#like i get it i like pretending to be stupid too

[goddamnitmahtin]

Wait for Me

Ok so AU where Jason remembers being dead and remembers what he did while he was dead. And now that he’s back? He’s fucking pissed. He doesn’t actually pay attention to anything while he’s with the league. All of his self preservation? Gone. He just wants to die again and be with his Ghost King boyfriend. That’s all!

…

Jason huffed as Robin pushed him out of the way of the bus. Goddamn it. He was so close that time. The stupid kid. Ruining his chances.

Jason didn’t even really care that he had been replaced. He had expected it. B was never sentimental and Jason was never anything more than a sidekick anyways. He was replaceable. That was already proven. Batman always had a Robin. It didn’t really matter who Robin was. It was a title, not a person.

After pretending to be thankful for the save, Jason decided to go back to the league. Ra’s was like super evil but he was also a dumbass. It wasn’t hard to set him off. Maybe he could get Ra’s to kill him if he was lucky. Probably not. Since Talia and Damian were there. Ra’s wasn’t really much of a man. Nothing more than an idiot who didn’t want to die. The complete opposite of Jason.

He knew Talia and Damian were concerned with his behavior. The only reason he was dipped in the pit in the first place was to spite the Batman. Hoping he would be out for blood. He wasn’t stupid. But instead of getting a broken boy urging for revenge, what they had gotten was a very annoyed teen with suicidal tendencies. And very strange interests.

Jason went into his room of sorts. It was the area they let him live in. He didn’t have much, just a bed and a dresser. The only reason he even lived with them at this point was because they gave him food. He had made it clear when he was brought back that he had no interest in revenge. He just wanted to be dead. It was where he belonged after all. It had upset Talia so much that she had set up a small are for him to live in right where she could always see him. Almost like League of Assassins’ version of suicide watch. It didn’t stop Jason from sneaking out and trying anyways.

He grabbed a book he stole from Ra’s a week ago. He left his little sleeping area and went to find the old bastard. He threw the book at him, hitting him in the face. He could hear it as the book broke Ra’s nose. Good.

“Do you have a death wish?” he asked.

“YES!” Jason screamed, “If I don’t die soon, I’ll be too old for my boyfriend! If I die and I can’t date Danny anymore because I’m too old, I’ll haunt your death cheating ass until the timeline implodes!”

“You have some serious issues Todd,” said Damian.

Jason didn’t care, he just hoped Danny was still waiting for him like he promised. He had to get home. He HAD to die.

[kiragecko]

I recognize that I'm probably not the target of this post. Or, at least, the reblog. But, this IS on topic, even if it has a different energy!

-

It can be challenging to renavigate a relationship with a subject when your previous relationship was HEAVILY effected by a cultural context that is no longer there.

I used to dip my toes into the Harry Potter fandom despite not being able to read the books. (I read for writing style, and hers didn't work for me.) This was back in the mid-2000s, and a huge number of my peers had grown up transformed by this series. They were now adults who considered it an important childhood touchstone. Saying that I hadn't liked the writing style, but thought the ideas were cool, could offend people who thought it was EXTREMELY well written.

So I learned to enjoy the fandom from the sidelines, accepting that I was a bit of a curmudgeonly fun-killer. Keeping the grumpy bits quiet.

And then public opinion shifted, and shifted HARD.

And suddenly the carefully mapped ground was unknown again. People wanted to rant about how the writing sucked. How terrible the ideas were. Positivity got attacked. Quiet enjoyment of fan creations was seen as public support of Rowling's beliefs. Mild comments about the writing being only okay gained "agreement" that it sucked and had never been worth enjoying. There wasn't ROOM to process my opinions about her beliefs for quite a while, because I was too busy trying to figure out how to reconcile with a completely new environment, which was equally dissonant with my opinions of the book, but in very different directions and with a LOT more aggression!

The urge to talk about not liking the books was STRONG. Because I HADN'T been able too before! People got mad if I tried! But I was used to a context of people assuming the book was great, and needing to contrast what I was saying with that assumption. In this new context, where the books were stupid and full of hate and poorly written, my statements sounded REALLY different. They echoed with all sorts of other voices that I wasn't expecting to be there.

-

I rarely make absolute statements, so I didn't come off as delighting in people's suffering if it gave me a chance to be right. There are some benefits to anxiously stuffing every sentence with context and exceptions! But I have a lot of empathy for some of the people saying tone-deaf things now. Because not everyone is able to master new tones at the same speed.

Sometimes people are still processing the fact that they might not get argued with if they state that the Anansi Boys wasn't that good, and they've been wanting to complain about Anansi Boys for YEARS without having to acknowledge that they HAD enjoyed Neverwhere and Sandman. And that gets in the way of the fact that something terrible has come to light.

Or they they try to talk about how Mr. Gaiman selling Good Omens 2 always felt disingenuous. Him telling people that Terry Pratchett would have wanted him to make it. They've never said it before, because fandom should be FUN, and it was just a little thing. But they care about Mr. Pratchett's memory a lot, and it had BOTHERED them. But bringing it up now gets them accused of 'boasting', and 'pretending that they knew all along'.

And sometimes, they're trying to work through a hard topic by finding its limits. They need to be able to explore 'everything he ever did sucked' before they can accept the nuance that 'he made beautiful works and also hurt people badly'.

-

There are a lot of people who jump to easy absolutes, rather than grapple with complexity. That's who this post seems to be about, and they aren't who I'm talking about.

But, conversely, It's easy to say the 'right' things when you were never invested in a topic. And you have the social skills to pick up what the 'right' thing is.

If you already HAD complex feelings about a topic, it can be harder to throw them aside and only focus on the 'right' thing. If you WEREN'T 100% buying into someone's public image, there's a period of working through your shit that kind of needs to happen.

-

Anyways, I've always been a bit uncomfortable about Neil Gaiman. I didn't think Anansi Boys was that good, and gave up after a few chapters. I wasn't surprised when people started coming forward, because there's been a little 'be careful here' tag attached to him ever since I read about the Good Omens photo shoot where he wore black and Terry Pratchett wore white and they joked about it. Something about how Mr. Gaiman told the story.

All of that is a bit tone-deaf to bring in now, even though they're things I've had to process over the last few months. They're part of my relationship with Gaiman's works that I had pushed to the side, and now need to recontextualize, but they aren't directly about the people who have been hurt.

I didn't predict that Gaiman was a sexual predator. I've recommended Gaiman's books in the past, and think his writing is some of the most gorgeous, poetic stuff I've ever read. Neverwhere is amazing. Sandman is also amazing, even if it, too, added some warning tags to Mr. Gaiman's file in my head. I don't think I'm vindicated in any way by what happened, or that talking about my previous reservations is a sign that I was oh so enlightened.

But I'm also 40-ish? I have enough experience to recognize that the world has endless 'clues', and they should be noted down, but not trusted. Maybe the first time something like this happened, I WOULD have excitedly talked about all the puzzle pieces I had gathered, which now fit into place. (But I was offline back then, so we'll never know.)

Gaiman seems to have hurt a lot of people, and lied a lot, and broken people's trust. All of which is more important than my feelings about a disappointing book that everyone kept bafflingly hyping. But in this sudden space for processing what he's done, the pressurized stuff inside of me needs to be processed before I can focus on that new content.

So the disappointing book gets priority.

[burreauxsss]

future mrs.burrow

background : one accidental post turns heads, which leads to y/n and joe coming clean to their relationship status. not without everyone speculating and judging though.

timeline: happens a few days before the nfl honors. so if you see the tweet dates are messed up ignore it.

(all pics off of pinterest. as always pretend some of these are bengals related)

note: wrote majority of this a week ago but the thread tweet and the nfl honors posts/ pictures are from this morning (feb 8th) , thought i'd give myself a break from tongue tied too.

warning: annoying tea page lmao iykyk, not proofread either

joe burrow x black reader smau

duexmoi

❤️ 550,939 💬 13,293

Liked by: e! tmz and others

duexmoi: engaged? girlfriend of cincinnati bengals quarterback joe burrow y/n y/ln mysteriously posted a engagement ring and a bouquet of flowers then deleted the post a few seconds later.

y/n is notorious for meeting the quarterback at LSU where she then followed him to cincy in the nfl.

username_1: we all saw it coming.. right?

username_2: happy for her and joe either way.

username_3: he couldve done better.

username_4: i see how she acts around him, its like she puts on a act for that money. sign a prenup joe!!

username_5: that should be me. *load more comments*

y/n_handle

📍new orleans, la

❤️ 40,293 💬 10,111

Liked by: joeyb_9

y/n_handle: bourbon street 🤍

joeyb_9: pretty photo just like the girl behind the camera username_6: we all know about the post.. username_7: are you glad to be back in your hometown? username_8: mrs burrow just come clean rn 😭 im tired of seeing these sick fangirls on my timeline..

username_9: duexmoi just lowkey exposed you *load more comments*

y/n_handle posted a story

joeyb_9

📍new orleans, louisiana

❤️ 1m 💬 423,945

Liked by: lahjay_10 jjettas2 lsufootball y/n_handle and others

joeyb_9: it's not a good award when you're nominated for it twice, but on a serious note, thank you training staff once again for helping me get back to 100. my family as a emotional support system and lastly my girlfriend for putting up with my tantrums and stupid questions while at home with me. ❤️

y/n_handle: love you so much, you deserve it all 9 🤍.

lahjay_10: well deserved.

lsufootball: louisiana's favorite son.

jjettas2: best qb out there.

bengals: same time, different award next season? *load more comments*

y/n_handle

📍new orleans, louisiana

❤️ 125,701 💬 79,999

Liked by: joeyb_9 vogue and others

y/n_handle: so proud of my baby 🥹, a year ago nobody not even me or joe even knew if he would return as the same or better than ever. but he defied all odds and some. thank you god for year 5 and onto year 6.

joeyb_9: so pretty ❤️ *hearted by author* username_10: wheres the ring??

username_11: i see the ring on her finger.

username_12: are yall dumb.. thats a ring shes had since LSU.

username_13: hottest couple at the event.

username_14: the way joe looked at her in those red carpet pictures though.. and the hand placement??? username_15: he actually needs to put a wedding ring on it, shes a keeper. *load more comments*

duexmoi

❤️ 365,984 💬 120,393

Liked by: tmz people and others

duexmoi: could this engagement be a publicity stunt between y/n y/ln and joe burrow? a recap: a few days before the nfl honors y/n posted a engagement ring but quickly took it down and replaced it with a post about her day in new orleans. many are calling it a publicity stunt with even the rumors of her posting it because of ladies in his dms 👀.

the ring, a cartier ring with a customized diamond going up to $32,000.

username_16: if she confirms it before the news dies down everyone wont be as mad.

username_17: we all LOVE y/n so much as a wag

username_18: sign the prenup joe..

username_19: off topic, the ring is so pretty.

*load more comments*

y/n_handle posted a story

caption: favorite fit this season from week 17 at broncos 🤍 also revealing something soon.

joeyb_9

❤️ 1.5m 💬

Liked by: bengals lahjay_10 y/n_handle and others

joeyb_9: future mr and mrs burrow

*comments off* y/n_handle

📍new orleans la

❤️ 987,423 💬 539,383

Liked by: bengals lahjay_10 tmz and others

y/n_handle: how lucky are we 🧡 joeyb_9: i love you (future) mrs burrow

lahjay_10: joe finally found someone who can put up with his bs forever!! (so I don't have to anymore)

joeyb_9: lahjay_10 keep that same energy, you arent getting the ball anytime next season

bengals: queen of cincinnati 🐅

username_20: i knew it!!!

username_21: that ring thoughhh

username_22: that should be me 💔 *load more comments*

note: almost my birthday month but do we like it or no??

[mapis-putellas]

𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒚/𝑴.𝑳𝒆ó𝒏

Mapi was slumped into her chair, arms crossed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. She had barely spoken a word since you both left the house which was concerning in itself because Mapi never shut up. Normally she’d be teasing you or complaining about how early it was, or making some ridiculous joke that only she found funny. But today? Nothing. Just the occasional sniffle and a dramatic sigh every five minutes.

You nudged her gently. “You okay?”

Mapi turned her head slowly, eyes half-lidded, and pointed to her throat before dramatically pretending to cry.

“Oh no, poor baby,” you cooed, biting back a smile as you placed your hand on her thigh and squeezed softly.

She glared at you and grabbed her phone, typing something before holding it up. There, in big capital letters, read,

THIS IS YOUR FAULT.

You gasped. “How is this my fault?”

She sniffled loudly and typed again.

You stole my blanket. I got cold. Now I am dying.

“That is not how sickness works, amor, and you’re not dying, just dramatic.”

She squinted at you like she was contemplating murder, but thankfully, before she could, the media team called her name and she let out the most pathetic attempt at a groan before pushing herself up from the chair. You followed, because you knew she was going to need help. She was supposed to film an interview, answer questions, be her usual charming and slightly ridiculous self. But that was hard to do when she sounded like an eighty-year-old smoker.

As soon as the cameras were ready, Mapi cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak. Nothing. A horrible, scratchy wheeze came out instead, making her sound like a broken door hinge. The crew exchanged glances, and you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. Mapi looked horrified.

One of the interviewers hesitated. “Uh…do you want to reschedule?”

Mapi shook her head quickly, grabbing her phone again.

No, I am professional.

You snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

She sent you a withering look and started typing furiously. Then she handed you the phone.

You do it. Be my voice.

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

She nodded firmly, crossing her arms.

The media team seemed amused by the idea. One of them spoke up. “So…you’ll answer her questions for her?”

Mapi pointed at you, then gave a thumbs-up.

You sighed. “Fine. But if you make me say something stupid, I swear-“

She grinned,,which was probably the first real sign of life you’d seen from her all morning since you’d dragged her ass out of bed.m

The interview began, and the first question was a simple one. “How are you feeling today, Mapi?”

You glanced at her, and she immediately typed on her phone before shoving it at you.

You read it aloud. “I feel amazing. Very strong. Possibly the strongest I have ever been.”

The interviewer looked at Mapi skeptically. “You…don’t sound amazing.”

Mapi scowled, typing furiously for a second.

You glanced at the screen again.“I am perfect. I am unstoppable. Only weak people get sick.”

Mapi nodded sagely.

You rolled your eyes. “She’s literally dying.”

Mapi nudged you sharply with her elbow, and you yelped.

“Okay, next question,” the interviewer said, clearly entertained. “Who is the funniest person on the team?”

Mapi smirked and started typing.

You took the phone and read, “Me, obviously.��� Mapi grinned,and you continued reading. “Also, my girlfriend is very funny, but only on accident. Most of the time, she is just dumb.”

You looked up in outrage. “MAPI.”

She was shaking with silent laughter, and the media team too, was losing it. The interview went on like that, with Mapi answering every question through you, except half the time she was using it as an opportunity to make fun of you.

Finally, the interviewer asked, “Okay, last question. What’s the best part about being in a relationship with your teammate?”

Mapi’s smirk softened slightly, and she typed slower this time.

You took the phone and read, “She makes me happy. Even when she is annoying. And even when she steals my blanket and makes me sick.”

Your heart melted a little. “Oh, Mapi.”

She gave you a tired smile.

Then she grabbed the phone again and typed one last thing.

Also, I am much better at football than her.

You groaned. “I take back every nice thing I was about to say.”

Mapi just laughed well, wheezed- and rested her head on your shoulder as the interview wrapped up.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[gabseyoo]

FIFTEEN SECONDS — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: female reader, friends to lovers, love confession, fluff, bit of comedy. word count: 1,2k.

note: here’s a little something for valentine’s day, hope you like it!

What should I say?

“Here.” No, too dry.

“Here, it’s for you.” Shit, still too dry.

“I bought this for you, I hope you like it.” Okay, that one wasn’t so bad. 

For the past ten minutes, Kiyoomi had been locked in a brutal staring contest with the small black box sitting on the café table. The thing wasn’t even looking at him, and yet he was the one losing.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

He had bought the damn gift two weeks ago. Two weeks of overthinking, of waiting for the perfect moment, of nearly shoving it to the back of his closet out of sheer nerves. But then Valentine’s Day crept up on him, and he thought—maybe this was fate giving him a chance.

Or setting him up for humiliating rejection.

Kiyoomi had rehearsed this moment in his head. And still, here he was, breaking into a nervous sweat over a bracelet. What if you didn’t like it? What if you thought it was stupid? What if you liked someone else?

Then, in the middle of his internal crisis, a familiar voice nearly made him jump.

“Hey, Kiyoomi.”

He looked up so fast he almost knocked the gift off the table. There you were, standing in front of him with that impossibly pretty smile, your presence alone enough to make his pulse go haywire.

“Did you already order, or should I—?” You asked as you sat down in front of him. 

“I already did.” He forced his voice to stay steady. “Iced latte with two shots of vanilla, right?”

Your smile grew. “You know me so well.”

Yeah, because I’m hopelessly in love with you.

The words were right there. On the tip of his tongue.

Relax, Kiyoomi. Ease into it.

That was the smart thing to do. You didn’t just shove a confession at someone out of nowhere—there should be a conversation first, something natural.

“So, uh…” He wracked his brain for something—anything—normal to say. “How’s work?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “It’s fine?”

What the hell was that, Kiyoomi? It was comical how his calm and collected personality seemed to disappear at this moment when he needed it most. Was love always this complicated? Or was it because it was about you?

You tilted your head. “Are you okay?”

No. No, he was absolutely not okay. His fingers tapped anxiously against the small box. The longer he waited, the worse this was getting. His nerves were eating him alive. He could already feel the impending doom of chickening out.

Screw it.

With zero transition or warning, he grabbed the box and shoved it across the table. “Here.”

Goddamn it. 

You blinked in surprise. “For me?”

A stiff nod. This was fine. You’d open it, love it, and then he’d tell you. Smooth. Simple. Foolproof.

Except…

You were taking your sweet time untying the ribbon.

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to do it for you. Why were you so slow? Was this some kind of test? Did you already know he was panicking and just wanted to see him suffer?

Finally, you lifted the lid. Your lips parted as you took out the delicate silver bracelet, the small star charm catching the café’s warm light.

“Oh, Kiyoomi…” You breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

His fingers twitched under the table as your eyes widened slightly. “Wait… this is—”

Kiyoomi looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the café menu on the wall. “Yeah.”

Your fingers traced the charm, realization dawning. “This is the bracelet from that shop at the mall, isn’t it?”

He cleared his throat. “Maybe.”

You turned to him, eyes suspiciously bright. “You went back for it?”

Kiyoomi picked up his coffee, taking a slow sip as if that would somehow make this moment less humiliating. “You wouldn’t stop staring at it.”

“I looked at it for like, five seconds.”

“It was at least fifteen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

This was it. The perfect moment.

He took a breath, preparing to say the words that had been stuck in his chest for way too long.

“I—” He began, but the words he had rehearsed for days were interrupted when a waiter appeared at the table.

“Here’s your order! One vanilla iced latte and one black coffee.”

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might crack a tooth. Not now, man. 

He nodded stiffly as you thanked the waiter. Okay, fine. Minor setback. 

“What were you saying?” You asked after the guy turned around, taking a sip from your drink.

His heart was about to beat out of his chest. Now. Now is the time. Just say it: I like you.

Kiyoomi opened his mouth, determined to do it, but then— 

“Do you need any sugar?”

Oh my god.

Kiyoomi glared at the waiter. Who was back. Did this man have a vendetta against his love life?

He mumbled a half-hearted, “No, thanks.”

“Cream?”

“No, thanks.”

“Any appetizer? We have a special red velvet cake because of Valentine's Day.”

Was this a joke?

“We’re fine.”

“Actually, I want a slice of cake.” You said.

Before the waiter could leave, Kiyoomi muttered, “Make that two.”

The guy finally left, and he was beginning to get irritated by his bad luck.

Just do it now! He scrambled at himself mentally. 

“Y/N, I bought–” He hurried to say, but then the loud hiss from the blender machine drowned out his voice.

Was this the universe making fun of him? 

By now, he was one more interruption away from actually losing it. So, ignoring the annoying noise, he decided to just keep going, “I bought this because–”

“Oh! Look at that dog outside.”

Kiyoomi stopped mid-sentence as you turned to the window, grinning at a fluffy golden retriever wagging its tail on the sidewalk. Are you serious?

But, when he turned back to you, you were watching him with amusement.

You two made eye contact for a few seconds, he blinked, you blinked, and then— you laughed.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What?”

You smirked. “Kiyoomi, don’t be so shy.”

His stomach dropped.

“I like you too.”

For a full three seconds, his brain just ceased to function.

You… what?

His ears burned. His grip tightened on his cup. His entire soul left his body. “You knew?”

You giggled, tapping his hand lightly. “Of course. I actually got something for you too.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small gift box, setting it on the table in front of him. Kiyoomi tried—really tried—not to look too eager as he picked it up and carefully lifted the lid.

Inside was a watch. The watch. The one he had lingered on in the mall that day.

“You looked at it for at least fifteen seconds.” You teased, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

Kiyoomi froze. His fingers tightened around the box as the realization sank in.

You had noticed. Just like he had noticed you staring at the bracelet. You both had thought of each other.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight, his chest oddly warm. He looked up at you, something soft, something real in his gaze.

“This is—”

“Here they are! Two slices of red velvet cake!”

Kiyoomi visibly twitched.

Oh, come on!

[bogleech]

I'm actually not going to let this go until Gerry is at least as widely ridiculed as Human Pet Guy. That guy still didn't do anything half as disturbed as this fucking loser, let me pull up my favorites again:

Gerry messaging me from an alt pretending not to be an alt

Gerry claiming again that it's antisemitic of me to say the IDF are bad guys who do not represent the entire Jewish population. This is not, in fact, the same as saying they're "not jews anymore." Also bragging about supposedly baiting and sealioning me into saying whatever they believe I said wrong. I guess the stupid ass hell thing????

Calling me a "blorbo" like I'm a fictional character rather than a human. Also, I went and got the original hell comment to double check it:

.....This doesn't even say the IDF should go to hell. It says I hope people "excusing" the IDF's actions should go to hell, I just typoe'd it as "excising." I guess Gerry successfully gaslit me, since I fully believed I had said specifically "the IDF go to hell." Thanks!

Gerry accusing me of "lumping them in as pro genocide" in response to a comment in which I specifically state I do not see them that way. How else am I supposed to read them NOW, though? Because I defined that as "someone who thinks kids deserve bombs dropped on them," and Gerry's response is "how dare you say that about me......???????" What?? Not once do they ever simply say "no one deserves their town to be bombed" or anything like that. They absolutely refuse, because they do in fact believe that it's okay to bomb a whole community if some of that community might hypothetically be "hamas." They do in fact think it's acceptable that people who never hurt anyone else should die that way for some sort of greater good, or that only hamas can be blamed for those deaths by "forcing the hand" of the ones with those bombs.

Gerry admitting the IDF bombs, loots and tortures, even though most comments they call antisemitic are calling out just that very behavior. Gerry to my knowledge has never willingly blamed anything negative on the IDF since this comment and continues to attack people who do.

Gerry admitting the honest core of their beliefs and behavior. This isn't really about me, though. I mean, part of it is, I can definitely be vindictive. But I mostly ignored this asshole for the past year until the doxx comment, and now I'm getting more messages than ever from people who feel actually hurt and terrorized by this motherfucker. I've suffered ZERO fallout from their attacks, I am evidently too big I guess, but there are people who change their username to hide from this piece of shit, even fucking minors who dared to say "free palestine" once. Then there's @stoptheantisemitism, who is NOT gerry, but is impersonated by gerry's alt account @spottheantisemitism and other alt accounts, @stop-the-antisemitism and of course @stop--the--antisemitism in this very thread. Creating so many variants is a deliberate attempt to make it as hard as possible for casual rebloggers to remember which one is the real person. I mean, two alts only add dashes to the same username, and the other only moves one letter "p." I have no idea how tumblr staff can rationalize that as okay. But, again, if there's a guy who can't show his face without human pet jokes because he was just generally creepy, or everyone remembers sixpenceee's family having slaves, why can a user devote this much of their miserable life to "baiting and sealioning" people from multiple accounts and still have a usable blog left? ONE LAST THING!!!!!!!

In the notes on this very post, gerry is so bent on finding people to call out and slander they tried to find "misogyny" in a comment saying that women like studying bugs????????

Gerrysherry, the user who tells people I'm antisemitic because I think IDF soldiers are killing innocent civilians (rather than framed by some kind of Hamas conspiracy), believes my real name was a secret that I only just now accidentally revealed rather than the default way I've signed all my web content since the 1990's. Also believes that I have an employer, that "telling my parents" would affect a grown man, that my hippie mom would disagree with me anyway, and that the hatemail they got last year was all me rather than the natural and inevitable fallout of the supremely fucked up shit they say about the victims of a mass murder. Apparently would gleefully leap at any hypothetical chance at "doxxing" me though. Good to know. Literally wishes they could ruin my real actual life because I don't think Netanyahu is a hero.

[theorist-fox]

Humvee

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Previous << || >> Next

Word count: 6.8k (damn)

Summary: You do your best to heal, while Simon follows his own path—until life, in its strange way, brings you back together, with Simon stepping right back in.

18+

CW: fluff, banter, smut (fingering, p in v, car sex). you go on a bad date and simon saves you from it. he's a bit of a cunt but like in a good way.

I said I'd update on Sunday but you're getting it on Saturday!!! Though it's Sunday on this part of the globe, so...

Masterlist 🦊 | Series Masterlist 🦊

"If they ever give ya any grief, you know who to call."

Simon's words have never echoed so fiercely in your head as they do now.

The dress is uncomfortable. The shoes are uncomfortable. The air… is uncomfortable.

The dinner isn’t even that great. Or—well, it is. The restaurant has its perks: the wine is a deep red Shiraz, dry and with that slight bitter aftertaste that just enough balances the salt of your fillet mignon. Rare. Side baked potatoes with a crisp crust that still sizzles with warm olive oil.

It looks great.

Would taste great too, you reckon. Thing is, you’ve been playing with your food ever since the waiter brought it to the table.

You don’t think you’ve spoken a single word, if not your name, ever since you sat down. Mouth latched onto that crystal wine glass that could never be too full.

Fuck dating.

He looked oh, so nice leaning against the bar counter last week.

Leather jacket and a tight-fitting black t-shirt underneath, a softer tummy of a man who likes to train and eat. Big arms, broad shoulders. Thighs looked awfully soft in those blue jeans.

Mediterranean features. A strong nose, high cheekbones. Perhaps Italian origins, you thought, or maybe Spain? Greece?

Olive skin and thick brown curls, messy in that calculated way that only pretends to be tousled. You call it the sex hair. But it’s fake, so it would be like—the fake sex hair.

You love the fake sex hair. Or maybe you don’t. But on him, it looks unbelievably nice.

His eyes have this hazelnut hue, mottled with gold and green speckles. Long, thick lashes, dark like his hair.

Fuck, he looks like a Greek god.

And when he winked at you from the other side of the pub, lifting his glass of whatever he was drinking your way, you thought yourself so very fortunate.

Small blessings.

If only you’d known where those plump lips and feline brown eyes would lead you.

The entrée was accompanied by his favourite way to clean the leather of his sofa. Then he switched the topic to hair gel, because somehow the same company that makes the polish for his stupid couch also makes his stupid hair gel.

And now he’s telling you how much he benches. You should’ve known, to be honest, that somehow the chat would’ve swerved to his herculean strength and raw masculinity.

He oozes testosterone from every pore, reeks of pheromones, and—judging by his character—you wouldn’t rule out the possibility that he’s splurged on one of those dodgy "scientific" perfumes supposedly designed to make women swoon at his feet.

He’s saying how you’d never have to fear a thing if he was in the house, since you’d have him by your side. The urge to roll your eyes is incommensurable: you hide behind your wine glass, taking a generous gulp of Shiraz that’s drying out your tongue.

He’s eating with his mouth open. Chewing loudly. Loud enough to give you PTSD. Fucking hell, why do the handsome ones always have to act like they never set foot outside the house?

He has a pittie, he says.

Your ears perk.

Okay, pitties are nice. Lovely dogs with their big, smiling mouths always drooling for cuddles. You find their awkward stance tenderly charming—wide front legs and wagging tail. Plus, him having a dog means he can take care of fragile things, that he can be sweet and nice and reliable.

It’s a boy.

You smile.

He says he’s trained him to fight. Defend the household and whatnot.

It falters.

Says you could take him for a run if you fancy it. That he would give you (and he makes those awful hand quotations with his fingers) “scary dog privileges.”

You drink.

Scary dog privileges. You’re fighting a scoff so loud the sous chef would hear it from the kitchens.

You have SAS training privileges.

You have gun privileges.

You have scary dog privileges. You are the scary dog.

One glance at his neck, another at the table, and you've already calculated ten different ways to end his life in under a minute—one of which involves a thumbtack pinning the fake flowers to the polyester cube in the centrepiece vase.

You imperceptibly shiver. Shake your thoughts away.

He’s still rambling about his dog and his gym sessions and how he goes for runs every morning, every night, every moment of the bleeding day. Does he work? Have hobbies that don’t include a pissing contest with other men at the gym? Fuck’s sake, that thumbtack is starting to look incredibly inviting—

“So what do you do?” You blurt out.

It comes out so awkwardly that you can only fix it with a nervous laugh. One of those that make you look cute and shy, not weird and spacey.

He seems startled by it. Follows up with an awkward laugh of his own. Ugh. Okay, it’s okay. Maybe he’s nervous too. That can be cute.

“I’m military.”

You blink.

Oh.

Unexpected.

You hadn’t considered that. Granted, he has the stance, the body. He keeps his neck taut and straight, which is something you recognise you do yourself: hard to shake off habits from early training in Pirbright.

Truthfully, you had excluded partners from your same field of work. Didn’t go particularly smoothly last time you tried.

You’d like to come home to normalcy and averageness and homecooked meals and that dog he’s going on and on about, not to more military-related drama and paperwork scattered on the kitchen table.

But this can be nice, you muse.

Maybe straying from the plan you’ve laid out for your date could lead to some unexpected surprises. Maybe you could find a common ground, some shared experiences to discuss.

Anything to divert the topic from how he removes stains from his carpeted floors.

You straighten your spine, smoothing down the creases of your dress even if they’re hidden under the tablecloth.

With your elbow resting on the table, you subtly press your arms together, accentuating your neckline. You tilt your head slightly, chin nestled in your palm and lashes fluttering away.

He sports a smug smile, perhaps recognising the reaction his job must have sparked in many more women before you.

You let it slide.

“What branch?” You ask, trying to sound as naïve as you can.

Men in the military often have great success when it comes to dating. Women in the military, not so much—something about them being stronger than their male counterparts in a relationship seems to unsettle their egos, unchub their cocks.

Which is why you’re pretending you know shite about the topic—you’re just there to look pretty, for now.

“Oh, well,” his voice drops down an octave, and he leans a little closer to the table. The front of his crisp white shirt dips into the sauce covering his pasta.

You try not to stare at the oil stain too much.

He reaches out with his hand, toying with a ring on your finger. Looks around like he’s making sure no one else is listening, and then he smiles at you knowingly.

“It’s classified.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Alright, this date is botched. Tits up. Fuck him and his beautiful eyes and perfect bone structure. He could have been the love of your life. You would’ve made perfectly beautiful babies with beautiful Mediterranean genes.

You feign surprise. You feign interest.

The least you can do is have fun.

“Oh really?” You open your mouth in a shocked oval. “And—and what is it that you do?”

He leans back in his chair, self-assured. Charming smile. Know-it-all attitude.

“You know,” he shrugs, like it’s something so common and nonchalant. “Missions, deployments. All secret, though. Can’t share, unfortunately.”

He gives you a wink.

“Not even with a pretty girl like you.”

Yuck. Ew. Ugh.

You giggle, crystalline and shy, fingers to your mouth and all.

“Are you like—” You bite your lip, “—like James Bond?”

His chuckle is low, like he wants to show how much of that testosterone is actually brewing in his balls.

“Of sorts.”

“Wow.” You say breathily. “It must be dangerous.”

“It is,” he replies, cocking a confident brow. “Not a thing for girls like you.”

Dickhead.

You smile. Taut. Someone else would’ve noticed how strained it is. Not him though, no. Too self-absorbed to catch onto it. Wouldn’t see how obvious he’s being if it slapped him in the face.

“Hear me out,” he says after a while. “One minute bathroom break, and then I’ll tell you what you want to know, yeah?”

Which is nothing, but you nod anyway.

“Or, well—” he adds, standing up and setting the napkin on the table. “—What I can tell you.”

With a wink, he leaves for the loo.

You deflate. Rub your fingers on your forehead because that man just gave you a migraine.

You pluck your phone from your handbag and thumb through the screen to contact backup.

You think of Johnny, but you two bicker too much, and the possibility of him shooting back with one of your misfortunes is impossibly high. You’d like to keep your failing dates as quiet as possible.

Kyle would be the perfect choice, but he’s not nearby—a trip to somewhere warmer with his partner now that he’s on leave.

Price is not even an option. Who would call their boss to give them a lift out of a bad date?

Which leaves Simon. You know you have to call Simon, as much as you don’t want him to witness the absolute devastation that is your current love life. Granted, you know he would help without a peep—but still, there’s that bit of pride left untouched by the ruin that’s been your "relationship" that you’d like to keep intact.

But grief’s been given. Plenty of it. And, as he said, you know who to call.

With a surrendering sigh, you stuff your pride in a pocket and zip it shut.

As soon as your text goes through, you can’t even blink that three dots are already dancing at his corner of the screen.

Your eyes roll so far back you take a peek at your brain.

The sarcasm is so tangible you almost taste it on your tongue.

Hopefully your reply will manage to convey the urgency of your tone. The absolute sizzling hatred in your eyes.

And then you wait for Mr. Classified to come back from the loo while eating a baked potato or two, even if now they’re awfully cold. Still crunchy and wonderful, though. The restaurant is stellar; it's a shame to have wasted the opportunity with such a painfully obnoxious sod.

When he comes back, he sits all grand at the table. He fixed his hair, you notice. Tried to clean the oil stain on his shirt and only managed to enlarge it—you can tell even if he’s buttoned up his dress jacket.

He tells you he’s a captain.

Yeah. Sure. Go big or go home, mh?

Recounts very generic war stories, one of which really does sound like the plot of a videogame you played with Kyle.

Your back’s to the door, so when he stumbles on his words and his eyes go wide out of the blue, you have no clue what’s got him so rattled.

That is, until you turn and look over your shoulder.

The biggest bloke’s standing at the entrance, seemingly instructing one of the waiters, who looks like he’s lost a few years off his life from how pale he’s gone.

Man dressed in black, helmet with night goggles on.

Show off.

The full shebang: tac vest layered above the bulletproof one, M4 hanging low on his front with clasps, a gun holstered on his hip. The radio pokes from one of the front pockets on his chest.

He has the goddamn skull mask on, for fuck’s sake.

Your eyes widen briefly, and then you fight tooth and nail to stifle a laugh. You wonder what Mr. “I’m military but it’s classified” thinks about “people actually in the classified part of the military”.

You turn to him. Man is shell-shocked.

You snort.

Simon points at you, and the waiter nods vigorously before scurrying over to your table.

He leans down to your level, cheeks so red they look purple, sweat on his forehead, huffing and puffing like he’s run a marathon.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to interrupt, but—” A heaving breath through his stutter. “Your presence seems to be required at-at-at the Hereford SAS headquarters.”

He lowers his voice, then. “Something about the p-passing of an officer, uhm—your husband.”

You choke. Slam a hand on your chest. Mr. Classified seems concerned and has his hands hovering your way but never touching you in the slightest.

Helpful.

“The what?” You hiss, looking behind you at Simon with straight-up murder in your eyes.

The mask hides it, but you know he’s got the biggest smirk plastered on his face.

“You’re married?” Mr. Classified asks. Fuck him too.

“No.” You bark but then realise that it’s not his fault if your lieutenant is a bastard. Gingerly, you clear your throat and add more softly. “Not… anymore.”

Gotta fake it if you want to get out of here.

You sigh.

The waiter stands there awkwardly as you apologise to your date for not telling him about your non-existent dead husband. You stand up from the table, pretending heartache, while the waiter hovers around you and right in your business.

When you feel him too much into your space, you blink at him, plastering on a polite smile.

“Yes?”

He’s sweating profusely. The Ghost effect.

“The-the soldier, there—" he gives a subtle nod to where Simon stands. “—said I have to escort you b-because you’re a suspect.”

The appalled look on your face must be a sight to swear by.

You glare at Simon.

He shifts his weight on his other foot, arms crossed in front of his chest. Smug, like he’s having the time of his life.

“Yes.” You reply with a sigh, “Please, escort me.”

You don’t bother turning around to face Mr. Classified. He must be wearing the same shock the waiter is sporting. After all, in his eyes, hasn’t he just shared a dinner with a murder suspect?

What a tale to share.

“Thank you, sir.” Simon tells the waiter when you both reach him, deep baritone heavy yet gentle.

He grabs you by the crook of your elbow.

“Gonna bring this one to justice.” He adds theatrically.

The waiter nods like his head might crack in half if he doesn’t.

“Thank you, sir.” He parrots, “Thank you for your service.”

At the statement, used and abused without any regard for its meaning, you scoff in his face.

Simon tugs you by your arm, and your heels scrape against the floor.

Finally, you find your footing and follow him out.

Simon came to pick you up in a fucking Humvee. 

He said it was in case the restaurant had those big windows that look out on the streets, so he could make an even bigger scene. All because you interrupted him while he watched the man u match even if they were painfully losing, he said.

When you asked him where the fuck did he get it since he should’ve been home on R&R and not at base, he told you that he had an IOU to cash in with one of the higher-ranking officers. 

Baffling, to say the least, that he’s used it to embarrass you. 

Yet not something you would put past him.

Still, though, as soon as you enter the car and he starts shedding layers of tac gear, mask included, the first thing he asks isif you’re alright.

You nod with a soft smile.

“McDonald’s?” He asks, then.

You cock a brow.

“I just had dinner.” 

The engine rumbles as he turns the key in the ignition.

“No ya haven’t.”

He drags the shift stick back and puts the car in reverse. His hand comes to grasp the back of your seat as he looks to the rear window.

It takes a whole lot of resolve to not gawk at the way the tendons in his forearm tighten and bulge. You manage. 

Thank fuck he can’t check if you’re salivating, because you are.

Because this car smells of him. It shouldn’t, because it isn’t his car. It’s a military vehicle, a big fat Hummer with enough space to host a task force, and from what you know someone else might have been using it all day before he got the keys. 

And still, his scent invades it, dominates it, and you realize how much you’ve missed it. Missed waking up to it, missed having it stain your clothes, sometimes your uniform too. Memories flood, and something in your chest clenches.

Control yourself, for fuck's sake.

You turn your eyes away from him. 

“How d’you know?”

He shifts into first as he finally leaves the car park. He shoots you a brief side glance, before returning his eyes on the road.

“Clocked your plate full even from afar,” he says plainly. “Bloke talked that much, uh?”

“You got no idea.” You sigh, exhausted. “Told me he’s military and then pulled the classified card.”

His lips twitch, and then his chest rumbles in a low, low chuckle you haven’t heard in a while. 

You laugh with him.

Simon takes you to a drive-through. He orders what he knows you like, because this definitely isn’t the first time you two sneak out in the middle of the night only to eat something that isn’t the slob from the mess hall.

He drives a little further to find that nice parking spot next to the motorway. Once again, not the first time you’ve been here.

Sometimes with Johnny in the back and Kyle smoking a ciggie by the car window—couldn’t have the Humvee smell of nicotine and stale cigarettes when you’d return it (not so) surreptitiously later on.

Sometimes just the two of you, when new soldiers moved in the neighbouring barracks and Simon wanted you to scream without the pressure of being found out.

You punch the straw in your Coke and bring it to your lips. The carton box of chips is precariously balanced on your bare thighs.

Simon’s already munching on his burger.

“Thank you, by the way,” you break the comfortable silence first.

He shrugs.

“He was a right pain,” you go on. “Kept going on about—”

“—His dog, how much he benches, his hair care routine.”

You choke on your coke and then your head swivels to him.

“Okay—were you spying on me?”

He levels you with a deadpan look. 

“Bloke like that’s only got one type o’ chat,” he explains, “And it’s all ‘bout him. You should’ve known, eh?”

He flicks your temple. You splutter.

“What?” He nods in your direction, swallowing a mouthful. “Went on leave an’ lost all those brains?”

You swat his hand away.

“Shut up.” You grumble, feeling your cheeks heat up.

He mercifully lets it go and returns his attention to his meal. 

Even a burger that big looks awfully small in Simon’s hands. You used to look small in Simon’s hands, somehow—skin pliant and soft. Dimpling under his fingertips, folding easily with just the press of his big palm in his desired direction.

Same hands that used to hold you still by the waist, hands that handled you until you’d turn into putty on the mattress. Fingers long and skilled when they curled around your neck, cutting your airways just enough to make your head spin. Fingers that you’ve had all over: in your hair, on your stomach, down your throat, in your cunt.

Fuck.

Some ketchup spills out of his burger and onto his thumb. He brings it to his lips and purses them on his pad to suck it off.

Fuckfuckfuck.

You turn away and stuff your mouth with chips.

“How’d you find him anyway?” He asks after a while. “Apps?”

You balance your cup on the large center console as you shake your head in negative. Your response comes muffled by a mouthful of food.

“Pub down the road,” you tell him, gesturing vaguely at the windshield. “The one close to HQ.”

“The Bell?”

You swallow. Nod your head. “Mhmh.”

“Should’ve known.” He muses, and you hear him scrunching up the paper that once held his burger. “Proper dive, that. Full o’ fucked up blokes.”

You roll your eyes.

“You’re an avid frequenter,” you say, mouth full and eyes averted to your cardboard of chips.

He doesn’t snort, nor does he laugh it off. Instead, you can only hear the rapid tap of fingernails on the leather of the wheel filling the suddenly heavy silence that settled.

“No’ anymore.” He replies after a beat.

The tone doesn’t match the flippant vibe heard in the Humvee until now. He’s serious and levelled, like he’s stating some important matter he needs to unhook from his chest.

You swallow your chips like they’re cement.

“And why’s that?” You venture.

Simon shifts uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. The leather squeaks, his jeans rustle where his thighs rub together.

“Don’t fit with the crowd is all.” He says quietly. 

“What crowd?”

“The fucked up one.”

When you turn his way, you still.

Simon’s eyes are already on you.

His gaze is tangible. Sticks to you like damp fabric. You can almost feel his fingers draw mindless circles there, where your skin is heating up under the heaviness of his eyes.

Whatever reply you had ready for him dies choked in your throat.

Your shoulders are stiff, your body’s too warm. Tongue like sandpaper stuck to your palate.

It’s been so long since Simon looked at you like he truly wanted you—like nothing else in the world mattered more. 

For months, his eyes have wandered everywhere but to you, and until now, you thought that was a blessing. Because if he didn’t look at you this way, maybe letting him go would’ve been easier.

But now, as his eyes hold yours, you can’t fathom how you’ve managed to go so long without it.

You match his intensity, as the air in the Humvee grows heavy and thick. Cement is poured into your chest until you’re not sure how to breathe right anymore.

“Not fucked anymore, you think?” Your voice is raspy and feeble, like there’s something tying your vocal cords in a perfect knot.

You know he can’t affirm anything in that regard. Lord knows he’s fucked, and you can’t even add your two cents about it because you’d act like the pot calling the kettle black.

And yet, he replies softly. “Not as fucked, I reckon, no.”

Your brows pinch. Eyes big and languid, searching his—rich, hooded, sincere.

“And you?” He rumbles, hesitant for the first time.

You blink.

“Me?” You mouth with your lips, voice stuck somewhere in your chest.

He nods your way. “Still an avid frequenter o’ the fucked-up crowd?”

You blink. A laugh breathes out of you without you even considering it first.

Almost naturally, you reply with a whispered, “No. Not as avid, I think.”

Simon’s lips twitch upward, and then his hand lifts your way, though never reaches out enough to touch you. He lets it hover in the space in between, fingers soft and curled inwards.

It trembles. Terrible characteristic for a sniper. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen it happen to him. Always steady, always sure.

Your eyes fall on it. On the scars crisscrossing his knuckles, on the callouses of his pads and the raw spot on his thumb. 

When you look up again, Simon’s eyes are a pool, open wide and waiting for you to just dive in it.

He says your name. Not your rank, callsign, bullshit loves, and pets, and the pretty ensemble. He says it low, heavy, like his tongue is a cinderblock and it’s so, so hard for him to speak it. 

It’s almost a warning, you think. Your brain ponders it: the tone, the lilt, the volume. All of it, and you conclude that you are, in fact, wrong. 

It’s no warning, no threat. It’s a plea.

Your eyes fall instinctively down the curve of his nose, to his lips. Lips you’ve kissed, lips that travelled every inch of your skin. Drank every sound you’ve ever spilled. Worshipped it, made it his. Coveted it carefully, in secret, until you noticed how those same breaths, those same noises, never left your mouth again, not after him.

Lost in his features, you don’t see how his eyes are focused on your lips as well.

And when you look up, he does too.

Something’s exchanged between you. Something written in the line between his brows as he frowns in concentration, in the tremble of your lips as they struggle to form words, requests, the barrage of questions you want to ask.

The mutual, soft, and barely veiled Please, please kiss me again.

His jaw shifts. 

"Just say the word."

You gulp—fruitless. Your throat is dry, your lips unresponsive. Cursing yourself for not being ready now that you need it. Struggling to express the absolute beast that's scratching something violent in your chest.

You barely manage to break through it.

"Kiss me."

You blink and Simon’s lips are on yours.

Your stomach drops. You don’t think you can breathe.

He takes the lead when you go motionless, cupping the back of your head with both hands to pull you in. Your fingers grasp his forearms, flexing around them to make sure he’s real.

Only when your mouth opens and the kiss deepens do you unravel.

You melt in his hold, closing your eyes all the way and breathing heavily from your nose, because you’re not parting from him ever again.

Simon might think the same, because the passion with which you kiss him is thoroughly matched. His arms wrap around your waist, and you don’t spare a moment to turn on the passenger seat until you’re on your knees.

Chips spill everywhere on the floor. None of you care.

He helps you across the centre console until you’re straddling his thighs. Your knee knocks over the cup and coke spills everywhere.

And fuck, none of you care.

Humvees are big but never big enough for this. Granted, it’s not the purpose for which they were created. You hunch down when your head hits the padded roof, holding him by the sides of his face until he tips it back. 

You taste his breath as it puffs on your mouth while he kisses you fiercely.

Simon pulls back. Cradles your face in his hands and his fingers dig into your scalp at the back.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growls. Low, and breathy, and with that hint of disbelief that matches the one in your eyes. He brushes your cheeks with his thumbs, and you do the same.

He lunges forward, then. Captures your mouth briefly before travelling downwards, where open kisses make goosebumps rise on your arms. Big hands envelop your hips as he pulls you down, grinding you against the hard tent of his jeans. 

And you comply, humping your sex—impossibly wet—to the seam covering the zipper. 

He grunts in your neck each time your cunt drags across his. The sound makes you vibrate, a strange sort of power in the knowledge that he’s making it because of you, and you only.

The world moves slowly around you, like it wants the night to last hours and hours more. A small favour in exchange for what you do for it, keeping it clean and all the rubbish you’re told so you can live peacefully with your actions. 

Perhaps tonight you believe them all.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this vocal with him, and it’s not even theatrics.

You just love it.

It’s overwhelming to have him hold you again, touch you, eat at your skin with the same intense desperation you’re gripping his hair with. Pressing his face into your neck as he sucks at the spot where it meets your shoulder, thundering heartbeat under his tongue. Darker spots blossom shameless in his wake, drawing a perfect mosaic of colours you’ll trace with your fingers come morning.

When Simon feels your hips do the work by themselves, he busies his hands with your dress. Rides it up your thighs until it bunches at your waist. Kneads the fat of your ass, landing a slap that makes you jolt. 

Makes you moan.

And Simon drinks it just in time, swallowing it with a kiss that takes your breath away. Then, he rapidly travels down your throat, following the line of love bites all the way to your chest. 

His teeth sink into the softer flesh there. Long fingers pull down the neckline of your dress until your tits spill out. He mouths a path to your nipple, sucking until it pebbles on his tongue. His teeth graze around it and you hiss at the perfect balance of pain and pleasure it creates.

And when his free hand comes to pinch at your other nipple, he pulls a little too hard.

You clench a fist in his hair and look down at him, hips falling still.

“Oi.” You frown.

His chest heaves. Yours matches the pants that leave your lips. 

He wrinkles his nose, in that how dare you stop me way. But this time there’s something impish in there, like he knows what he’s doing and just likes to pull your chain. Lighthearted in a way you never dared to associate with Simon Riley.

How beautiful he looks with this new light bathing his eyes.

“What.”

You scoff. Your heart goes through several different stages of frustration, exasperation, anger, tenderness and love. Familiarity. Settling on the latter, until you recognize the glint in his eyes, the same one he had all those months back, when he was on his knees.

Lust, care, love, regret. 

“Gentle.” You tell him as your chest softens, your voice still mockingly altered. “You’re not tuning the bloody radio.”

“Ha!” His lips twitch upward. “Coulda fooled me.”

Simon pinches your nipple in retaliation, but it makes you chuckle this time. When he’s sure you’re okay, he pulls your lips down in a kiss that’s starting to taste of you, and you like how the salt of your skin seems to belong so naturally on his tongue.

You kiss him through your smile as the air turns hot again. The windows slowly grow misty and opaque, creating a space around you that’s soft and insulated and safe.

Simon splays his palm on your stomach. Turns it so his fingers face downward. He inches closer to your sex, grazing the lace of your underwear, until the pad of his middle finger presses to the wet spot formed on the gusset.

There, he stops. Waits for you.

No need for words. You don’t want his lips to leave yours and you don’t fancy taking the risk of pulling away.

In fact, there’s little hesitation when your hand journeys down his shoulder to his forearm, tracing the hair growing over it and the odd bump of a scar here and there. You travel until your palm cups his knuckles, your middle finger over his, pressing it down to the swollen knot of your clit.

Simon draws a few experimental rolls, ones you encourage with the movement of your hips, with the puffs of breath all but pushed out of you and into the kiss.

A kiss he reciprocates, open and hot.

Moving your panties aside, Simon only brushes your entrance at first, finding it sodden already. And when you more than enthusiastically respond to his touch, he plunges his finger inside. 

Your breath itches, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open against his own.

Simon drags his finger slowly, in and out, not teasingly but to let you adjust, to allow you to mould around his shape. And he does so until he feels you positively drip on his palm, softer around him yet clenching at the welcomed intrusion.

He adds a second finger. The stretch is delicious, fulfilling. Scratches an itch you couldn’t quite reach on your own, nor could the scattered toys you’ve bought and abandoned.

It’s a touch you’re comfortable with, one you know and can predict but not in a way that makes it boring. You just know he’ll feed the starvation, satisfy the drought.

He buries his fingers to the knuckle, until his palm is flat to your sex, heel pressing to your clit. Simon rolls it a few times and then lets you take the lead, keeping his hand still. 

You ride his fingers by canting your hips in the way you like, stimulating both your g-spot and your clit. Simon keeps your mouth on his with a hand of steel glued to the back of your neck—unnecessary, because you have no intention of pulling away.

The first orgasm makes your head spin—you haven’t had a good one like this in quite some time. It coils around your stomach until it's knotted so tight you have no other option but to groan in his mouth to release the tension it built.

Simon’s fingers flex both at your nape and inside of you, pulling you impossibly closer, noses slotting next to each other. He breathes just as heavily as you do, as if your orgasm has somehow rattled him as well.

There are no formalities in the way he moves, in the way he leaves your still clenching cunt empty—wet fingers reaching for his belt, unbuckling in haste. 

The sound of clinking metal manages to pass through the cotton barrier in your ears. It wakes you, prickles your skin that’s already burning hot.

You help him. Yours and his fingers try to work together but somehow make it harder to achieve the same goal. You chuckle when you both reach for the zipper and he playfully swats your hand away, taking the lead instead. 

You feel him twitch a smile against your kiss.

He untucks himself from his briefs. The urge to look down is impossible to resist and so you do, catching the glint on the head of his cock as it leaks with precum, wetter than you’ve ever seen him be. 

Your stomach tightens. Now that's a mouthwatering sight that never ceases to amaze you.

Simon pats your ass as an invite to scoot forward. He languidly drags the tip along your slit to collect some of your wetness. You jolt each time he catches your swollen clit.

When he lines himself with your entrance, you start sinking on him—nails digging into the cotton of his sweatshirt on his shoulders.

Simon stretches you wonderfully. He would slide in easily considering the way you’re dripping—it’s you who wants to take it slow in order to catch each muted reaction with ears and eyes, lips brushing his own.

And then you envelop him fully, taking his cock to the hilt. 

“Fuck.” He croaks, and falls still. 

The hand on your hip grips it painfully tight. The one on your nape locks your forehead to his. His breath comes out in heavy puffs, eyes wrenched closed. 

Simon looks very vulnerable now. Much at your mercy. He doesn’t want you to move, clearly, and has full trust you won’t. For him. Maybe for you too, otherwise this will end much sooner than you both want it to.

But still, you brush the tip of your nose with his. He opens his eyes, iris swallowed whole.

“Alright?” You ask quietly.

He brushes his nose back with yours.

“Alrigh’,” he rumbles. “Been a while is all.”

You purse your lips in a wry smile.

“Has it now.”

He hums, narrowing his eyes. “Didn’t fancy goin’ ‘round breakin’ any more hearts.”

“How considerate, lieutenant.”

“Aye, that’s me.”

“Not quite.”

He pinches the fat on your hip.

“Cheeky,” he says, watching your eyes smile. 

You scrunch your nose, shaking your head from side to side.

“Eh, you love it.”

And he takes you off guard.

“I do," he says firmly, like that's some fundamental truth.

His hand moves to your cheek, thumb right under your eye brushing softly where the skin is thinner.

You like having him like this, with his face to yours, his lips within reach. It’s a strange thing, not having to turn your head around to reach for a sliver of skin to press a kiss to. Not having to find cotton instead of warm flesh, instead of soft lips.

You feel like you can, now—take the chance without finding a door being shut in your face. 

In fact, your lips find his naturally, and he responds like it’s easy, like it’s something you do every time. 

He kisses you slowly as his hand descends down your back to grab your hip. Then, he guides you, initiating the movements, and you follow through.

It begins gently, with your breaths in sync, lips just close enough for either of you to share a kiss if the moment feels right. Your hands cradle the slopes of his neck, his own fit in the crease between your hips and thighs.

It’s very quiet, you think, unlike the grunts and groans of the previous times. Now there's only Simon’s pants, your own efforts to keep your voice low, breathy moans occasionally interrupted by the smacking of lips.

And then he fits his palms under the round fat of your rear, lifting you up and then guiding you down at once. Your voice cracks, shattered into broken moans that Simon matches with his own.

Suddenly, you both want more. You feel it in the grip he has on your ass, in the hungry shadows of his eyes. You feel it in yourself, the heat pooling lower and lower, starving hands clutching the hair at his nape.

You prop yourself on your knees, as comfortably as you can, and start riding Simon even if your hamstrings are aching, thighs clenched and hard to the touch.

You go on and on, one hand perched on the padded roof and the other flat on the car window, mist disappearing in the shape of dragged fingers and scratching nails.

Warm pleasure collects in your belly. So hot it drips all the way to your toes, curling in your black heels clasped around your ankles. Your pace starts getting frantic, almost clumsy in the desperation to reach that high again, expecting it to be much better than the previous one since now Simon is fully sheathed inside of you.

You hold his eyes as the air catches in your chest and you fall silent. Breaths clipped and choked, like moans that you can’t articulate. Throat tight, tight, and tighter. 

Simon seems to notice the signs, attentive as ever, and he dips three fingers in his mouth before bringing them to your clit. He swipes side to side with the same urgency of your hips, clit pebbled and raw soothed by the warm smoothness of his spit. 

You cum hard. It’s a wave that almost crushes you against him, so hot you feel like suffocating. Your body collapses on him, as you pant loud and shrill into the curve of his neck. Simon’s cock is buried all the way in, while your tired hips twitch helplessly to both prolong your high and escape it.

And so, Simon takes it upon himself. Lifts you up and drops you down until you’re whimpering in his shoulder, teeth sinking in the taut muscles of his traps and nails digging into his back. 

By then, Simon’s hanging on by thread and you know it even in your fucked-out state.

When the overstimulation hits and a rough string of curses leaves your lips right into his ear, Simon snaps.

With a grunt that rattles your chest, he pulls you down until he’s flush with you, and you swear you can feel him in your throat. His hips hump upwards as if that might somehow drive him deeper, and then he fills you with warmth, hot and liquid. Inevitably, it spills out, dripping thick down his thighs and onto the car seats.

Simon holds you like that, catching his breath as you catch yours.

He peppers your shoulder with kisses. Big hands clutch the back of your dress as it dampens with your sweat until his arms finally wrap you whole—so tight your breath leaves you in a gasp.

“Missed you,” he says, breathing your name reverently.

And why on earth should you not believe him, this time—with his face in your neck, his heart on his sleeve.

You lift your head to kiss his cheek. The cracks in your lips sting as they unexpectedly meet fine tracks of salt water.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Missed you too, Si."

[parkerslatte]

Future Promises

Dae-ho x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: violence. blood and injury. murder. character death (not reader).

Summary: When a fight breaks out in the bathroom, Y/N gets caught in the middle of it. When the eliminated players are announced, Dae-ho panics.

Requested: Yes

Squid Game Masterlist

The divide in the room was clear. Each side equal in terms of numbers yet Y/N could feel the murderous gazes from the ‘O’ side of the room. While others around her talked to one another, trying to ease some of the tension, Y/N sat on her own. She wasn’t too far away from the rest of the group but she was far enough away to be able to breathe. 

For the entire duration of her time in the games, she didn’t have a single change to calm her body down. Even when she slept she was always on high alert. Taking a step away from everyone was what was best for her right now– especially when she needed to prepare to defend herself if it came to that. Y/N didn’t miss the way each player had received a glass bottle and a metal fork with their meal when they hadn’t before. Her fork was securely concealed in her jacket. 

Y/N rested her head on the cool tile wall and sighed. The room seemed much larger now compared to when she had woken up only days ago– though to her it seemed like weeks. There were only one hundred players left out of four hundred and fifty six and somehow Y/N was one of them. Though she might not have been if it wasn’t for one particular person. 

Kang Dae-ho was someone Y/N never thought she would see in these games. They weren’t exactly friends before the games, only worked at the same part-time job. But seeing him was like a breath of fresh air. If it wasn’t for him, Y/N was sure that she would have been killed during the mingle game. The whole time, he had kept her hand firmly clasped in his. When the final round called for two players, he didn’t hesitate to pull her along to a room, pushing her in first before himself. The fear Y/N had felt during that game– if Dae-ho hadn’t been by her side she would have froze up and never left that rotating platform. 

“Y/N,” a familiar voice called to her before she felt the warm and comforting presence sitting beside her. “What are you doing over here on your own?”

Y/N opened her eyes, not realising she had closed them. “I needed to step away for a bit.”

Dae-ho’s thigh pressed against hers. “Tell me next time. I didn’t know where you went.”

Y/N turned to him and offered him a small tight lipped smile. “I’m okay.”

Dae-ho didn’t return her smile, already knowing that it wasn’t genuine. From where his hands were resting in his lap, Y/N watched as they twitched– hesitantly decided if they should reach out to her. Taking the initiative, Y/N held her hand out. A small flash of surprise appeared on Dae-ho’s face before he gently held her hand in his, linking their fingers together. 

The corner of Y/N’s lips tugged up in a smile as she rested her head against the cool tile wall. “I don’t think I’ve told you but I’m glad you’re here. Well, not here exactly– but here with me. Seeing someone I recognised made me feel…safer. So thank you.”

Dae-ho’s gaze was fixated on their clasped hands. “Don’t thank me. Honestly seeing you here made me feel safer even though I hate that you are trapped here too.”

“We both made a stupid choice by phoning that number,” Y/N said. “When we get out of here, let’s not phone any strange numbers in the future.”

A quiet laugh emitted from Dae-ho and caused Y/N to smile. “Agreed.”

A silence washed over them but it was comfortable and if Y/N closed her eyes, she could pretend that they were in the break room at their shitty job. Instead of bidding goodbye at the end of the day like she usually did, she would take the risk and ask him for dinner. Finally doing what her friend had demanded of her when she first started the job and asking her attractive coworker out.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Y/N said, standing to her feet, her hand slipping out of Dae-ho’s. 

“I’ll go with you,” Dae-ho offered, quickly standing with her. 

“To the women’s bathroom?” Y/N asked, a soft chuckle leaving her lips. 

For a short moment, Dae-ho seemed embarrassed but it quickly seemed to fade. “I’ll keep watch outside.”

A small genuine smile tugged at her lips as she rested her hands on his biceps. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to protect me, you’ve done that enough already.”

“I’m sorry,” a woman a little older than Y/N said. Y/N glanced at the woman’s number. Player 91. “I overheard you going to the bathroom. We could go together, safety in numbers. I noticed some other women go there not too long ago.”

Y/N turned her attention back to Dae-ho. “See, I’ll be fine.”

There seemed to be nothing that could convince Dae-ho but the moment she leant up and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek all rational thoughts swimming through his mind seemed to evaporate. Y/N laughed and gently trailed her hands down his arms to his hands, offering him a comforting squeeze. “I’ll be fine.”

Slowly, Dae-ho nodded. “Be safe.”

As she took a step back from Dae-ho, he held onto her hands until she was too far to comfortably hold onto them. Y/N allowed her hands to slip from his but the moment his warmth fell away, she craved it once more. Y/N pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and offered Dae-ho one final parting smile before following the woman to the bathroom. 

***

Y/N watched as the water dripped from her chin back into the sink as she sighed. She could only hope that not everyone was bright enough to realise they could freely harm anyone that opposes their vote and in the morning they would be able to vote and return home. 

“So you voted to return home?” a woman said, approaching Y/N. 

Y/N didn’t bother to look at the woman as she answered. “Clearly, and anyone with a few brain cells would realise that is the best option for everyone here.”

The woman hummed. “Didn’t you vote to continue the games during the first vote?”

“I did,” Y/N answered. “It was a selfish decision and I regret it.”

“What changed your mind?” the woman questioned. 

“After nearly dying during the second game, I realised that risking my life for money isn’t worth it,” Y/N said, her grip tightening on the skin as Dae-ho’s face flushed in her mind. 

During the six-legged pentathlon, their small group of five was already decided until Jun-hee came along asking to join their team. The moment she found out the younger girl was pregnant, Y/N didn’t hesitate to join another team. 

Dae-ho insisted that he should be the one who left but Y/N refused and found another team, she was one of the first to complete it with one second to spare. For hours she had sat on her bed watching the door waiting for Dae-ho to enter, her anxiety rising when he never entered. When he finally did, Y/N’s heart rate still refused to drop. From then she realised that no matter how much money she would get if she continued to play, it wasn’t worth nearly losing Dae-ho and the other friends she had made. But just the thought of losing Dae-ho sent Y/N into a panic she didn’t see coming. 

“So those who died during those games didn’t matter to you? Only your life matters?” the woman said, continuing to pester Y/N. 

Finally Y/N turned and faced the woman. “Realistically those people would have died anyway. If I wasn’t in these games then nothing would change, someone else would be here in my place and everything would turn out exactly the same.” Y/N glanced at the blue patch on the woman’s jacket. “Seems like you don’t seem to care if people die or not considering you are too fucking selfish and you want more money.”

“Careful how you speak to me,” the woman said. “Once all of you who voted to leave are gone, us who voted to stay will each have over 800 million won each.” Slowly, the woman raised her hand, a silver fork shining in the dim lighting. The fork was pressed  against Y/N’s neck as she looked at the woman standing before her. Despite the situation, Y/N didn’t feel intimidated by the women at all, she was shorter and  was physically weaker than Y/N. 

“I’m only going to say this once,” the woman said, lowering her voice. “Change your vote, continue the games. If you do, I will make sure you get through to the end and get your share of the money.”

No matter how hard she tried, Y/N failed to contain the laughter that slipped past her lips. “I’d believe it if you weren’t threatening me right now. How am I meant to believe you won’t backstab me in the next game?”

The fork was pressed deeper against her neck and Y/N winced. “You need to trust me,” the woman said. 

“Trust a woman who is one movement away from plunging a damn fork into my neck? I think I’ll naively believe that someone will come to their senses and change their vote by morning,” Y/N replied. “Now take that fork away from my neck.”

“Or what?” the woman asked, an unhinged smile spreading across her face. 

“The group that voted to stay are currently outnumbered in this bathroom, five to nine. If you fight, you’ll be overpowered,” Y/N answered as the two other women who voted to stay slowly walked up to join the quiet altercation. 

“You’ll never win,” the woman said, the fork leaving Y/N’s neck. “We may be outnumbered but you have more elders on yours, one punch to the head and they’ll be out cold.”

As Y/N glanced around at the other women in the bathroom, she noticed that most of them were older and looked as if they could not handle themselves in a fight. Y/N sighed. “Do you really care about getting a bit of extra money? If we vote to leave now we still each get a large amount of money. What if you die in the next game? Your last thoughts will be ‘why didn’t I leave when I had the chance?’”

“You don’t know a thing about me!” the woman exclaimed. 

Y/N rolled her eyes and turned back to the sink. “I know that you’re an idiot if you chose to stay in this hellhole.”

The woman didn’t respond verbally. Instead she gripped the back of Y/N’s jacket, yanking her away from the sink. As Y/N stumbled on her feet, the woman sent a punch to her jaw, knocking off her balance completely. 

The moment Y/N’s back hit the floor, hell broke loose as people began fighting one another. It was just as the woman said, there were a lot more women who were physically weaker on Y/N’s side. Almost immediately Y/N watched as a few of them had already hit the floor, a pool of blood forming below them. Y/N didn’t take long to get back to her feet. Y/N wasn’t a particular skilled fighter, she had learnt basic self defense and had never had a reason to use it. Just as Y/N thought, the woman was physically weaker than Y/N as she easily overpowered the woman, gripping tightly onto her hair. 

“Just vote to leave!” Y/N yelled. “How stupid can fifty people be?”

The woman struggled to get out of Y/N’s grip. “I’ll vote to leave when all of you are dead!” she snapped. 

Y/N held tightly onto the woman’s hair as she threw her down on the floor. Before Y/N could think, she grabbed the fork concealed in her pocket and jammed it into the woman’s shoulder. The woman’s eyes widened as she cried out in pain. Y/N yanked the fork out and stood to her feet. There were still others fighting around her yet all she could do was stare down at the woman on the floor. Y/N hadn’t killed her, only injured her, yet she still felt the guilt of that weigh heavily on her shoulders. 

Before Y/N could even think about moving there was a force that sent her to the ground and she scrambled to get away before a force was pressed upon her body and she was harshly turned on her back. A more muscular woman sent a punch to her face before Y/N even had the chance to block it. With her vision blurry, Y/N failed to see the fork slamming down at full force towards her. 

***

Dae-ho sat looking in the direction where Y/N had left with the other woman to go to the bathroom anxiously shaking his leg. There was something clawing inside of him that told him that something bad was going to happen. Of course he had noticed the forks everyone had been given and Gi-hun had only solidified Dae-ho’s beliefs that it wasn’t unintentional. 

Y/N had been gone for a while and it took Jung-bae forcing Dae-ho to remain seated instead of storming after her. 

“I never asked,” Jung-bae spoke, noticing that Dae-ho became considerably more anxious, “how do you know Y/N?”

“We work together,” Dae-ho answered, not tearing his eyes from where she had disappeared. “It’s a shitty part time job but that's all that would hire me. I don’t know why she is still there– she has so much potential.”

Jung-bae hummed. “It seems as if you admire Y/N a lot.”

“I do,” Dae-ho said with no hesitation. “Before now, we only ever spoke at work, but she was always so nice and friendly to me. I watched her interact with customers too and she always greets them with a smile and tries to make them smile. Afterwards I would always find her in the break room exhausted but she would always sit and talk to me if I was on my break. Once she shared that she wished to become an artist but her parents told her that it wasn’t a sustainable career so she gave up.”

“It sounds like a lot more than admiration you have for her,” Jung-bae teased. 

Dae-ho quickly shook his head. “No, it's not anything like what you’re thinking of.”

“How about I ask Y/N when she comes back?” Jung-bae suggested. 

“No!” Dae-ho exclaimed, causing Jung-bae to laugh. Dae-ho sighed. “Okay, maybe it is like that.”

“The following players have been eliminated,” the cheerful voice sounded throughout the room. 

Dae-ho’s heart instantly dropped to the floor as he looked at Jung-bae, fear coursing through his veins. 

“Player 201. Player 449. Player 091–”

“That’s the player who went with Y/N,” Dae-ho said, fear evident in his tone. 

The players entered the room one by one and Dae-ho’s heart rate increased. From the looks of things, it wasn’t only the women who had gotten into a fight in the bathroom as the men walked out too, blood covering each and every one of them. The cheerful voice continued to list the numbers of the players who had been eliminated and Dae-ho’s fear rose after each and every one. He should have somehow gone with her to make sure that she was okay. 

The voice stopped listing off the eliminated players just as Y/N stepped into the room, the guard closing the door behind her. Blood covered her neck and stained her jacket. Smeared blood covered her hands too as she slowly stepped further into the room shaken up. 

“Count your players!” 

The room immediately broke into chaos as each side counted their players and how many each side lost. Dae-ho didn’t care as he ran over to Y/N. 

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asked, looking at the injury on her neck. 

“They attacked us,” Y/N muttered. “I didn’t want to hurt them but I did.”

Slowly, Dae-ho reached forward until he held his hands in front of hers. Without thought, she held onto them tightly as if grounding herself. 

“They attacked you first, you were only defending yourself,” Dae-ho reassured. 

Y/N slowly looked up at him. “I know but–”

“But nothing,” Dae-ho said, slowly pulling Y/N closer to where the rest of the group were standing.

Y/N nodded, squeezing his hands once more. “Can we sit down somewhere?”

Dae-ho gently guided her over to where Gi-hun and the others were sitting as someone counted how many of the whole group there was. Dae-ho gestured for Y/N to sit down first before he sat down next to her, his arm wrapping protectively around her waist, her body leaning closer to him. 

“What happened to your neck?” Dae-ho questioned looking at the long scratches down the back of her neck that ventured under her collar. 

“It happened just before the guards came in to break up the fight,” Y/N muttered, her hand seeking out Dae-ho’s. “If they didn’t come in that second, I’m sure that woman would have finished me off.”

Dae-ho noticed the distant look in her eyes and squeezed her hand to snap her out of it. “Hey, I know it’s hard but try not to think about that right now.”

“What else is there to think about?” Y/N replied, her voice sounding exhausted. 

Dae-ho shrugged, his thumb gliding across her knuckles. “Our job?”

“I nearly died and your response is to talk about our shitty job?” Y/N said. 

“You’re talking about it though,” Dae-ho muttered. “And I was going to ask you, what will you do when you get out of here? You can’t stay in that job for the rest of your life.”

“Pay off my debts,” Y/N answered. “After that, I honestly don’t know.”

“You wanted to become an artist, why don’t you start there?” Dae-ho suggested. 

Y/N looked at him, disbelief clear in her eyes. “You remember that conversation?”

“Of course,” Dae-ho replied. Y/N looked at him– really looked at him. The look immediately made Dae-ho heat up under his collar. 

“I didn’t think anyone really listened when I talked about what I am passionate about,” Y/N admitted. 

“I listened,” Dae-ho replied. 

“Why have we never spoken outside of work?” Y/N asked.

“Probably because we both hate our job and pretend that it doesn’t exist once our shift is over,” Dae-ho replied. 

A soft huff of laughter left Y/N and Dae-ho couldn’t stop the way his heart lifted at the sound. 

“That is true,” she said. “How about when we get out of here, we change that? This definitely isn’t the place or time to say this, but I have liked spending time with you and you have honestly saved me so many times and made this whole thing even the slightest bit bearable. So when we get out of here, why don’t we go for dinner? I’ll pay, it’s the least I can do.”

A wide grin formed on Dae-ho’s face as he nodded. “That would be nice.”

Y/N gave him a smile in return before she rested her head on his shoulder, relaxing her body into his side. The gentle grip he had on her waist tightened as he pulled her closer to his body. While Gi-hun spoke to the group in a hushed tone, Dae-ho only remained half listening as he held onto Y/N. A new sense of survival overcame him– he would get him and Y/N out no matter what. 

[delilahsturns]

— ୨୧ getting older . . . m.s

in which . . . two childhood best friends bump into each other after drifting apart.

warnings . . . resolved angst, fluff toward end.

a/n 💌 : based off of real life experiences lol, it’s been a while since i’ve written angst so i hope you like it!

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

The coffee shop in boston, massachusetts smelled exactly the same as it always did. a nostalgic and sweet blend of cinnamon and espresso that floated around the air. you had been avoiding this cafe for quite some time now, considering that you had just moved back to boston around a year ago to be closer to your family and friends. too many memories were wrapped up in this place—so much laughter, whispered secrets, and mostly of all…him.

you sighed heavily, adjusting the strap of the bag slung on your shoulder as you waited in line, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. suddenly, you heard a voice call out your name. a warm, and familiar voice you hadn’t heard in nearly eight years.

“y/n?” the voice asked softly. your heart stalled, something in your mind clicked. fuck, this couldn’t be, this had to be some sort of illusion, hallucination. but it wasn’t. you slowly turned around, and there he was.

matt sturniolo. the only man you’d ever been in love with.

he looked older, of course. his shoulders looked broader, his hair was a little messier as it fell effortlessly over his forehead. but his blue eyes—those hadn’t changed one bit. they still held the same welcoming expression and warmth you remembered, the same warmth that persuaded you to believe that you and matt could have been something more. but that wasn’t possible, not in this lifetime at least.

you lightly swallowed, your eyes darting in different directions as your breathing grew slightly quicker. “matt.” you spoke, emptiness present in your tone. it felt…odd. the way you interacted with him felt nothing like when you and matt were kids, running around recklessly in his backyard. all the stupid arguments over mario kart, and so much more. nothing felt the same, and you were sure it wouldn’t ever feel the same ever again.

silence. complete silence. that was, until matt spoke. “you still drink caramel lattes?” he asked, nodding at the menu as he stepped closed to you, now standing next to you in the line. you blinked, caught off guard. “you still drink black coffee and pretend to like it?” you grinned. matt chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “yeah, some things never change i guess.” matt turned his head to look at you, giving you a somewhat smile.

but, things do change.

all you could think about was your past with matt. how you both talked every single day, how you once knew everything about each other—your fears, your dreams. the way you and matt were absolutely inseparable, everyone in both of your families knew it, and so did you. however, your lives changed. college and matt’s career drove the both of you in different directions. you and matt promised to stay in touch no matter what, but that quickly faded into distance, and silence.

“you live here again?” matt asked, shifting on his feet. you quickly nodded. “mhm, moved back here last year after i finished college, you?”

“y’know, me and my brothers are just visiting our parents for the weekend, then we’re gonna head back to LA.” matt said, glancing down at the ground as if he was unsure of what to say to you next. then, with a hesitant smile he finally spoke up. “do you maybe wanna…sit down and talk for a minute? it’d be nice to catch up.” matt asked. you hesitated. it would be easier to make an excuse, to walk away and let the past stay where it was. but, something in matt’s expression—the way his eyes softened as if he was pleading, made you nod.

the both of you ordered and collected your drinks, finding a small table by a window. and for the first time in years, you both talked, it felt genuine this time. you both talked and laughed about life, catching each other up on what had been going on with your lives for the past few years. somewhere between the occasional stolen glances and laughter, you had realized something. even though time had pulled the both of you apart, with matt smiling at you the way he used to, it didn’t feel so much like the end anymore.

after all, it felt like your friendship was just beginning again.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

[kaiserposting]

My Worries Come in Phallic, Freudian Shapes

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2k TYPE: Established Relationship, It's basically just Kaiser tweaking for no reason 🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️ (I find it funny but interpretations may vary) WARNING(S): Kaiser's overactive imagination?

Kaiser would like to say he’s quite numb to being separated from you. Sometimes you come along with him at away games, if possible, but in other instances you have to be apart sometimes even for months, and Kaiser likes to think he manages it well.

You’re not on his mind much when he’s training or during a game. Mostly his times of weakness happen outside of that, though Kaiser doesn’t let it get to him. For example, he does this fun exercise where if his mind strays towards you too often or when he can sense the void in his chest is beginning to take on a suspicious shape, he holds out on texting or calling you for as long as possible. To test his will — which is something normal people do like all the time, of course — and because wanting to distract himself gives him extra neurotic energy to burn when he’s doing his exercises.

Not that Kaiser becomes neurotic over you or anything. It’s not even a big deal to him.

He’s sure you miss him more than he misses you. He’s confident you do. After all, to him, it’s no big deal, as previously stated. It’s true.

He doesn’t worry about small and nonsensical things like how you’d probably prefer a more present and available boyfriend, and how you’re free to do whatever you want with remarkable ease when you’re seas and oceans away from him.

Kaiser’s eye twitches while he continues shoving the last of his belongings back into his luggage, since he needs to pack for his flight back home. This train of thought isn’t going anywhere good — he needs to abandon it. Besides, a second with Michael Kaiser is worth way more than a month with some stupid, worthless commoner. Your shitty replacement for him will never rival the real deal.

No, this is stupid. You love him, you don’t have a replacement for him. Right? You wouldn’t betray him while he’s away. You’re his first and only love, you can’t do that to him, can you? You know he’d kill you if you did it and he found out, don’t you?

This is stupid. He wouldn’t kill you! Kaiser doesn’t want to kill you. He should stop thinking about this… You wouldn’t do it to him either anyway, you love him back. Kaiser knows you do, so why does it not feel real most of the time?

What if you’ve fallen out of love with him, though? Maybe you look forward to when he has to go away for long. Forget all about him the moment he’s out of your sight, don’t spare him a single thought, have fun with your little friends while he’s gone, all that.

You probably get together and you start shit-talking him with them the way people do about their good for nothing boyfriends sometimes. They call his haircut stupid and you cackle along with them, then you tell them how insecure and unlovable he really is, and actually his dad beat him as a child so now he’s barely human, how it makes him an arrogant and pretentious piece of trash pretender, and then you’re like ‘I wish I had a normal boyfriend instead of Michael’, and they’re all like ‘you deserve a normal boyfriend, this is fucked up’, and you’re empowered to free yourself of your burden. So he comes back home and you pick him up from the flight and you break the news to him that you’re leaving him and he has to move his belongings back to his place.

Maybe you have a new fling already, but it’s nothing serious because you still need to dump Kaiser and all. And he’s like in finances or something, an accountant maybe, who works normal hours (not the overachieving workaholic type who stays behind to do extra), and he probably doesn’t have footage of him having meltdowns on live TV for everyone to see. There are no interviews where he’s acting bitchy, no compilations of him acting cruel or ‘crashing out’ or whatever else. And he probably grew up in an average household — they weren’t rich or anything, but his parents made time for him. They were loving and nurtured him to be a rightful member of society, raising him to be someone worth your affection…

Holy shit does Kaiser feel unhinged. Literally why is he making up this entire story in his head? It never happened.

It didn’t, right? You wouldn’t do it to him, would you? You love him. You really, really, really love him, like from the bottom of your heart, somehow you love him and you don’t want to hurt him, even if you’re probably sick of him being away and of his problems and his attitude and his everything. If you had a magic wand, he wagers you’d wave it and change him on a neurochemical level, keep his looks and his successes, but get rid of the unnecessary baggage.

Or would you keep him as he is and love that ugly thing? Can you? Do you have it in you? Are you just tolerating him for some monetary benefits or out of pity with your knowledge of his past? Do you still love him? Will you love him a few hours from now or are you going to get bored? Are you bored and antsy waiting for him and is it affecting your feelings, suffocating your love to zero each moment he’s not by your side, each reunion only serving to put off the inevitable? Is the novelty wearing off? Do you need novelty?

Kaiser fights off the impulse to write you a text message threatening suicide and then turning off his phone until the end of the flight to keep you on your toes. A flashy move in attention seeking for sure, but for one you don’t even know he’s in a mind war with you, so you’re more likely to be confused than begging for him not to do it and for his forgiveness, though maybe it could earn him a reassurance of love and care. Regardless, Kaiser is not taking the chance because if you ignore him or don’t see the message it’ll just devastate him.

And also he kind of doesn’t want to act like that. Well, he does, but the rational part of him is also still awake and holding him back. You won’t appreciate that. Right now the strife he’s going through is completely imaginary, but if he goes and acts crazy outside the confines of his mind, he really might fuck everything up.

If he makes too many mistakes, you might fall out of love with him, and if you fall out of love with him, you’ll leave him. Kaiser thinks about what he’d do in that case. Without you he is nothing besides an unwanted waste of breath — you’re the sole person who got close enough to see beneath his nonsense and decide to tolerate it, attracted beyond frivolity for an enigmatic reason.

Maybe the perpetrator behind this strange limbo of weird hysteria is Kaiser’s low self-esteem. It always circles back to that and he is sick of it. He doesn’t understand why you subject yourself to him and here, a whole ordeal.

Whatever anymore. Kaiser doesn’t even care. It’s a pointless matter to lose his mind over. He knows you cherish him, and even if you didn’t, he’d get over it. Life moves on. There are other fish in the sea…

Actually, if you tried to leave him, Kaiser has so many things he would do, they’d earn him a restraining order. First he’d resort to begging and ugly crying, but he doubts it’d sway you. He’d need to be more extreme.

No, that’s silly. If you separated, he’d react to it like a normal person, right? He wouldn’t do a thing. He’d let you leave without any theatrics and move on. Right? It’s what he would do, Kaiser decides.

Or maybe he can get a leg up on you and catch you out when you begin losing interest in him and he can work to win you back over. You won’t even know what hit you. Yea, Kaiser will scheme to sweep you off your feet.

Not that he cares that much to put so much effort in… It’s just his strength and natural calling as an unbothered male manipulator.

___

After the packing and the waiting at the airport and all that, Kaiser survives a restless flight. He tried to read a book during it, but he turned out not to enjoy it whatsoever (catastrophe). Then he turned to Gesner, who was sitting next to him and seemed like he wanted to kill himself, and told him in detail about all the plot problems and why this was what made nonfiction superior.

To Gesner’s relief Kaiser also spent a good chunk of it trying to sleep, though the endeavor was useless. He closed his eyes and his pattern of anxious cyclical thinking continued and he failed to doze off. What do you think about accountants? Maybe your side piece wouldn’t have any tattoos because you secretly find his corny and you’ve sworn off tattooed men. ‘I mean, seriously, just put the eyeliner on like a real man.’ Kaiser would bet this is what you’re saying to your friends.

Anyway, again, his flight was spent stirring in ridiculous thoughts in that vein. If nothing else, actually, if you knew what was running through his head, that would be what would put you off of him. But you don’t. He needs to just… keep it to himself and it’ll be fine.

So you find each other after some stumbling and chaos and some vague text exchanges like ‘where are you?’, ‘At the airport obviously’, ‘you think you’re so funny’, and so on, and when you spot each other, you grin upon the sight of him (hard to fake such immediate happiness, Kaiser concludes) and spread your arms out for a hug.

Kaiser rolls his eyes. You’re so cute, he wants to squeeze you to death, but regardless he puts on a big show of what an inconvenience this is and gives you a stiff, nonchalant embrace. The way you hold him is a small reassurance. You’re still in public though, so he needs to play it cool for a bit longer, and he reluctantly peels himself away from you.

You interrogate him about his time away while he’s your passenger princess on the way home. Kaiser takes it as a good sign you’re still interested in his life at least enough to ask, as if there was a possibility he was going to come back and you just… wouldn’t give a fuck about him or what he’s been up to. He keeps his answers vague, trying not to let on the almost daily mental torment he’s been subjecting himself to just because his brain can’t stop making up stupid narratives.

Once you two arrive, and only when you’re inside, does Kaiser give into his desire for your affection. He wraps you up in a way tighter embrace without intention of letting go and peppers your face in kisses.

The first time he acted like that with you upon coming back, you were rightfully weirded out, but now you’re used to this whole routine and let him have his moment of rare forwardness.

“You know,” he says, “I missed you like, a little bit.”

“It’s hard to tell,” you say, sarcastic.

Kaiser ignores it. He bites your cheek. Not hard enough to hurt at all, but it’s a strange sensation.

“So gross.”

“I hope you weren’t doing anything stupid without me. I wouldn't want to miss out on any fun.”

“I wasn’t.”

“What do you think about accountants?”

You raise an eyebrow at the random question, but humor him anyway. “Can’t say I think anything in particular about them.”

“Is that so…”

For some reason, you find his tone to sound suspicious? There is a harder bite — your skin might be a bit irritated around there for a few minutes. You wonder if Kaiser was arguing with management or something somewhere abroad.

___

I just wrote this because I thought Kaiser having emotional impermanence (which is likely) would be hilarious I promise I'll write a more plot-oriented one shot soon again

[aangelinakii]

THE TEDDY THAT NEEDS TWO PARENTS.

— not his partner, not his lover.

summary : you're sick of this situationship you're in with tim drake. it's time for a change, and you're going to get it. one way or another.

note : mention of sexual occurances ? but it's not explicitly said it's more of like an alluded to sexual stuffs,, and also mentions of food issues and also tim is toxic !!!!!!

requested !

he's standing here, paid with his own money, throwing rubber balls at tin cans to win you a stupid teddy bear — but it's the biggest one on the shelf, so you're not too upset.

it's just... isn't this what boyfriends do? you know, for the people they're dating?

and, whatever this was between you and tim drake, it's not dating.

he throws his final ball, with a single tower of three cans left; he started with three balls, three towers, and managed to knock the first two down. if he misses this, you'll pretend to be upset, but then give him a kiss anyway as a thanks for participating.

you can't watch. your hands come to shield your eyes from the loss he's about to suffer.

ding! ding! ding!

from beside you, tim cheers and the attendant behind the stand gives a laugh. "nice one, what can i get for you?"

tim's voice grows farther away as he moves off to get the teddy bear, and you reluctantly move your hands away. he's probably just joking around to make you think he did it.

but when your eyes land on the table, which once owned three towers, you find it mostly empty, save for the few tin cans toppled to their sides. he... he did it?

you turn, and tim's coming back, his smile wide and shiny, the white stuffed teddy the same size as the length of his torso. "did you see?" he grins, holding out the bear for you, its head bobbing to the side, looking like its being held up by the scarlet red ribbon tied there. "three towers down just like that."

a surprised laugh huffs past your lips, and you have to try to pretend you're not surprised — not when it comes to tim, you shouldn't be surprised anymore.

"yeah, you were just great!" you reply, taking the bear beneath the shoulders and holding it to your side. he is really cute... or she. you should name it, but the only name you can think of is tim, and you're not sure you want to remember your new teddy by him.

seeming to mimic your action with the teddy bear, tim loops his arm around your back, pulling you snug into his side as you step away from the stand, the man stacking the towers back up again behind you. "where to next?" tim asks, squeezing the fabric of your clothes beneath his palm lightly. "i'm kind of hungry after all that throwing."

this time a real laugh comes out. "throwing? you barely threw them hard enough to kill a fly if it went past."

cheeky smile on his face, tim removes his arm to sling around your shoulders. "well, i saw a burger truck that smelled really good when we passed earlier. you up for burgers?"

"as long as you're paying." despite what could've sounded self-depricating, your tone told tim you were joking. he still squeezes your shoulder regardless.

"don't worry, i've got you tonight," he smiles, peering down at you beneath crescented eyes that come with his grin. it doesn't seem his lips are budging any time soon. "everything on me. gotham doesn't always have the carnival."

see? in this light, the purples and reds and greens flashing from the ferris wheel you tread beneath, he could be a boyfriend. the words he chooses, sure to melt your heart, if only you weren't thinking the entire time about how he could be the one to mend it.

yet he seems to break it every time.

every time he leaves your place, after spending the night in your arms, or you in his; every time he walks past you like he hasn't seen you most at your vulnerable, whether it be tears streaming down your face or stripped to your under garments. every time you're together with other people and he refers to you as his friend.

just his friend.

not his partner, not his lover. nothing of the sort.

and then he has the nerve to take you on a date to the fair like a good boyfriend would?

when you come back to your senses, you're standing next in line at the burger van tim said he wanted food from. to be honest, your appetite disappeared long ago; you can't seem to stomach food in his presence.

but he squeezes your shoulder again and smiles down at you and you think you'll ask him just to get you some fries. if you're hungry later you'll eat when you're alone.

finally the group in front moves away, and tim steps up to the cook leaning out the window, where delicious fumes of oil-soaked meats and spices of condiments are floating through. "hey! can i get a large cheeseburger, everything inside, and a pepsi max?" tim orders, and then looks down at you, the light from inside the van casting shadows on his face that make him look almost soft. almost. "you craving much?"

it takes you a minute, your mind too focused on how the light can change the way your heart beats for him; if you can't see the entire face that keeps letting you down, it seems to not think anything's wrong. "just some fries, please."

"great," tim smiles, turning back to nod at the man, and he reels his arm back from over your shoulders to dig into his pocket for his wallet. "you find somewhere while i pay, okay? i'll come with the food."

no need to tell you twice.

when you detach yourself from him, your entire side is burning with the remnants of tim drake, his casual kindness, lingering smiles, such a great contrast to how he sounded on the phone the other night when you asked him to hang out; deep sighs, long pauses. it's like he's an entirely different person.

your thoughts keep you occupied long enough to see tim return, balancing a cardboard box of loaded fries, his wrapped burger and his cup of pepsi in his arms. you found a picnic bench nearby, and purposely sat your new teddy in the space beside you so tim would have to sit opposite you instead.

maybe if you looked at him hard enough you could hate him.

tim sits down before you none the wiser. he places the food down and pokes the box of fries over to your section of the wooden table. you probably won't end up touching them, and he'll eat them all, which is fair, considering it's his money.

he begins to eat his burger like he can't read the room; not like he ever had that skill with you anyway.

still, you find it hard to believe he works alongside batman, once acting as his main sidekick — and he still can never pick up on your frustration towards him.

or maybe it's that he just chooses not to.

"tim," you say firmly, causing him to look up from his burger, but continue chewing all the while. "can we talk?"

"yeah, anything," you just about make out through his mouthful of beef and cheese and bap bun.

"can you stop eating for this?"

his chew pauses, and you can tell in the couple seconds he looks at you that he's weighing up the situation. he resumes crunching down his mouthful and places the burger down on its wrapping, swallowing his food.

now his attention is on you — fully, for what feels like the first time in months — the words feel like they're about to disappear, like you're going to back out and leave this unspoken.

no, you have to.

you have him now, you have to.

"i... guess i just want to say i'm not really sure this is," you finally say.

tim doesn't make an effort to respond, or even seem like he understands what you mean.

"like..." oh, god, here come the stupid words. "what are we?"

that seems to do it.

his lips part like he wants to say something but stopped quickly, and he flinches like you're holding your fists up at him, ready to strike, but you haven't moved, and he doesn't speak.

does he even know?

"like, i know we're friends, but it feels like we're on a date right now," you further explain, feelings hot and heavy in your chest. "and it's not like you asked me to go on a date with you, you just said let's go to the carnival, but i feel like you're treating me... i don't know. like we're actually together."

a pause.

"and you always treat me like that, except for when we're with other people, then you don't. then you act like you don't want anything to do with me at all."

his eyes have flitted down to stare at his burger, almost like he's expecting it to grow arms and legs and come to his aid.

"so i guess i just want an explanation."

seeing this as the end of your rant, tim lets out a great sigh.

he brings his hands up from beneath the table, resting his elbows on the wood and steepling his fingers, where his chin rests on the tips. he won't look at you, but he's incredibly silent, so much so that the screams and laughs of fairgoers around you seems to grow louder in the absence of his voice.

the silence alone urges you to reach out for the still-untouched box of fries, and you pull it towards yourself, reaching in for a salty chip, eager to pass the time until he dare speaks.

you've stopped counting how many chips you've eaten when you can make out his voice over the round of screams as the rollercoaster zooms past.

"i'm sorry," is all he says, but you push the box of fries a smidgen away, an instinctive reaction to him. you deserve to unlearn that.

your stare is hot on him, and even in the lack of daylight you can tell he's squirming under the pressure.

"i shouldn't be dragging you along," he continues sheepishly, avoiding your eyes like his life depends on it. "i... i suppose it's just easier to be like this than to man up and actually ask you. and you've shown me you'll just... god, this is horrible."

"no, tell me," you answer almost immediately. "tell me so i can do better. i don't want to be stupid."

"you're not—" the ghost of a smile dances along his lips. "you're not stupid. it's my fault, not yours at all in this. i was being selfish, taking advantage of what i could get. and what i could get was you, i suppose."

even though he's being honest, which you want, you can't help but feel a twang in the pit of your stomach.

"you do like me, though, right?" you ask him before you can stop yourself. you sound like a child, but you can justify it by reminding yourself of all the mixed signals he's been giving you the past few months.

this is what causes that small smile to widen, show the truth of his feelings, heart to spill out all over the table. he gives a small nod, like he can't believe he's doing it, and gingerly places a hand on the table, palm facing up.

he takes a small breath, words uncertain as he speaks next. "i totally understand if you get up right now and choose to never see me again — like, i really, really get it — but... i don't know, i really like you, i think i just need to unlearn some things about myself. would you, i don't know, stay around and teach me better?"

now is the time his eyes finally meet yours, and he's leaning ever so slightly across the table towards you. should you do it?

"i know i was stringing you along, but i don't think i waited for a minute to actually think about what i was doing."

even though every pang of sadness and ache from the past five months is telling you not to, something stronger behind your ribs is telling you to take his hand.

and so you take it.

"this bear is gonna need two parents," you muster up the courage to say, a bashful smile shining through.

tim even grins — something you're not used to being because of you — and he stands up slightly to lean into you, his hand still gripping yours, but the other comes to place lightly on the side of your head. a soft peck lands on your crown, possibly the softest tim has ever been with you.

when he sits back down, his free hand finds his burger again. "can i eat yet?"

"yes, you can eat," you chuckle in response.

although it's clear he's trying to hide it behind his big bite of burger, tim's grinning, and his eyes fold into soft crescents. "so, does this mean i'm your boyfriend?"

"it fucking better, you dick."

the words are harsh but your tone is sweet, spoken alongside a smile that causes your cheeks to hurt.

[someoneelse0109]

˚₊♡JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS˚₊♡

ೀ My most favorite works are collected in one selection. I think they are famous and many of you have read this, but they are my favorites, maybe you missed it so you should read them.

ೀ Special thanks for the @enchanthings divider. It's beautiful, so I will use it.

𓄵 Symbols: 💜 - fluff, ❤️‍🔥 - smut, 🖤 - angst, ❤️‍🩹 - hurt/comfort , 🤬 - swearing, 🎭 - drama, 🔪 - thriller, 🍑 - PWP, ✍🏻 - one-shot, 📝 - drabble, 👩🏼‍💻 - series

⟣ FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE by @dailynnt

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, 🎭, 🔪, 👩🏼‍💻 | mafia au

━ Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⟣ AURORAᴺᵒʳᵗʰᵉʳⁿ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˢ by @dailynnt

━ ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, ✍🏻 | ex to lover

━ A relationship that survived a breakup but could not be forgotten. Like the northern lights that appear only at certain moments, their feelings had their peaks and troughs, but always remained on the horizon. You meet your ex at some event. The feelings are still alive.

⟣ AGAINST THE RULES by @dailynnt

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 📝

━ Controlling yourself and not getting feelings for any of the memebers was the number one task. Besides, you're not allowed to do that. The company rules strictly forbid it. But it was with Jungkook that you had the hardest time. Because he always showed special feelings for you, and you stubbornly thought that he was just being caring. You thought that right up until this moment.

⟣ The Feeling's Mutual by emmiouija

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 🖤, 🎭, ❤️‍🩹, 🔪 | mafia au

━ You hated your brother's best friend. Jungkook was annoying, arrogant, and patronizing; he was downright insufferable. But when he offered to teach you everything he knew about sex, and in exchange, you would pretend to be his girlfriend to make his ex jealous, it was a proposition you weren't sure you could refuse.

⟣ teach me daddy by redcherrykook

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 🍑, ✍🏻 | daddy kink

⟣ ⋆˙⟡step by step - J.JK by @rispwr

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 🎭, 👩🏼‍💻

━ When your first love becomes your last love, but obstacles come your way, will he truly be your last love?

⟣ “3 words, 8 letters. I mean it” - J.JK by @rispwr

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ✍🏻

⟣ Coming home to you. teaser + moodboards by @rerefundslocals

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 💜, 📝

━ when Jungkook returns to Willow Creek, what happens when he meets you again, struggling to make ends meet.

⟣ Take care of me - J.JK by @rispwr

━ 💜, ✍🏻

━ you haven’t gone to school or even touched your phone due to your flu. jungkook rushes to your apartment to take care of you

⟣ Stuck With You by @aajjks

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, ✍🏻

━ Imagine being stuck in a room with a walking nightmare who really wants to fuck you.

⟣ too much ☆ by @kissforyouu

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ✍🏻 | daddy kink

⟣ UNO by Craztextae (Ao3)

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🍑, ✍🏻

━ A friend wants to play a new game with you.

⟣ That Night of Graduation bysmartkookiee (Ao3)

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ✍🏻

━ After a stupid game of Truth or Drink you are convinced into telling everyone about the time you and Jungkook hooked up together the night of graduation. A missed connection that you and Jungkook hadn't even talked about. Bringing up some unexpected feeling that you hadn't realized had been lingering between the two of you.

⟣ The Art of Boxing by seokiie

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ✍🏻

━ Jungkook loves boxing and in an attempt to get closer you ask him to teach you a few moves. You didn't think it would end up with you pressed face-first against the boxing ring floor.

⟣ JUST FRIENDS by @kinktae

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ❤️‍🩹, 👩🏼‍💻

━ The transition from best friends to best friends with benefits is never easy, especially when there’s a daddy kink involved.

⟣ Blackjack by @kpopfanfictrash

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 🔪, 🎭, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, 👩🏼‍💻 | mafia au

━ Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out?

⟣ Oh My God, They Were (Quarantined) Roommates by @ot7always

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, 📝

━ What do you do when you’re quarantined for months on end with Jeon Jungkook - S tier cuddler, workout robot, and thirst trap extraordinaire? Fuck him, you guess.

⟣ (he)art thief | jjk by @latetaektalk

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, 🖤, ✍🏻

━ “jungkook is charming, kind, smart, and funny. jungkook is the guy to fall in love with. he is perfect in every sense, except that he is also a member of a notorious heist group and only getting close to you to steal from you. but what does he do when he starts to fall for you? who does he choose? his brothers or you?”

⟣ COLD NIGHTS & BLURRED LINES (m) — JJK by @awrkive

━ ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, 💜, 📝

━ jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

Only the first page. I will add as I find something new ❤️‍🔥 Enjoy reading 💜

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.8): stop being weird - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

an; lmfao i watched babygirl last night so smut coming in the next few chapters FINALLY!!

part 7- part 8 - part 9

you don’t do weird, dramatic silences. you don’t ignore each other. you don’t fight.

so why does it kind of feel like you are?

it’s been days since the last pogue hangout. since you started seeing rafe a little less. since you realized he wasn’t really… talking to you anymore. not like normal. not like you two.

it’s not like he’s outright avoiding you—he still shows up, still answers when you text—but he’s dry. dismissive. like he doesn’t really care. and maybe you wouldn’t care either, if it weren’t so obvious.

you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, your phone resting on your stomach. music plays softly from your speaker, some song you don’t even realize is on until it ends. the room feels too quiet. the kind of quiet that makes your thoughts louder than they need to be.

before you can think too hard about it, you grab your phone and open your messages.

it’s not like you to overthink things. not with rafe. but the whole thing is just… off. and it’s not like he’s going to tell you what’s up—clearly—so you do the next best thing.

meanwhile, your life is moving. no time to think about rafe. no time to care.

you’re at the chateau, cross-faded, curled up against jj on the couch, barely processing the conversation happening around you. his arm is slung around your waist, and at some point, your head ends up on his shoulder. the night moves fast like that, all smoke and static and warmth, the air thick with laughter and the low hum of music from a speaker someone set on the counter.

jj’s rolling another joint, half-focused on pope and john b arguing over something stupid, while kiara eggs them on. you don’t even know what they’re mad about, but it’s funny watching them get worked up, hands flying, voices overlapping.

jj nudges you with his shoulder, eyes lazy, smirking. “you good over there, champ?”

you hum in response, tilting your head back to look at him. “never better.”

he grins, flicking the lighter to life.

at some point, jj drags you off the couch, pulling you toward the kitchen under the excuse of “we need snacks.” the real reason, as it turns out, is to shotgun a beer with you, which you only half succeed at before nearly choking on it. jj laughs so hard he almost chokes too, smacking the counter as he wheezes, before shoving the neck of his hoodie at you to wipe your mouth like you haven’t known each other for two weeks at most.

“you suck at this,” he says, grinning.

“fuck you,” you cough, still recovering.

“nah, that was tragic,” he teases, cracking open another one like you didn’t just borderline aspirate the first. “you gotta commit. you hesitated.”

you glare at him, wiping your chin with his hoodie before flipping it back at his face. “let’s see you do better, mr. professional.”

jj winks, tilting his head back as he downs the beer effortlessly, then slamming the empty can on the counter with an exaggerated gasp. “light work,” he announces.

you roll your eyes. “congrats. you’ve peaked.”

he throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a loose side hug as he grabs a bag of chips off the counter. “c’mon, princess. let’s go pretend we got the snacks and not just our crippling alcohol dependencies.”

sometime past 2 a.m., you end up back on the couch, jj next to you, kiara half in your lap, legs thrown over the armrest. your limbs feel heavy, head fogged over with exhaustion, but you feel good. easy. warm in the way that only comes with nights like this.

you don’t check your phone. don’t think about unread messages or stubborn boys who’d rather sit in their heads than get out of them.

not your problem tonight.

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecameronswifeyy @hello-therree

[multific]

Back From The Dead

Simon Kalivoda x Reader

Summary: Months after Simon Kalivoda’s tragic death, you visit his grave, never expecting to see him again. But Shadyside is full of horrors. And maybe, just maybe, a miracle. 

Shadyside had a way of swallowing people whole, leaving nothing but ghosts behind.

That’s what you told yourself when you stood at Simon Kalivoda’s grave, fingers tightening around the bouquet of flowers in your hands. 

It had been months. 

Long enough for the town to move on, long enough for people to stop whispering about the massacre. 

But you never moved on.

How could you? 

He wasn’t just another name on the news. He was Simon. 

Loud, ridiculous, reckless Simon who swore he’d live forever.

And yet here you were, talking to a headstone.

“I hate this,” you muttered, kneeling in the dirt. “You weren’t supposed to go out like that. Not you.” Your voice cracked, and you clenched your jaw. “And now I’m standing here, talking to you like a crazy person, hoping you can hear me wherever you are.”

The wind howled through the trees, rustling the leaves around you. A chill ran up your spine, but you ignored it.

“I miss you,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “More than I thought was possible.”

A sharp crack echoed through the cemetery. It was like twigs snapping underfoot. 

You froze. 

Slowly, you turned, expecting some drunk kids messing around. But there was no one there. Just rows of gravestones, shadows stretching long beneath the moonlight.

You swallowed hard and turned back. 

Only to come face to face with Simon.

Your breath caught, the world tilting sideways. You couldn't even scream.

He looked… real. Solid. Alive. 

Not a ghostly figure or a vision, but Simon.

He was standing there in his stupid ripped jeans and an oversized hoodie, hair messy as ever.

Your heart hammered. “What the-”

“Holy shit.” His voice was rough like he hadn’t used it in a long time. His wide, disbelieving eyes scanned you before he let out a breathless laugh. “I-am I dead? Wait, no-was I dead?”

You stumbled back, hands shaking. “This isn’t real.”

Simon looked just as freaked out as you, staring at his own hands before touching his chest. “I-this is so fucked up.” His eyes flicked back to you, desperate. “Is this a dream? Am I dreaming?”

You didn’t know what to say. You could barely breathe. Your mind screamed at you to run, but your heart-your heart told you to move closer.

“Simon,” you whispered.

His eyes softened. “It’s really you.”

Tears blurred your vision as you reached out, hesitantly brushing your fingers against his arm. Warm. Real.

He was real.

That was all it took. Suddenly, you were throwing yourself at him, and Simon caught you without hesitation, arms wrapping around you like he’d never let go. 

He smelled the same, faint cologne, cheap shampoo, a hint of candy.

“I thought you were gone,” you choked out against his shoulder.

Simon exhaled shakily, squeezing you tighter. “Me too.” He pulled back just enough to look at you. “What happened? I-” He swallowed hard. “I remember the axe. The pain. And then… nothing.” His brows furrowed. “How the hell am I here?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

Simon let out a breathless laugh. “God, I missed you.” His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if this is real and I get a second chance...” He swallowed hard, searching your face. “I don’t wanna waste it.”

Your throat tightened. “You never wasted anything, Si.”

He huffed. “That’s not true. I wasted so much time pretending I didn’t want more with you.” His voice dropped, more serious than you’d ever heard it. “I want it now. If you’ll have me.”

You didn’t answer. You just kissed him.

And when he kissed you back, warm and alive and real, you knew one thing for certain.

Simon Kalivoda might have died that night.

But somehow, some way, he had come back for you.

And this time, you weren’t letting go.

Shadyside is full of horrors. And maybe, just maybe, you were allowed a single miracle. 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[arxiwon]

The One That Got Away

Genre: First Love, Angst, Slow-Burn, Reunion Romance

Warnings: Extreme heartbreak, unspoken love, lost chances, emotional devastation

Ni-Ki never believed in fate. If fate were real, it wouldn’t have let years pass with silence where words should’ve been. It wouldn’t have led him here—to your wedding.

The invitation had arrived unexpectedly, tucked neatly in an envelope with your name printed in the same handwriting that once scribbled notes on the corners of his textbooks. He had stared at it for hours, fingers tracing over the letters, his heart in his throat.

A part of him had wanted to ignore it, to pretend he never saw it. To let himself believe that maybe, if he never acknowledged it, you wouldn’t actually be getting married. But another part of him—a cruel, self-destructive part—knew he had to go.

And now, standing among the guests, he watches as you walk down the aisle, radiant in a way that makes his chest tighten.

You look happy.

You look like someone who never spent nights awake, wondering about what ifs. Someone who never held back words, fearing the consequences. Someone who had moved on.

But Ni-Ki never did.

The ceremony begins, and he listens in suffocating silence as the officiant speaks.

"Do you take him to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

His entire body stiffens.

"I do."

And just like that, the last thread of hope inside him snaps.

The crowd erupts into cheers, but the sound is distant—like he’s underwater, drowning. He lets his lips curl into a polite smile, clapping along with everyone else. But inside, he feels like he’s unraveling.

The reception is a blur.

People laugh, glasses clink, and music hums softly in the background. It should be beautiful. It should be a celebration. But to Ni-Ki, it feels like a funeral.

Then he sees you dancing with your husband. Your hand is in his, your body pressed close, and you’re smiling—really smiling.

Something inside Ni-Ki shatters.

Because he has never seen you look at him that way.

Not when you were kids, racing through the streets. Not when you stayed up all night talking about your dreams. Not even in the quiet moments, when he thought—hoped—that maybe you felt it too.

Maybe you never did.

He stands, ready to finally leave, when your voice stops him.

"Riki."

It’s soft, hesitant—like you weren’t sure if you should say his name at all.

Slowly, he turns.

You’re standing in front of him, the warm glow of the lights casting a golden hue on your skin. For a second, just a second, you look exactly like the person from his memories—the one who used to steal his food, who used to challenge him to stupid bets, who used to be his.

"I didn’t think you’d come," you say, voice quiet.

Ni-Ki lets out a small chuckle, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, well… wouldn’t miss it for the world."

A lie.

You smile, but it’s not the same as before. There’s something behind it—something unspoken, something heavy.

He wants to say it.

He wants to tell you that he loved you. That he still loves you. That he’s spent years pretending he doesn’t, but no matter how much he tries, it’s always been you.

The words sit on the tip of his tongue, burning his throat.

"I—"

Your husband calls your name.

You turn toward the sound instantly. Your expression softens, your lips parting into a smile so effortlessly, like your heart belongs to someone else entirely.

And maybe… it does.

Ni-Ki swallows hard, forcing the words back down.

He doesn’t say them.

He never will.

Instead, he nods, offering you the smallest smile. "Congratulations."

Your eyes flicker with something—hesitation? Regret? But before he can figure it out, you give him one last look before turning away.

Walking back to your husband.

Walking away from him.

For the last time.

Ni-Ki doesn’t move. He watches as you disappear into a future that no longer has a place for him. A future that should have been his, if only he had been braver. If only he had spoken up sooner. If only—

But it doesn’t matter.

Some words are meant to be left unspoken.

Some love stories are never meant to be told.

And some people… are only meant to be each other’s greatest almost.

[come-as-you-are-111]

do a minsu x reader where minsu cry’s over smth and reader hugs and comforts him because he isn’t afraid to cry and he falls in love with her cause she i kind and sweet and she’s had a crush on him

Falling For You

Warnings: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!

The dorm is quieter than usual. It’s one of those rare moments between games where no one is talking, no one is fighting—just the sound of slow breathing, the occasional rustle of blankets, and the quiet weight of survival sinking in.

And then, you see him.

Min-Su sits on the edge of his bunk, hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His hands are clasped together, fingers anxiously twisting the fabric of his jumpsuit. His head is bowed low, his shoulders rising and falling with unsteady breaths.

You hesitate.

It’s not often you see someone openly upset here. People usually swallow their emotions, bury them deep down, because in the Squid Game, weakness is dangerous. It’s a place that forces you to be numb, to pretend you don’t feel a damn thing.

But Min-Su isn’t like the others.

He always felt things deeply, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. And that’s exactly why you’re drawn to him.

Taking a quiet step closer, you lower your voice. “Min-Su?”

His head lifts slightly, and even in the dim light, you catch the faint shine of tears before he quickly wipes them away with the sleeve of his jumpsuit.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice rough, unsteady. “I know it’s stupid to get emotional here.”

Your heart clenches. “It’s not stupid.”

You sit beside him, close enough that your knee brushes his, but you don’t press him to talk. You just wait, letting him decide if he wants to let you in.

For a moment, all he does is exhale slowly, rubbing a hand down his face before finally whispering, “It’s just… everything. The games. The people we’ve lost. And I keep wondering if I’ll make it out—if any of us will.”

He shakes his head, staring down at his hands. “I don’t want to be another nameless body on the floor.”

There’s something so heartbreakingly human in the way he says it, and before you can stop yourself, you reach out—your fingers gently curling around his hand.

His breath hitches at the contact, his gaze flickering to yours, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into it, like he needs it.

And then you move without thinking, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a firm, warm embrace.

At first, he freezes, like he’s not used to this kind of comfort. But then, ever so slowly, he lets go—his hands gripping the back of your jumpsuit as if holding onto you is the only thing keeping him grounded.

His breath is warm against your shoulder, uneven, but he doesn’t hide it. He doesn’t try to mask the way his body trembles slightly against yours.

“I hate that we’re stuck in this place,” you murmur against his shoulder. “But I’m glad I met you.”

His arms tighten around you, as if those words alone are enough to steady him. When he finally pulls back, his eyes search yours—soft, vulnerable, something unspoken lingering between you.

“You mean that?”

You nod, your heart hammering.

You’d had a crush on Min-Su since the moment you first spoke to him—since you realized he wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t ruthless. He wasn’t selfish. He cared.

And right now, looking at you like this, something in his gaze shifts—like he’s seeing you in a way he never has before.

“You’re too kind for this place,” he whispers, his fingers still gently holding onto your sleeve. “That’s why I—” He stops himself, shaking his head with a small, breathless laugh. “I think I’m falling for you.”

Your stomach flips, warmth spreading through your chest, but it’s more than just a crush now. It’s something real, something that exists despite the chaos around you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you squeeze his hand. “Then at least we’re in this together.”

And for the first time in days, he smiles.

A/n: hi my lil monsters! How we likey? First min-su fic and this request is honestly so cute and I just knew I had to do it! If you have any request send em in!

Love ya, Twilight

squid game taglist:

@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @takuma-talkz @sxmmerchxld @multifandomgirllol @gizaspicebag @truefandemonium