessed with me! Just don’t kill anyone else, ‘kay?”

“I’ll try.”

I love you.

♱ the song used in this story is saccharine by jazmin bean. 🖤

♱ masterlist.

♱ all fics playlist.

𝖆𝖚 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖗, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖞𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖓.

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ax-y10 · 1 year ago

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musician! bur mood board and headcanons

so, i've decided that i am going to be impatient and make headcanons for the inages and how they relate to musician! bur.

i also may or may not have chosen the images with the intent of making headcanons.

oh, and the layout for the order of the photos: first row: 1, 2, 3 second row: 4, 5, 6 third row: 7, 8, 9

anyways, headcanons below the cut:

1. "your voice is my favourite sound"

when wilbur is stuck in a writer's block, he'll listen more intently to when you talk and what you're talking about.

if he thinks it can be used in a song, he'll definitely record the conversation without you knowing.

he'll hint at the fact he wants to use that conversation as backing vocals and such, saying "your voice is my favourite sound" and will casually take a photo of you when you blush at his sly remark.

he wants to make sure every rant, conversation, and random sentences you voice are recorded in history, whether it be in his songs, on his phone, or stored on his computer to listen to as he works.

2. "everything's better with a little background music"

he will say this when you both are doing domestic activities, beabadoobee or the arctic monkeys playing on his speaker

"everything's better with a little background music" when you're washing the dishes, maintaining the lawn, when he's playing guitar for you in his room, when he shouts over the running water of the shower

he lives by this motto. it's constantly uttered every other minute of the day.

absolutely somehow pisses of his bandmates by bringing you on tour and muttering "everything's better with a little background music" at midnight to keep you awake, and just hearing mark shout "wilbur! shut up!"

3. "but wilbur! it's cool!"

one day, you had a need to take photos and keep them to look at later. one of the victims was wilbur's record collection and his headphones

you hadn't brought it up with him, but once he walked into the room with you positioning the headphones and touching his record collection, of course he was going to be anxious. that's his favourite collection!

"y/n! what are you doing?" he said, frantic, almost startling you. "i'm taking photos, wil," it didn't ease him at all. "yes! but i love that collection! please don't touch them!" you paused. "but wilbur! it's cool!"

when you showed you the photo later, he was over-joyed and begged you to make more. as long as you didn't hurt his music.

4. "you look pretty..."

it was a date, and you'd both decided that you were going to go record shopping so you could expand your own collection. wilbur's excuse was that "the atmosphere in the stores are cool! you have to see it!"

wilbur had his phone out the entire time, even though you had asked him to put it away because you felt awkward

you heard him utter "you look pretty..." while you were sifting through different records, immediately looking up at him and seeing a bright flash

when you got home, you saw a different background on his phone. it was the photo he took of you when he called you pretty.

5. "wilbur. smile!"

you were trying to take photos of him after lovejoy performed a gig, but he either wasn't staying still, was somewhere different to you or had the most default expression on his face.

"darling, hold on. let me put my stuff away then you can take a photo," you would not take such disrespect /j

"wilbur. stop real quick" and he stilled, and looked at you, so very unimpressed, so you took a funny photo of him through a small fit of giggles

"wilbur. smile!" you said, hoping to get a better photo, but he walked off, clearly exhausted from the day. so you joined him in bed while showing him all the photos you had of him. he fell asleep...

6. "music heals"

his birthday was coming up soon and you desperately needed to get him a gift. you thought a guitar pick would be perfect because all of his current picks were slowly being worn down from constant playing.

you found a website online that made custom picks, and you were grateful that they were uk based, making it easier to get it shipped to where you lived on time.

you got "music heals" engraved onto the pick, because it was what you always said when wilbur has in a rough spot. and he always ran to get his guitar and happily played for himself while you watched with soft eyes.

when he got it, he cried genuine 'i love you' tears. immediately engulfing you in a bear hug, he pressed soft, loving kisses across your face

7. "you've made a mess!"

for months, you sat in wilburs room with him, watching random videos he had on his phone and listening to silly stories from when they record in the studio

so the first day you go in there to watch in person, you were shocked by what the group left at the end of each rehearsal, specifically wilbur.

mark, joe, and ash all cleaned up after themselves at the end of the studio session, but wilbur left his things on the ground, leaving more mess for everyone else to clean up. you quickly snapped a phot and walked up to wilbur, holding the phone close to his face.

"you've made a mess!" you said, faux angry, clearly meant to be a snarky remark, but wilbur showed the opposite effect. "yes, sweetheart. i'll clean it up in a second," you had to clean it up because he fell asleep

8. "i love it!"

it was after a lovejoy gig when a small meet and greet had created itself. everyone either had a gift for wilbur or wanted to take a photo.

every gift he got, he replied with an enthusiastic "thank you so much!" but one gift stuck out to both you and wilbur.

at this specific gig, you were at his side, half asleep and leaning against him. wilbur would bring every gift into your line of view and you'd give a small smile.

but this gift was a drawing of a record player and a record on it, the small spotify listening line at the bottom. his loud "i love it!" broke you out of your sleepy state, and yet again, another gift was in your eyesight. "i love it!" you'd say, before dragging his ass to bed.

9. "without music, life would be a mistake"

yet again, this is another quote of wilbur's, and is specifically uttered when he feels like shit and is listening to music.

when you both are on a flight with lovejoy, on a car ride with the sorry boys, or simply walking somewhere, you share headphones, and you both listen to his music.

you can sense when he feels like shit, so you whisper under your breath, looking up at him "without music, life would be a mistake" which immediately causes him to look down at you.

with shock in his eyes at the sudden string of words, his flat expression is replaced with a small smile, and he mutters the words back to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before continuing to listen.

#wilbur soot #wilbur #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur imagines #wilbur fluff #wilbur soot headcanons #headcanons #mood board #music #musician! bur #musician! bur headcanons #musician! bur mood board #musician! bur x reader

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darkelfchicksick · 20 days ago

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ANTI-SOCIAL MEDIA-TRENDS for 2025

"Community"

What does your mind conjure when you read that word? Laughs and talks by the campfire? Singing a prayer in a place of worship? Sitting at a table with good friends, celebrating an achievement? Working together to clean up your neighbor's lawn? Standing shoulder to shoulder in a protest?

That's not what brands want community to be. They want community to be online, connected, social, close and warm and then, in the store, they want it to be in your shopping cart. On your credit card. In the background or foreground, and in your heart.

Because we all know: community is where the heart is, and you put your wallet right next to your heart.

Brands are companies. Yes, even that cool influencer that just does a collab here and there. They all want to make money. That means any and every brand on social media isn't there to entertain you. They're there to make money. They want to be close to you. They want you to think about them. They want you to be obsessed with them. They want you to pay them so you feel even more connected.

They want you to be part of their community, but it's a one-way street. You're not going to get support from a brand. You'll be theirs, but they won't be yours. No matter how much you buy from them, they won't even know who you are and you'll end up feeling just as disconnected as before.

Fortunately, there's always another brand out there who would love you to be part of their community.

That's why I'm sharing five fresh trends for 2025 to turn social media anti-social.

Brands aren't your friend. They don't actually care about you.

Brands want to be part of your community. Don't let them in.

There is no such thing as an authentic brand. Do not be engaged. Do not be touched. Do not interact.

Your identity doesn't have to include a brand. Your phone provider isn't actually LGBTQ+ and your skincare brand isn't part of your personality, no matter how much they want you to think that.

Connection isn't limited to an app. Log off.

#brought to you by tiktok trend report 2025 #reading social media marketing reports always makes me want to barf #like it's so interesting from the social standpoint but unfortunately i find marketing morally abhorrent

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remnantglow · 8 months ago

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can you talk about how you made the costume please 🙏🙏🙏

:D sure!!! putting it under cut bc it's a lot lol

when i got the idea i had absolutely No clue as to how people even go abt cosplays like this, so step 0 was obviously One Billion Youtube Tutorials (this one - it's in polish but has eng subtitles - was my best friend <3 but there's really sooo many for every little aspect of making armor cosplay i owe them my life)

anyway. proceeding. assume every step takes a fuckton of trial and error and at least 3 failed attempts

REFERENCES:

collected all the covers where u can see mb's suit well, some fanarts that interpreted it in ways i liked, the 2 previous mb cosplays i found

PLANNING:

little to no planning (bad idea. btw.)

MATERIALS:

regular long-sleeved shirt+pants+cycling gloves+fanny pack. (sorry murderbot. but the armor piece over its crotch literally looks like a fanny pack)

the armor's made out of smth called EVA foam (similar to yoga mat in terms of texture/stiffness), had to order it from a cosplay-specific online shop

heat gun (i was lucky bc my dad's an amateur handyman and turned out to already have one) bc EVA foam's much easier to form+less absorbent when heated

contact glue (also known as contact cement) for glueing the armor pieces whole, superglue for details here and there

straps (the kind u use in backpacks etc)+plastic buckles+velcro. so much velcro. i'm never hand-sewing thru velcro again

wood glue+smth called glossy universal lacquer (p sure it's just car paint.) for painting

transparent plastic mask + rit dye for dyeing it (bc i couldn't find one that was already dark 😔)

tape+cling wrap for patterns

MAKING PATTERNS FOR ARMOR:

okay so. you wrap [Given Body Part] in cling wrap (yeah just regular kitchen cling wrap). put tape (i used duct tape at first but switched to masking tape bc it's cheaper) all over. draw, roughly, the shape you want the armor piece to be. cut urself out, cut away the excess edges, bam! pattern. like these:

(the chest piece was the tough part. i wanted the characteristic rounded shape so i didn't use cling wrap there, it was a lot of trial-and-error with cutting shapes out of paper, putting them against my chest, adjusting things, rinse&repeat.)

(also, the helmet - for the face shield i got these v cheap plastic masks that were advertised as lawn mowing masks (???), then tried to dye them black with Rit Dye for synthetics. that was a Whole Ordeal & my best try still turned out too see-through & more orange-tinted than i liked, but i was out of time so (shrug emoji). & for the pattern, i put on the mask + a beanie before wrapping my head in cling wrap dkjfgn)

i cut the patterns into shapes that could be flattened & copied them onto paper (to be able to transfer them onto foam more easily):

ACTUALLY MAKING THE PIECES:

the annoying part: outlining all patterns on the foam and cutting them out with a box cutter. This Sucks. then, shaping them with the heat gun. This Doesn't Work As Well As It's Supposed To. then, glueing the pieces together with contact glue. This Takes Ages.

(& it's like. near-impossible glueing them so the seams don't look terribly obvious 😭 i'm sure there's a way to cover it up well, but the method i tried (foam clay) worked Eh at best)

oh right also the. thingy around the neck. that's just a tube made out of some leggings i was gonna throw out. filled with a bunch of cotton i stole from a pillow. improvise adapt overcome

ATTACHING IT ALL:

That's Velcro, Baby 👍 it's either glued onto the foam or sewed onto the straps Everywhere. it's how the forearm & thigh & lower leg pieces close, how the chest & back pieces connect, how the face shield's made removable. Velcro All The Way Down.

the 2 exceptions: the thigh pieces are attached to a belt with some straps bc they kept sliding off; & the tiny armor pieces on my feet have a loop of string glued on the inside that i just pulled my shoelaces through

PAINTING:

the issue with EVA foam is that it absorbs stuff v easily, so before painting it i had to prime it (aka cover it in 2-4 protective layers of wood glue). then for actual painting, i sprayed all the pieces with 2 layers of universal lacquer (outside on some cardboard ofc). here it is all drying in the garage (bc it stank 💀):

and that's it!!!! done!!!! a bit over a month of work in total :]

#thank u for asking! hope it all makes sense (and if it doesnt i'd be happy to answer more questions)#going to bed now tho gn

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fuck-customers · 1 year ago

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i hate when customers just assume i work in a specific department just because im standing there. like my dude, you see me here with this big ass pick cart that says online shopping on it? do i look like i work in fucking lawn and garden? do i look like i have keys to unlock that playstation for you? no??? holy shit i wonder why

Posted by admin Rodney.

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omgwhatchloe · 13 days ago

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MODERN AU MACSUMMERS HEADCANONS!!

sean has his drivers license and lenny doesnt, which means he owns the car they take everywhere. he has filled it with so much junk, like toolboxes, ladders, a blender, empty food wrappers, pillows etc that no one can sit in the back.

“sean you gotta clean this car out.”

“why would i do that when it doesn’t bother me? it bothers you so you do it.”

“…no.”

lenny loves to watch all kinds of movies he sees on tiktok and since sean doesnt want to be alone he will lie and watch with him. but then he gets bored and plays on his phone, climbs on lenny, complains etc

“i don’t understand this is really boring…”

“its not boring you just have to watch it to understand-”

“but its just people talking its so boring”

“sean you have to pay attention to actually get it”

“ITS BEEN ON FOR HOURS AND I DONT GET IT”

“ITS BEEN ON FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES SEAN”

similarly lenny loves to go to the theatre/cinema so he can review movies and sean loves to go with him just to be there but then ALSO GETS JUST AS BORED after eating 3 quarters of the popcorn and drinking all his slushy. he says he “needs the bathroom” but lenny knows hes going for a wander around and is glad so he isn’t bothered anymore.

“i can’t get any signal lenny”

“you dont need to be on your phone anyway”

“just checking if my da’s messaged me…”

“sean be quiet”

“this is a bit crap isn’t it?”

“no, its really well made-will you just be quiet?”

“i need a wee.”

lenny makes the foodshopping orders because sean just adds a bunch of random things he likes the look of but won’t even eat.

“i don’t think we need that much oreo cereal…”

“i like it lenny”

“you don’t even eat cereal anymore because your teeth are too sensitive!”

“well what about when jack comes round?”

“…and why would jack eat our cereal?”

sean brought home a cat once and lenny was very annoyed because he thought they didn’t need the extra responsibility. two weeks later and lenny is more obsessed with the cat than sean.

“look sean he’s asleep”

“…oh aye.”

“awwh he purrs in his sleep!”

“yeah.”

“look sean, hes laying on the blanket too!”

“…i thought you didn’t like him!”

their apartment is very small and cramped, but they love it amd don’t ever see themselves moving into a house. sean is actually quite obsessed with the interior because he wants to show his da on his next visit how nice their apartment looks. he loves to go into charity shops to see what they have for decoration.

“so today i bought this wee fella to put on the mantel piece!”

“oh…is it a buddah?”

“aye!”

“lovely!”

“and i got this lady too but i don’t know where to put her because she’s quite big-”

“IS THAT A GNOME?”

lenny works at a convenience store while doing his online courses for college. sean does jobs like fixing sinks and mowing lawns for cash. whenever he’s bored, he’ll come to see lenny at work.

“did you miss me? i’ve come to save you from this shite job!”

“yes, very much, now you need to get out of the queue.”

“can i not come behind the counter?”

“no, i’ll get in trouble.”

“can you get me something for free because you work here?”

“no sean, i’ll get in trouble.”

“i’ll go help some customers for you!”

“do you not have an apartment to be tidying?”

lenny’s gallery is just filled with screenshots of sean on facetime because he’s always pulling faces or angrily ranting. they make perfect snapchat stickers that everyone in the gang ends up stealing.

“erm lenny. why does arthur have this picture of me?”

“probably from when you facetimed him…”

“im never facetiming you again you eejit”

everyone thinks sean is more likely to get into a bar fight but its actually lenny. sean has mastered the art of ignoring stupid drunks in the club from his years of experience, but lenny 3 drinks in takes offense to EVERYTHING.

“he’s challenging me.”

“he just laughed at what you said-”

“it wasn’t even FUNNY. he is ABSOLUTELY LITERALLY challenging me!”

“oh really? and i’m absolutely literally taking you home.”

lenny has baths that last for at least 3 hours and sean always comes wandering in to sit on the bathroom floor and talk to him. he even brings cups of tea in with him and shows lenny tiktoks.

“you know you’re sat in a puddle of your own filth?”

“oh like you everyday?”

“…your going to look like a raisin when you get out.”

“yeah, probably.”

“…”

“PLEASE JUST GET OUT ITS BEEN TWO HOURS”

“no”

#sorry for not touching my askbox #im extremely lazy #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #sean macguire #red dead fandom #sean rdr2 #lenny summers #macsummers

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trivialbob · 10 months ago

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@mstacobelle tagged me for the five things that make me happy list.

Admiring my lawn after I mow it on a nice summer day. Though I may be dirty and tired, the silence and feeling of accomplishment that follows pleases me. Bonus points for seeing Ella's normally white feet turned green from running through grass clippings. It's cute. Sometimes she leads me around the back yard as I push the Toro, dropping a tennis ball in front of it, forcing me to stop and throw the ball for her.

Labels facing forward inside the refrigerator, kitchen cabinets, and hall closet. When I see labels aligned properly, a calm joyfulness sweeps over me. It may stem from working at grocery stores during high school and college. Sometimes after my wife cooks or bakes I quietly check the cabinets and fridge, turning labels of things she used back to the way I like. I also have to move things back to where they belong. (Honey, condiments always go on the shelves of the left-side refrigerator door. That was clearly stated in our wedding vows.)

Listening to the Blues Brothers version of Soul Man while I'm driving.

(Longtime readers will be sick of this one) Finding pizza flavored Pepperidge Farms Goldfish Crackers at a grocery store. Oddly, the best flavor of Goldfish is poorly stocked at stores I frequent. If the pizza flavored crackers are even there, they're disrespectfully located on the bottom shelf, like cheap liquor. I know I could order them online, but I prefer grocery shopping in a store, even if my (Gold)fishing net is empty. Bonus points if the Goldfish crackers are on sale.

Getting rid of coins I find in this house and our cars. Before I go to the grocery store I gather all the loose change I can find. At the self-checkout I feed those coins in like I'm a chain-smoking retiree in front of a one armed bandit. When the coins are gone I pay the balance with plastic. Dumping in $2.87 of loose change makes me feel like I used a $2.87 coupon. It's my money, but I still feel like I got a discount.

Hearing Walker Hayes singing Fancy Like while I'm driving.

Driving my wife's car and not having to first make a beeline to the nearest gas station. That's both happiness and relief.

Hanging out at the brewery with our friends and/or dogs. Since the place first opened Sheila and I have gotten to know most of the employees and a lot of the regular customers. I can go by myself and still end up sharing a table.

Being at the airport dog park when a Boeing 777 or Airbus A330-900 approaches overhead. My dogs don't care, but I think it's cool seeing the larger airliners.

Getting our travel trailer backed in perfectly at a cool campsite, getting it leveled, then walking around with a beer, checking out other trailers and RVs, and meeting new people and dogs.

I listed more than five because I'm pretty happy in general. Also Kim, I like to under promise and over deliver!

#I guess I get carried away sometimes

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skywardfilth · 1 month ago

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i did it i got every korok in botw and totk

celebratory illustration:

proof:

ridiculously long ramble under cut

ok so last year, 2023, i was like "what if i got the very last botw korok when the clock struck midnight?" i got this idea one week before new years, and spent like 3+ hours a day korok hunting with online maps because i had like 800 left. I started a sketch of Link losing his fucking marbles to celebrate, intending to finish the drawing when i got all the koroks in totk. so this year, i decided "that went well last time lets do that again" this time two weeks in advance. but because i'm STUPID, i was more busy than i was last year, and ended up staying up until 2am and waking up at 7am just to fit koroks into my schedule. I got it on time so yay but like

this morning i fell asleep at my desk after putting the nintendo away and hallucinated i was still playing (sleep deprivation???). i got to a korok with a backpack, but instead of saying the whole "get me to my friend" thing, it was like:

"I see you have been hunting my brethren."

and then i kind of woke up so the next part was foggy but the korok was like listing numbers of koroks or smth idk. then it was like:

"do you wish to purchase bombs from my shop?"

and the shop menu appeared and this freaked me out so much i ran down two flights of stairs, out of my house's back door, to the front lawn, and screamed. then i slowly walked back wondering "am i awake right now or not?" like i legit couldn't remember. then i felt my bare feet touch the wood of the stairs to my backyard gate and i was like "omg it was all real???"

then i woke up, feet touching the ground.

the floor in my room is also wood.

in conclusion, koroks have mysterious abilities over real life dreams.

#botw #totk #koroks #the legend of zelda #i'm going to hear ya ha ha in my nightmares for weeks

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ahundredtimesover · 2 years ago

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Belong (4.5: Rewind) | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: exes-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers; actress!OC x basketball coach!Yoongi; summer romance; “long” distance relationship; parallel timelines; angst, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, family drama, sport injury; dreams & moving away; allusion to depression; basketball and acting talk; 2014 and 2022 Yoongi; shy and nonchalant cocky whipped Yoongi; almost drowning, sexual content (18+)

Chapter Word count: 6k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series summary: Being an actor has always been your dream. Pursuing it meant many things - leaving the town where you grew up, distancing yourself from your family that had fallen apart, and saying goodbye to the man who made you feel what home was like. When you decide to finally return after being away for so long, you meet Min Yoongi again, and you’re reminded of the summer romance from 8 years ago with the college basketball superstar whose broken dream pushed you away. As you find yourself spending time with him, you’re left to wonder if love changes, if it gives second chances, or if it’s just another illusion that will hurt the both of you the second time around.

Listen to: Nervous by Gavin James || Playlist 🎶

3 years ago

Yoongi’s childhood home is a one-floor house with a spacious kitchen and a nice lawn. His dad had built it for their mother as a way to keep her happy. It has a lot of the things she likes, like a big common space for everyone to gather around during meals, a vertical garden outside, and some planter boxes hanging by the windows. Half of the furniture is from the antique shop, which his dad had refurbished to fit the style of the place.

Yoongi was too young when they first moved in, but he remembers many things about it, like evenings watching talk shows and the news while they all ate and cleaned up as a family, mornings of his parents talking about different topics that got Yoongi interested in watching documentaries, and afternoons with his brother shooting hoops in their small backyard.

He also remembers the weekends you’d stayed over when he was injured, the first time you saw him break down, and the last time you walked out the door. There are memories of him ignoring his dad, arguing with his brother, and that evening when he took down the basketball ring and threw it in the trash.

He spent a whole year living here after the injury. Yoongi saw how his old man remained positive despite the pain over seeing his son struggle, how he worked hard to pay the medical bills, how he tried to make the house feel like the home he lost, even if Yoongi wasn’t sure that was possible, only because you were no longer in it, and there’s really no one to blame but him.

Things got relatively better though. After he fully recovered physically and got to save enough by helping the stores in the area digitize and selling some of his prized NBA jerseys, he moved out and rented a tiny studio apartment. He continued to help his dad at the shop, expanding its services for more income stream while also doing freelance work online. It was mentally tiring, but it helped his mind be preoccupied with things. Perhaps that’s what got him talking to his friends again; it’s what got him to go out and find other ways of moving on from all the pain that he chose to carry by himself.

It’s a Friday when Yoongi visits his old house with some groceries he bought. He got a huge payout in one of the projects he worked on and he’s been slowly paying off his dad by buying the essentials and medication, as his old man insists that there’s no debt to be paid; it’s his job to look out for his son, after all.

“Hey, dad,” Yoongi greets as he walks into the kitchen.

“Hey, son,” his dad replies, scooping them bowls of stew for dinner, a routine they’ve both developed after Yoongi moved out.

They proceed to eat, with him staring blankly down the hallway like he sometimes still does. It hasn’t been a good couple of weeks and he’s just been waiting for the next big project that would help him keep his mind off things again.

“So an old friend was in town this week and we went to this local bar,” his dad says. “It’s nice. They have live music every Thursday. A-reum was the one playing last night.”

At the mention of her name, Yoongi stills for a bit, only to hum in response.

“I asked her how she’s doing and why she hasn’t passed by the shop in a while. Imagine my surprise when she said that you two have broken up. Two months ago. And I was the clueless father who didn’t know that his son was going through another heartbreak,” his dad continues. “What happened, son? You both seemed happy. You looked happy.”

“Shit happens,” Yoongi shrugs, not keen to talk about how much of a jerk he really is. It’s enough that he knows exactly what caused him to fall out of his feelings for her; he doesn’t really want to share that with anyone else.

His dad looks at him with a hardened gaze. It isn’t that he didn’t know about the breakup; it’s more about his son’s reaction to it, how he’s looking indifferent to it as if it’s not possibly hurting him right now. It’s choosing again to go through all this by himself. Even more, it’s the fact that A-reum seemed good for him. Yoongi was smiling again, laughing again; it wasn’t the same as before but it was better than the closed-off, broken version of him.

“What happens?” The older man presses. “A fight that you didn’t want to fix? Remembering something from your old life and then shutting her out? Or was it because she wanted to chase her dreams and you let her leave you?”

If this was 2 years ago, Yoongi would’ve answered back. He would’ve argued that it wasn’t his old man’s place to accuse him like that, even if he has all the reasons to, given Yoongi’s track record. But instead, he just looks down, eyes sullen as he thinks of the night he told her that he no longer felt the same, and that it was better if they continued with their lives separately.

“That’s kind of out of line,” he replies, respectfully.

His dad sighs, suddenly feeling guilty about making assumptions, especially when he knows how hard his son struggled, and how he worked just as hard to be better.

“I’m sorry, son, I just—”

“It’s okay, dad. They’re not baseless accusations,” Yoongi interjects. They’re what happened with you, after all.

“I just… don’t want you to keep pushing away people who love you, who want to be there for you,” his old man says. “It’s an exhausting thing to do at such a young age. You’ve got so much life to live. You can’t be scared forever.”

“I know. It was my fault. There’s still a lot I still can’t let go of,” Yoongi explains, even if there are more reasons behind it. “But I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s hard, sure, but I can manage. You don’t have to worry. I promised I’d reach out if it gets too much.”

“Okay, then,” his dad concedes. It’s progress from before, if he’s being honest, and this is always better than having his son crying on his own and completely shutting everyone out. “How was your day then?”

Dinner continues without the tension from earlier. Both men even get a laugh in. Perhaps Yoongi’s just much better at compartmentalizing now, or maybe he’s picked up a few acting tips from you. But either way, it keeps his dad from asking more. Breaking up with his girlfriend because she reminds him so much of you isn’t exactly in the list of Yoongi’s proudest moments; he’d carry this thought in his grave if he has to.

His old man heads to the couch while Yoongi insists on cleaning up. He washes the dishes, throws out the trash, and organizes all the groceries he’s bought. By the time he joins his dad, he could already hear the snores from next to him. Yoongi lets him be, knowing it’s been a tiring week, and proceeds to watch the show that’s on TV.

It takes a while for him to register that it’s you on the talk show, along with your co-stars from a recently-concluded series where you starred in a supporting role. His dad watched the show religiously; he was probably waiting for this segment before he fell asleep.

The cast consists of mostly veteran actors and you’re the youngest of them all, and so most of the questions addressed to you are about your feelings acting alongside people you look up to and if you felt any fear going into this project.

“Any time I star on a show is terrifying, only because I’m afraid to fail,” you answer. “It means so much to me to be given this chance and I have to tell myself that I can’t waste this opportunity. I only will if I let the fear take over, and that’s like betraying all my hard work, you know? I have to remind myself that I’m meant to take up this space. My agency, my friends, my colleagues - they all helped me get here. Giving in to the fear feels like I’m letting them down, too, and they don’t deserve that.”

The host seems in awe with your answers, so do your co-stars who pat you on the back and remark that you’ve always been very mature, that you’re a hard worker as much as you’re talented, and that they didn’t feel like you were new to the industry with how bold you were.

You cover your face in amusement while they all look fondly at you. You have that smile on, the one where you’re a little embarrassed over being praised, but Yoongi can sense that you’re also a little emotional over hearing what your colleagues think of you.

It’s the first time he’s watching you get interviewed and he’s a little emotional as well, seeing you get flustered but look proud. He listened to you talk about all these things - what shows you want to act in, which actors you want to work with, the attitude you want to bring into every project. You once told him that you admired him for being brave for dreaming, but he never got to tell you the same. He thinks you’re much braver than he ever would be. You loved him fiercely and certainly, after all, and he’d been the scared one who couldn’t do the same.

He stands by his decision that letting you go meant he loved you too much to keep you suffering with him, but sometimes he can’t help but think that maybe he’d been greedy, that his love had been selfish, that his selflessness made him decide for the both of you, and that ultimately pulled you both apart. Seeing you in the same room with people you admire eases that thought a little bit, but it’s your words that hit him harder.

What’s hard work if he doesn’t get to reap the benefits? Perhaps it’s one reason why the injury hurts more than just physically; it’s hard to explain how something so devastating can rip one’s soul, especially when he’d spent years molding his life around basketball only for him to lose his space in its world.

It continues to pain him; he aches for the death of his dream. But it’s the people around him who suffered greatly because he’d given in to the fear of living life without the sport he’d loved greatly. You hurt the most because of it; his family and friends continue to see him without the light in his eyes anymore. He’d hate to think that everyone who’d supported him from when he was able, to when he was broken would think that they haven’t been enough. He’d only wanted to shield them all from how dark it was in his mind so only he gets to shoulder it; perhaps selflessness can actually be selfish, too.

His thoughts are disrupted when your name is called again. The host asks what advice you could give to young aspirants who are just starting or have yet to put one foot on the door of this industry.

“I’m just like them,” you chuckle, a little shy. “I’m still finding my way.”

“But you’ve at least done something,” the host says. “Hearing it from someone close to their age or someone they can relate with may resonate more with them than from the veterans who’ve been doing this for years.”

Your co-stars agree and encourage you to talk, so you take the mic and address the viewers.

“To the young ones in school training to become an actor, or doing this for fun, or exploring the possibility of doing this for a living, I’m telling you now, it’s not always gonna be easy nor glamorous,” you start. “It’s gonna hurt sometimes, you’ll face rejection; you might even feel like it may not be worth it. Remember that it’s all part of the ride. It’s pretty amazing most of the time, especially when you love and respect your craft. Just keep working hard and turn to the people who’ll dream your dream with you.”

Yoongi notices the way your smile fades a little, even more when you say the next words, as if they’re hurting you and giving you peace at the same time.

“But if it gets too much, remember that it’s okay to give up, too. That doesn’t make you weak nor a failure nor a coward,” you continue. “Giving something up decisively takes courage. And you worked hard. The people who love you will love you no matter what.”

A lone tear falls down Yoongi’s cheek. If he was being delusional, he’d think you meant to say the words to him. Maybe the guys still talk to you; perhaps they told you about how he’d stopped playing basketball altogether, how he doesn’t like watching or talking about it anymore, and how he’d given up any bit of dream related to it. And maybe that hurt you, too, and that’s why you’re saying this, perhaps hoping in some way, it will get to him.

He turns off the TV and walks to his room. It hits him when he looks around, the love he once displayed for the sport no longer there. The empty walls that used to be full of posters, the rusty shelf that used to house his trophies, the closet that was once filled with jerseys that he’d sold. He didn’t give it up decisively. He gave it up fearfully and helplessly, because as he looks at this place that’s devoid of what once was his dream, all he feels is pain and guilt.

He misses the sport terribly, and being without it has hurt him more than anything.

Yoongi gets the posters he’d kept under his bed. Some of them have tears in them, most are crumpled. But he meticulously tapes and flattens them before posting them on his walls again, feeling his room come alive once more. He retrieves all his trophies from the big trash bag in the corner, taking each one out and placing them on the shelves.

From inside his closet, he unfolds the 2 remaining jerseys he didn’t have the heart to sell - the MJ one that his mother left for him, and the Allen Iverson one that you got him for your anniversary. He hangs them inside, his fingers tracing the Sixers logo of the one from you, and he allows himself to remember how playing made him feel so happy and free. But more than anything, he lets himself remember the excitement he’d get whenever he watched the sport, whenever he’d talk about or analyze it, whenever he’d think about it, and then a smile graces his face.

Not playing professionally may be an unrealized dream now. He’s in his late 20s with only a college career to be proud of. He’s accepted some time ago that his knee won’t be the same anymore, but he doesn’t need that to enjoy the sport. He still loves it whether he shoots the ball or watches someone else do it.

As he looks around his room, he feels that bit of excitement once again, and all it took was an interview he didn’t intend to watch of the woman whose love he’ll always hold onto for him to realize that he doesn’t want to give all this up. It’ll always pull him back in. If he can’t let it go decisively, then he won’t do it at all, not when it’s what could get him back on his feet again, even if it’s what tore him apart in the first place.

He pulls out his phone and texts his brother.

[To: Geumjae] Are you free in the morning? Can you go to the park with me to shoot around?

[To: Geumjae] I miss it. I think I’m ready

[From: Geumjae] Of course. I’ll drive out and see you tomorrow.

[From: Geumjae] I’m happy for you. Love you.

Being back in his university’s basketball court makes Yoongi feel nostalgic. He spent 4 amazing years making this place his home. He’d had most of his best moments here, like the 3 championships he won with his team. It feels a little weird to be in here all those years later, no longer in the maroon and white jersey that he used to sport but in business casual clothes, as the team’s coach officially welcomes him to the team.

Right after he snapped out of a 3-year long pity party, he played for the first time with his brother. He definitely missed the feel of the ball in his hand and the sound of the net swooshing when he shoots. He still got it, his brother had said, and it felt good to hear it. He wouldn’t deny that he can still shoot pretty well, but he was also practical enough to know that he couldn’t sustain it. His knee still feels stiff at times - a normal occurrence as the doctor had told him - and he’d get tired more easily, but the joy came back. The fear didn’t.

After that, Yoongi went back to watching basketball again, from the NBA to the national and university leagues. He discovered the online space for sports analyses, and he got sucked into its world. He’d comment on articles constantly and make his own, and he’s glad he did because it’s what ultimately landed him this job. One of his former coaches saw what he’d been saying and was impressed; Yoongi’s basketball IQ and unique way of looking at the game haven’t changed, the older man said.

That was 5 months ago and so much has changed since then but he’s proud of how he got back on his feet. There’s a different type of drive now, as he watches the team scrimmage as part of their training. Seeing their passion and hunger for success is inspiring, and the thought of bringing home another crown for the school with them excites him. It’s a new aspiration, and he’ll work hard to make them experience what he experienced as a young player with all his hopes and his dreams. Maybe they could achieve what he couldn’t because if it wasn’t him, then it could at least be someone he helped mold.

One other change has been you, insofar as Yoongi finally watching your concluded series for the first time. His dad insisted, saying he’d watch again with his son since it’s a really good show, and not just because he adores you greatly. But Yoongi wanted his peace and chose to watch it on his own.

He felt proud seeing you on screen. You’re made for it. Your charm and energy shine through and you express emotions so genuinely. He’d ignored his brother’s teasing that he might fall for you again, with Yoongi not wanting to acknowledge the possible truth to that.

But you’re an actual celebrity now and he’s just him. He doesn’t know how your love life has been other than the rumors of you dating some actor or model, which your agency always denied. You’d said once that most of those are just PR stunts anyway and shouldn’t be believed, so Yoongi didn’t bother spending so much time thinking if you were with someone. If any, he just hoped it’s someone who trusts and respects you, and he’d be content with knowing that you’re happy, even if in the deepest cracks of his heart, he wished it was still him.

You haven’t really left his mind, if he’s being honest. His relationship with A-reum was proof of that, so is the fact that it was your interview that got him out of his self-destructive hole to restart.

But it’s tonight out of all nights, when he pulls out the lone decent-looking jacket he has that he plans to wear to the meeting with the university faculty and sports director - which also happens to be something you got him years ago - that he thinks that maybe there’s a reason why he can’t completely move on from you. He tried and he honestly continues to, but it’s not easy when much of the happiness he remembers has you in it. You show up in his dreams sometimes, too, as if the universe is reminding him that he’s okay now, that he’s at least close to the man he once was and not just a shell of it anymore, and that maybe, you’d want to grab some coffee and see where things go.

It’s what prompts him to look up the details for your upcoming movie premiere so he could go. You worked on it the same time you were filming your series, and even if your name is one of the smallest ones on the poster as a supporting character, he already knows this is incredibly important to you. It’s your first movie, it seems, and he wants to be there to wish you luck and let you know he’s proud of you, and that if this is where your shared heartbreak led you, then he knows there’s no way he’d regret letting you go those years ago.

The woman staring back at you is someone you almost don’t recognize. Other than the glamorous champagne-colored dress that you’re wearing, there’s a smile that you haven’t seen in a long while, too. In over 3 years, to be exact. A heartbreak does that, you suppose. Your biggest supporting role in a series that wrapped up a few months ago felt too surreal for you, and you’d gone through the promotions for that feeling anxious; you barely had time nor energy to appreciate yourself nor the experience.

You do now. After the praises for your performance then and the ones from your colleagues for this, you feel that you at least deserve to smile, that you can truly claim for yourself that you’re on the way to big things, even if you know you’re far from it. You’re the most junior out of the entire cast, after all, and you’re more like a supporting role to the supporting role. You’re in the credits, at least, and you got to act alongside some of the people you look up to once more.

It’s premiere night and that calls for a big event. Jimin, your newly-hired personal assistant slash stylist, knocks on your door to say that the car is ready. You exit your room and drive from your humble apartment to the venue, feeling giddy and nervous.

“Looks like there are lots of fans tonight,” Jimin says from the passenger seat, getting news from his phone. “There’s a long line inside and outside. I heard it’s a packed cinema, too.”

“Well, it’s Song Hye-kyo. What do you expect?” You giggle. “When she’s your lead, there’s bound to be a score of fans. But that’s good for me, right? They’re there for her. I’ll just be fading into the background and no one will even notice.”

“Why would you want that?” Jimin looks at you curiously.

“You know why.”

Your unsure smile informs him of the reason and he understands. It’s gonna be tricky but you decided to not hide anymore starting tonight. You want that freedom, and you want it soon.

“But also, I’m still not used to it,” you continue. “It’s my first movie and I’m just a small part of it but it’s all still new to me. I don’t want people’s attention if it’s me looking overwhelmed, you know?”

“You’re gonna be fine, ___,” Jimin assures you. “You at least still look pretty when you look like that.”

“Hmm, that’s oddly encouraging,” you chuckle, seeing the scores of fans in the lobby before your driver heads straight to the VIP parking.

Jimin opens the door for you and leads you through the entrance. “Blow them away with your beauty, okay? I’ll see you shortly.”

You’re led towards a waiting room for the lesser-known actors, which you don’t mind. The big-name ones have their own and you’ll probably only speak with them during the afterparty later. Right now, you’re talking with your co-stars while getting a retouch of your makeup, and it helps ease your worries a bit. All you need to do is walk out to the red carpet with them and hope that the people at least cheer for you. You can worry about how you fared in the movie later on.

It’s an hour later when it starts. You walk towards the doors that exit to where the hosts and crowd are, already hearing their cheers as you wait. There’s 6 of you and cheers erupt when your names are called. You all walk out and wave at them, definitely overwhelmed by the camera flashes and shrieks of the people but you remain calm and professional, smiling the entire time and greeting them calmly. It’s more than you expected and you’re just happy to be experiencing this for the first time. It’s a moment you definitely won’t forget, and you’re glad you can at least share this with someone right after.

Your group is briefly interviewed before you’re led out to the other side to go back to the waiting room; you’ll all go to the cinema in an hour after all the actors have been introduced and interviewed. You take a detour, though, knowing you can’t really wait any longer. All the fans are inside the hall, waiting for the big stars to come out so the hallway leading to one of the building exits is empty. It’s accessible to the public but you already know that no person in their right mind would be here, so it’s the perfect spot.

You enter and wait only a few minutes before you hear your name being called. Turning around, you see him, and you feel even more excited.

“You looked gorgeous out there,” Min-kyu greets as he hugs you right away.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you giggle in his ears. “Thank you. Did I stutter?”

“Nope, you sounded great, too,” he chuckles, taking your hand. “I’m really proud of you. I’m happy I get to be here, and that we could decide on this together. I can’t have people linking you with someone else again when I’m right here.”

“You mean when I’m right here,” you tease, seeing as he’s the one always being rumored to be with some model. You place his hands on your waist as you continue. “It won’t be so hard anymore after tonight.”

“Okay. Well then, I don’t want to keep you,” he responds. “Someone might see us. But I’ll sneak in next to you in the cinema, alright?”

“Got it,” you smile giddily. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

You kiss him goodbye and assure him that you’ll see him shortly.

It’s the sound of a door closing that alarms you, breaking you out of your little bubble with the man you’ve been cozying up with for the past 7 months. It’s perhaps your longest relationship, if you could even categorize the previous ones as such. Andrew was a 3-month long fling, Ki-yong was a half-year on-off whatever, and Min-kyu has been the only one so far that you haven’t had any issues with. You’re unsure for how long it’s gonna last, but one reason why you don’t want to keep hiding anymore is because he gets linked to any woman he so much as says hi to. If whoever walked in your little PDA just now decides to do something about it before you do, then the timing wouldn’t be too far apart.

“Do you think someone saw us just now?” You ask.

“If anyone did, we’re too far for them to take any photos,” he reasons. “If they saw anything, there wouldn’t be any proof. But that won’t matter much after tonight, yeah?”

“I guess so,” you smile. “But they’re gone, so let’s go.”

You head out separately after fixing yourself, the giddy feeling from his kiss evaporating once you’re back in your world, knowing you’ll reunite with him again later. It’s a good distraction more than anything, as your mind wanders for a millisecond how it would be like if someone else were here with you, celebrating your first movie together. But that’s not your life anymore. This is. You’d like to think it’s a hundred times better than the one you left behind.

Yoongi stares at the door he’d just walked out of after seeing you in another man’s arms, something he didn’t intend to witness.

He’d seen you walk down the red carpet then proceed to the left, and he’d been too far out to catch up to you. It’s a Song Hye-kyo movie so he knows that everyone’s gonna be waiting for her, and it’s probably why the path towards one of the hallways is empty. He doesn’t know what he was thinking following you, and looking back now, he’s unsure why he thought coming to your movie premiere without you knowing was even a good idea. But after feeling stupidly hopeful that something could come out of him showing up after letting you go, he decided to come, to drive from Daegu, dress up nicely, and be swift enough to go after you before security takes him away.

He does see you. With your arms around a man who makes you laugh and clearly makes you happy. He looks like that actor who’s being rumored with a bunch of different women, but it seems like he’s locked on you. Yoongi could only hope he isn’t cheating on you or anything; that would be worse than what he’s feeling right now, and he’s feeling pretty terrible. And stupid.

Even more as he looks at the bouquet of daisies he’s holding, something that he planned to give to you to celebrate your first movie premiere. It’s probably the plainest flower out there and there are definitely more that would suit you, like dahlias and marigolds and roses - all breathtakingly beautiful and deserving of being at the center of everything just like you are.

But he’d noticed those years ago how your eyes always turned to daisies whenever you entered a flower shop. Anyone would miss it, but Yoongi’s attention is on you a lot of the time, and he’s seen your gaze linger on it, especially as they’re placed as supporting decor to a grand arrangement. He thinks it’s perhaps your way of wishing for a simple life behind all this glamor, and that somewhere in your heart, you desire someone who could give you something just as simple, perhaps someone like him.

It’s why he decided to pass by the fanciest flower shop he could find earlier and get this, so he could tell you that you could achieve whatever it is you dream of, no matter how big or small, how grand or simple. And that no matter how high you go, he’ll always be rooting for you in every way he can.

It doesn’t seem right to still be giving this to you, he thinks, but then again, it’s not like he expected to get back together just because he decided to show up unannounced on what is a big day for you. He won’t deny that he didn’t think about it, though, but he really just wanted to catch up, maybe tell you that you helped him get back on his feet. And that he’s incredibly proud of you, and that he believes you’ll just get better and bigger from here.

But as the scene of you looking happy with another man who could probably give you much more than he ever could replays in his mind, Yoongi is reminded that it’s not his place anymore, that he does not have a place in your life anymore. He made that call when he broke things off, and he doesn’t have the right to ask you for anything else after that. Even if it’s just your time.

So he walks out of the hall and into his car where he stays for a good half hour, trying to figure out what to do. He eventually decides to still give it, without the burden on you knowing it’s from him.

And that’s what he does, as he waits at your agency building lobby the next morning for the reception to clear the flowers. He’d spent the night at a hostel and was close to just throwing it and forgetting this whole thing even happened, but he braved through it until he’s unable to back out now.

“No card?” The man asks.

Yoongi looks at the piece of cardboard that he took out right before he gave the bouquet.

I’m so proud of you, ___. So much time has passed and I’m doing better. I can see that you are, too. I was in the city and thought, for old time’s sake - would you like to grab some coffee?

He slips it in his pocket and answers, “no card. But could you write ___’s name on the envelope?”

The man hums in agreement. “And who do I say this is from?”

“I’d like to remain anonymous.”

The man looks at him warily before he nods and writes your name as the only indicator that it’s for you. No other message and no trace of the sender.

“Okay, all good.”

“Thank you,” Yoongi says, walking out the building to head to his car and drive back to Daegu.

He decides to eat at a nearby convenience store, and that’s when he sees the news that confirms everything he saw last night.

Rumors no more: Actors Kim Min-kyu and ___/___ confirm 7-month relationship.

Yoongi reads the headlines over and over again, the scene from last night haunting him once more. He doesn’t know why he thought that still giving you the flowers, even anonymously, was a good idea, even more now that you’ve been dating this man for longer than he imagined.

You’ve been that happy for 7 months now. It doesn’t seem right to still insert himself like that.

He rushes towards the agency again to try to retrieve the bouquet and take it all back. He’s at the end of the street, a sprint away from the building but then he stops at the sight of you exiting. With the flowers in your arms.

There’s that crinkled smile of yours that he’s missed so much. You’re looking at the daisies with such softness, like you’re truly appreciating it, and Yoongi’s heart melts at the sight. You may not know it’s from him and perhaps that’s the best part, but it’s the thought that you seem to really like it, especially when a blond-haired man stands next to you and hands you a bouquet of roses, which you smell and smile at before returning it to him. You cradle the daisies, shrugging when you try to retrieve a card that isn’t there, and Yoongi’s relieved that of all the stupid things he’s done the past 12 hours, leaving the card out was the smartest thing he did.

A car arrives and you enter, leaving Yoongi still at the end of the street to watch you drive away, perhaps out of his life for good, at least until your next premiere where he’ll probably give you the flowers again.

He hopes that with them, you get to feel the care he has for you that never withered, that on your lowest days, you think of the admirer who believes that your love for daisies is something that matters.

Your car disappears from his sight. He resigns to this next new life without you - the one where you’re happy where you are and he’s trying to be. He’ll admire you from afar until he gets to move on from you completely.

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notnotafangirl · 1 year ago

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Imagining Scully arriving home to find this gem on the lawn of the unremarkable house and taking away Mulder’s online shopping privileges.

#txf #the x files #fox mulder #dana scully #unremarkable house

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candiid-caniine · 1 year ago

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omg. just had the meanest idea. I'm idly shopping for dog clickers online to start my clicker training era and apparently there's a type called a cricket clicker. idk what it's for but my very literal brain thought:

Gods...what if I was clicker trained to hit the edge when I hear the noise. except instead of a clicking noise it's to a recording of a cricket chirp.

imagine the HELL that would be in the spring and summer. I have gone this whole summer in our house hearing crickets. for hours at a time.

just. you wouldn't be able to take me anywhere in the mornings or evenings. I'd be trying to wheel up the lawn for work and id just hear crickets and would speed double time to get inside lmao. I'd be glad to be in a wheelchair, sitting down, for how many times id hit the edge in a row....

#h/d #denial #dizzy #only barks #i sorta have a Thing for insects that i would absolutely never act on obviously #but i. the fact that training me like this would remind me of the humiliation i feel for fantasizing about bugs once in a blue moon #tw: insects #exh

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battleangel · 9 months ago

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AI & Palestine

Only mass movements and violence -- throughout all of human history -- have ever resulted in change.

People in power who have power giving up some or all of that power -- CEOs, politicians, the 1%, millionaires & billionaires, world leaders, generals, owners, commissioners, founders, investors, dictators -- to the people they are oppressing -- workers, proletariat, minorities, people of color, black & brown people, LGBTQ people, poor people.

Revolutions, rebellions, insurrections, civil unrest, Montgomery boycott, sit-ins, marches, rallies, protests, hunger fasts, strikes, kidnappings, hostages, threats, demands, terrorism, bombings, bioterrorism, EMP attacks, hacking, picket lines.

On campus, at work, on the White House lawn, state capital, factory floor, Trump Plaza, at the polls, during Presidential and papal visits, during elections.

The only thing that does and has work throughout all of recorded human history is mass movements in the hundreds of thousands and millions and violence.

What doesnt actually work, what doesnt cause change, what has never resulted in people with power giving up some or all of that power in any way, shape or form in any situation is petitions, online signatures, phone calls, emails, tweets, hashtags, "raising awareness", debates, talks, "negotiations", "agreements", "bilateral" talks, treaties.

The above so-called "peaceful measures" only lead to more oppression, exploitation, violence, civilian slaughter, dehumanization, propaganda, hate campaigns, colonizing, empire building, endless wars, genocides, ethnic cleansings, mass graves, rape squads, tortures, atrocities, war crimes, crimes against humanity, mass arrests, cutting off humanitarian aid, massacres, concentration camps, apartheid, mass unemployment, unlawful curfews, overextracting earths resources, forced relocations, mass starvation, engineered famines, childhood suicides, loss of sewage and filtration systems, loss of medicine and medical supplies, schools hospitals and residential areas being carpet bombed, grandmothers being raped on Facebook Live, children being killed on TikTok, genocides streaming live to your phone in real time on Twitter alongside the Met Gala, tens of thousands murdered and buried under rubble that will take decades to unearth, banned biological warfare including phosphorous burning literal holes through civilians skin, 24/7 traumatization as the US funds genocide that is being recorded and streamed in social media in real time against the will of nearly 70% of the tax-paying populace, children eating animal feed because they are being starved on a mass scale, boys and men being stripped naked beaten tortured and exposed to the elements then murdered, pamphlets warning millions of civilians to evacuate before the attack begins when their only escape route into Egypt has already been blocked, an entire generation of children lost traumatized orphaned starved injured hurt oppressed radicalized hated murdered tortured suicide'd . . .

What gets promoted?

The stuff that doesnt work.

Whats legal?

The stuff that doesnt work.

What doesnt get promoted?

Yes there have been marches in Washington for Palestine but true watershed moments are made difficult by the fact that in a capitalist society during the week everyone is at work.

If its on the weekend, Western capitalist societies especially AmeriKKKa are obsessed with competition, organized sports, being busy for the sake of being busy, mindlessness, socializing and errands so if the march is on the weekend, most people will be grocery shopping, clothes shopping, at the mall, at the movies, at a restaurant, at a hair or nail salon, getting a massage, attending kids sports games or dance recitals or plays or martial arts competitions, at the library, at a museum, at an amusement park, at a park, at the beach, at a bar, at a nightclub, at a friends house, at a party, watching a sports game, streaming a show or movie, gaming, scrolling social media, messaging on discord or Whatsapp, going to a play, mowing the lawn, doing the laundry, planning meals for the week, raking leaves, going to church -- endless mindless distractions and busying of the self so who is really traveling to Washington DC for a march for Palestine?

Yes, thousands show up but it isnt enough to disrupt the matrix.

It has to be a mass movement of the people -- hundreds of thousands, not tens, or millions -- for a protest, boycott, strike, march, rally to actually work.

A few thousand people boycotting McDonalds, Starbucks and Disney for Palestine isnt even a rounding error.

Neither is a few people of conscience quitting Google over the cloud AI technology being used to track and surveil Palestinian civilans for Israel.

A few million, however, would impact the bottom line.

Biden was asked if the student protests had made him reconsider his position on Palestine and his immediate, emphatic answer was an unqualified and unmitigated no.

Why do you think that is? Students have been and will continue to be arrested.

Protest encampments will be ripped up and taken down.

Graduations will happen.

Classes will resume.

Netanyahu said "hostilities" (its a genocide, you Hitlerian fuck) will continue for at least six months, suspiciously close to the US election in October.

Why do you think that is?

Does that sound like someone who is sincerely considering a "permanent ceasefire" to you?

Its almost like Biden and Netanyahu have already planned this genocide out regardless of student protests, nearly 70% of Americans wanting a permanent ceasefire and over 3 million calls to Congressmembers by American citizens demanding a permanent ceasefire.

42k dead Palestinian civilians, 4k dead Israeli civilians.

That is a genocide by any definition yet Netanyahu isnt budging and despite Biden using supposedly "tougher language", he hasnt stopped shipping weapons to Israel or sending funding to Israel.

So, ofcourse Rafah got invaded and ofcourse Israel continues to commit genocide against the Palestinians with total and complete impunity.

Israel is already displacing and forcibly relocating Palestinians, forcibly establishing Israeli settlements and building oil wells on the Gaza Strip.

The Gaza Strip has more oil per square kilometer than any place on earth.

Do you think its possible that all this death and destruction is about what its always been about -- money?

Specifically in this instance, oil.

This is a very, very old story that we have seen time and time again with US military involvement in the Middle East.

The Gulf War was not about liberating anyone from Saddam Hussein.

The Iraq War had nothing to do with 9/11, which was an inside job.

Israel is committing a US-funded genocide against Palestine for the same reasons the Gulf War and Iraq Wars were fought -- money (oil), colonial ideology, Western supremacy, military might and expansionism.

As Biden said in the 80s, if Israel didnt exist, "we would have had to invent her."

Ask yourself who "we" is.

So, whats the answer?

The answer is there is no easy answer because a patriarchal, misogynistic, hegemonic, militaristic, colonialist, white supremacist, capitalist state is going to be inherently set up by design to oppress, annihilate, expolit, dehumanize, suppress, repress, colonize, enslave, conquer, slaughter, murder and self propagate its own myth.

Its set up that only a few people hold and can gain access to the levers of power.

Why wont you see Cornel West or Claudia and Karina on the debate stage this fall?

Why are the choices Biden, Trump and Bernie again?

Why have all U.S. Presidents -- hundreds of them -- all descended from the same UK royal bloodline?

Do you know who the Reptilians are?

It doesnt mean give up.

It means realizing resistance and struggle are lifelong endeavors. Muhammad Ali and Malcolm X were in Palestine protesting in solidarity with their brown oppressed brothers in the 1970s -- whats changed?

Layoffs are cyclical, on purpose and follow a predictable pattern meant to disrupt, unnerve and keep workers in control, desperate, afraid, off-kilter and on the corporate hamster wheel.

Wars are cyclical and on purpose just like mass layoffs are.

Layoffs have nothing to do with the economy and wars have nothing to do with freedom.

Its about exploitation, wealth hoarding, empire building, fear, control, manipulating, amassing and mainting power, hegemony, patriarchy, militarism, white supremacy, police state, fascism, unregulated free markets and exploitative capitalism, monopolies, monoliths, kingdoms, Western Civilization, the Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, The Age of AI, robotics . . .

They are really gearing up with AI and robotics.

Studies have demonstrated that 80% of current jobs will be replaced within the next five years with advances in AI & robotics.

So, what happens to people that were doing those jobs?

I believe the relentless endless obnoxious and fucking nauseating push for all things AI & robotics is leading to the following scenario in the next five years:

Once 80% of current jobs have been replaced with AI and robotics, people will be offered jobs to do what they are already doing -- use social media, online gaming and Metaverse (which will be rolled out already) -- and they will be paid as "User Researchers", to fill out surveys and give feedback on their daily experiences using social media, online gaming and the Metaverse and to test out functionality and usability of new features.

What UBI (Universal Basic Income) should have been for all adult US citizens will instead go to these User Researchers. I predict they will borrow from proposed UBI models and pay these User Researches a $1k a month and provide them with healthcare.

The real purpose of these jobs will be to make people even more obsessed and dependent upon social media, online gaming and the coming Metaverse than they already are. Instead of breaking to go to work, now this is their work so there is no break from it Monday through Friday -- they will be addicted.

They will be so addicted that even on the weekends, they will choose to stay inside online -- social media, gaming and Metaverse -- instead of going out and about, socializing, exercising, going for a walk, shopping, movies, going to eat, sports, plays, etc.

VR will be huge at this point and all of the above can be experienced virtually so why leave your house or apartment.

Naturally, there will be people who occupied the 80% of jobs that were eliminated by AI and robotics that wont have an interest in being User Researchers for social media, online gaming or the Metaverse.

I predict they will get the equivalent of retirement packages since their actual functional roles no longer exist and have been replaced with AI and robotics and then I envision they will allow these people to access their 401k and social security early.

I believe User Researcher will be offered as a major in colleges and online academies. I also believe influencers will tout it as the thing to do post high school and post college. I also predict that degrees will be optional for the position and not required.

Naturally, given that these User Researchers will literally be paid for their addictions to social media, gaming and the Metaverse, as one might suspect, they will not be getting up very much from their respective couches, gaming chairs, bean bags, beds and Lay-Z boy reclining chairs and thus, by design, obesity, Type II diabetes, hypertension, atherosclerosis, heart disease and all manners of diseases caused by sedentary lifestyles will skyrocket.

A less healthy, more sedentary, more addicted to tech society than we even have know that are dependent on big tech to fund their existence.

What could possibly go wrong?

Covid was the soft reset for the Age of AI & robotics.

They got rid of countless jobs and small businesses and financially ruined many entrepreneurs and 9 to 5'ers.

Paradoxically, at the same time we were being told that we couldnt go into the office because Covid, yet somehow fast food and big box retail were deemed "emergency services" (like hospitals and pharmacies???) so that mostly black and brown impoverished people who statistically are more immunocompromised and less healthy were constantly exposed to the dangers of Covid as many customers refused to mask up.

Soft reset. Control, fear campaigns, paradoxes, paradigms, millions dead, percentage wise mostly black brown impoverished, elderly and immunocompromised.

Exactly who costs the government the most with Medicare, Medicaid, SNAP & EBT and exactly who they wanted to get rid of.

TikTok was a catalyst for this.

Peoples attention span on average is 3 seconds now -- 3!

That is unprecedented in all of human history.

We were not designed to constantly process 1 to 5 second videos.

They overloaded us by design to shortcircuit our attention spans and shorten our minds.

The average song now is 2 to 3 minutes long.

Ten years ago, the average song was 4 minutes long.

Do you see whats happening?

Do you see what they've done on purpose?

Does anyone remember the Super Bowl shooting at the Chiefs parade earlier this year?

If you noticed, there was an extremely short news cycle regarding the Super Bowl parade shooting. Much shorter than other shootings. And it was the Chiefs, the NFL's reigning Super Bowl champions.

Even five years ago, that would have been news for a week.

It was literally reported on for a day or two and then dropped and never reported on again.

Why do you think that is?

This years Super Bowl had 150 ads. Think about that. In about 3.5 hours.

Five years ago, the Super Bowl had 100 ads.

Why do you think that is?

Who are the Reptilians?

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