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morganaawriterr · 2 days ago

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˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Love Lake ;

Pairing; fem!reader x loser!Niki Synopsis; When Ni-ki moved to your neighbourhood, he didn’t think much of it—until he met you. One night, he unexpectedly shows up at your house, and a calm walk transforms into a seducing game by the lake. Between playful teasing and intimate touches, the tension between you grows, impossible to ignore. Genre; Fluff (a bit suggestive) Warning; Suggestive content; Mentions of alcohol; Ni-ki is as cute loser; nudity; cute tension; profanity; Words; 3.7k Masterlist

A/N: I really like this post, its very cute and sexy and I love Ni-ki <3 I hope you guys like it too, reblogs and likes are always appreciated, thank you so much <3 (this is a repost)

Ni-ki is certainly out of his mind.

It’s 2 a.m., and he’s walking to your house on this warm summer night. The moon is his only companion, casting a soft blue shadow on the ground as he steps. A heavy backpack weighs on his shoulders, but the happy smile on his lips and the quickened beat of his heart reveal his excitement at the thought of seeing you again. Ni-ki moved to your neighbourhood with his parents a few months ago, and you were the one who helped him when he needed it most. That small act of kindness marked the beginning of your friendship.

You are a short-tempered girl with long black hair, a sweet smile, and captivating brown eyes. Ni-ki still remembers the first time he talked to you. He was going door to door, asking if anyone knew a mechanic because his car wouldn’t start—he’d left an interior light on and drained the battery. He was mortified during that first conversation. Your voice had been calm, but your expression wasn’t so welcoming. The way you raised an eyebrow at him as he explained made him blush like a twelve-year-old. Thankfully, your dad turned out to be a mechanic and helped him out. Since then, Ni-ki hasn’t left you alone, especially after discovering you went to the same university as him.

As he approaches your house, Ni-ki thinks back to the last time you hung out. It was in your small apartment near campus. The windows were wide open to combat the summer heat, and the two of you were playing cards, listening to the latest Chase Atlantic album, and drinking beer. Everything was going perfectly—at least for you. You were finally winning a game after weeks of losing streaks, and Ni-ki was starting to sulk because he hated losing. Frustrated, he angrily threw his last few cards onto the table, accidentally knocking over his beer.

The can tipped, spilling its stinky contents all over your chest, lap, and the couch.

“NI-KI, WHAT THE FUCK!” you shouted, glaring at him with wide eyes. Your mouth hung open in disbelief, and there was no hiding the fury blazing in your expression.

You had been wearing one of your favorite blouses—a burgundy one—and now it was soaked. The stain seemed like it would be permanent, all because Ni-ki couldn’t control his temper.

Ni-ki knew exactly how much that blouse meant to you, and guilt gnawed at him. Panicking, he grabbed a handful of tissues from the coffee table and pressed them against your chest, frantically trying to dry you off. His intentions were innocent, but when his eyes drifted to where his hand was, he froze. His face turned beet red as he glanced back up at you, only to realize how close the two of you were.

Your heart fluttered at the intensity of his gaze, and you instinctively closed your eyes, expecting him to kiss you. Seconds passed, but nothing happened. Confused, you opened your eyes slowly, only to find Ni-ki staring at you with one eyebrow raised, his expression equal parts puzzled and amused.

You blushed furiously and immediately pushed him away, yelling at him for being so careless and ruining your blouse. Disappearing into the kitchen, still mumbling angrily to yourself, Ni-ki stayed behind, lying comfortably on the floor. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He couldn’t help but grin like an idiot at the memory of your flushed face because he knew how rare it was for you to get embarrassed around him.

Now, standing in front of your house, Ni-ki smiles to himself at the thought of that incident. Maybe there’s something more between you two than just friendship. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he types a quick text: I’m outside. He knows that’s all it will take to get your attention.

Dressed in an oversized white t-shirt and some sporty shorts, you’re lying on your bed, engrossed in a book while listening to music—your go-to routine when you’re determined to finish a story. The soft buzz of your phone pulls you out of your bubble, and you can’t help but smile when you see Ni-ki’s text. Sliding open your window, you step outside and walk calmly to the balcony at the front of your house. The night breeze is warm, offering no relief from the lingering summer heat.

“What are you doing here at this time, Kiki?” you ask, teasing him with the nickname you know he hates, leaning against the glass railing.

“I couldn’t sleep… And I know you have trouble sleeping sometimes, so I thought we could hang out,” Ni-ki replies, raising an eyebrow as he casually ignores the nickname. Despite his nonchalance, you give him a small smile. You know how often he gets stuck in his head, and it’s no surprise that it keeps him awake.

“We can’t stay at my parents’ house this late at night…” you say, pausing to think. “Let’s take a walk instead, maybe?” you suggest. Ni-ki nods eagerly at the idea, his expression softening at the thought of spending more time with you.

To be honest, it didn’t matter where you two were going or what you were doing—Ni-ki just wanted to be close to you. The two of you wandered aimlessly around the neighborhood, chatting softly as the full moon followed your steps. The streetlights served as your only guide, casting a warm glow over the quiet streets. You found yourself laughing at the stupid jokes Ni-ki made about people at uni, and in the midst of your laughter, your gaze drifted to the fine man walking beside you.

Riki towered over you, almost double your height. His brown ends blended with blonde roots, making his hair look irresistibly soft, his bangs nearly obscuring his whole face. Your eyes lingered on his tired yet captivating eyes and his plump lips, hating how they always seemed so inviting. For the first time, you noticed how muscular he had become, the dance classes clearly working wonders on his physique. His biceps were easily visible to your wandering eyes, and his shoulders were broader now, exuding strength. God, he made your knees weak without even trying.

A fresh, earthy smell from the surrounding trees caused you to momentarily close your eyes, savoring the cool breeze brushing against your skin. As you relished the comfortable silence between you and Ni-ki, the distant sound of water flowing caught your attention. A mischievous idea sparked in your mind.

“Look, there’s a small lake over there. Let’s get closer—I love the sound of the water,” you said eagerly, your eyes lighting up at the thought. Ni-ki didn’t respond immediately; instead, he stared into your eyes, completely mesmerized by the way they sparkled under the moonlight’s soft blue hue.

You gently grabbed Riki’s hand and pulled him toward the water. Carefully, you led him through tall trees and wild grass to a small clearing that resembled an island, covered in soft sand and surrounded by water on all sides except one. Ni-ki, however, seemed frozen in place, his gaze fixed on your slender hand intertwined with his. Your skin was warm and soft against his, and the simple touch left him stunned.

“This is so calming. I love it,” Riki said in a husky voice, casting a shy glance at you as he let the peaceful atmosphere settle around him.

You decided to sit down near the water, hoping the soothing sound of the flowing stream and the chorus of nighttime creatures would ease your mind. Ni-ki followed suit, settling down beside you. A comfortable silence enveloped you both, and when you turned your head to look at the handsome boy beside you, your gaze met his. You held eye contact for a while, feeling a strange sense of safety under his gaze and comfort in his presence.

Ni-ki’s thoughts began to wander as he looked into your eyes. He loved your eyes—where others might call brown unremarkable, he found them magical. The way your coffee-colored irises complemented your jet-black hair and soft skin only solidified his belief that he might be in love with you. He could lose himself in those eyes forever, and he would do so gladly.

While he was lost in his thoughts, you asked him a question. The way his eyes widened in surprise sent you into a fit of laughter. Your laugh echoed through the tall trees, mingling with the sound of the flowing water in the distance.

“I dare you to go into the water. Clothes are optional,” you repeated, leaning closer to his face and winking. “What? Are you too scared?” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest as a playful smile spread across your lips.

“Nah. You just make me do stupid things and never do them with me,” Ni-ki replied without hesitation.

You pushed him playfully, feigning offense but feeling a little ashamed too—because he was right. You always dared him to do silly things but chickened out at the last minute, leaving him to look like a fool.

“OK, OK. I’ll go first this time. You can follow me… if you can keep up,” you declared, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Childish,” Riki muttered, but before he could say anything else, his mouth dropped open.

You bent over, straightening your back as you leaned down, your back facing Ni-ki. Slowly, while maintaining eye contact with him, you slid your shorts down your legs, leaving yourself in only a black thong and an oversized white t-shirt. Without saying a word or looking back, you walked toward the water.

The icy temperature sent a jolt through you, making your feet feel slightly numb, but your pride was heavier than the cold. You stood tall and waded deeper into the water, letting it engulf you inch by inch.

Ni-ki is certainly out of his mind. He ran his fingers through his hair, shutting his eyes tightly in an attempt to process what had just happened. But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was your figure and it burned into his memory, your curves teasing him mercilessly.

He was just a poor, young, and undeniably horny man. And you? You were testing his patience—because deep down, you knew he was too much of a coward to make a move.

“RIKI, YOU COMING OR NOT?” you yelled, a sly smirk curling on your lips, fully aware of exactly what was running through his mind.

Ni-ki softly slapped himself back to reality, deciding that two could play at this game. While your curious mind raced with all the possible scenarios of what he might do next, your gaze locked on him as he began taking his shirt off. Your eyes were immediately glued to how his muscles flexed when he pulled the fabric over his head. He was, without a doubt, one of the most attractive men you had ever laid eyes on. His toned physique, the subtle curve of his waist, and the constellation of moles scattered across his skin made your face flush three shades of red in an instant.

When Ni-ki’s toes touched the freezing water, his whole body shivered involuntarily. He briefly considered retreating, but no—he couldn’t let you win this round. You’d tease him about it relentlessly, not just now but for days to come. Resolving to push through, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and swam toward you.

As he drew closer, he wasn’t prepared for how captivating you looked. Your long, dark hair was slicked back, your lips tinged a deep red from the cold water, and your eyes glimmered with a seductiveness that left him speechless. Water droplets clung to your lashes, and your skin glowed in the soft blue light cast by the moon. You looked like a siren, a vision that completely clouded his mind with thoughts of you and only you.

“Hmmm, I see.” You bit your bottom lip playfully. “Maybe you’re not as weak as I thought…”

But before Ni-ki could respond, you smirked mischievously and pushed his head underwater, fully submerging him in the icy lake.

When he resurfaced, it was your turn to feel trapped by him. His brown-and-blonde hair was slicked back, water dripping from the tips, revealing his sharp features. His plump bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he tried to stifle a grin. As your eyes trailed down from his face, you found yourself staring at his chest—water droplets cascading down his toned torso, tracing the lines of his abs.

This little game of seduction you’d started was starting to backfire, and you felt as though you were the one being seduced. You swallowed hard, your eyes unwilling to leave the trail of water sliding down his lower stomach.

“You’re staring, Y/N,” Riki teased, his voice light but with a hint of shyness. He loved the way your gaze lingered on him, and it made his heart race.

You wanted to respond with something smart and sassy, but the words caught in your throat. Turning around, you were ready to dive back into the water to clear your head when you felt his long fingers wrap around your wrist. In one swift motion, Ni-ki pulled you against him. You let out a surprised gasp as water splashed around you.

As your startled eyes met his, Ni-ki suddenly noticed something odd against his chest. Confused, he glanced down, only to see your soaked white t-shirt clinging to your skin, outlining your chest and revealing the faint shapes of your hard nipples because of the cold.

He cursed under his breath as realization hit him. When his curious gaze returned to yours, your face turned crimson with embarrassment. You had wanted to tease him, hoping he’d take the hint and finally make you his, but this had gone way beyond your plan. You struggled against his grip with all your might, but he was too strong.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me right now, Y/N…” Ni-ki confessed, his voice low and unsteady, the shyness completely gone. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as though trying to steady himself.

You remained silent, too flustered to respond. But then you felt his slender fingers lift your chin, gently guiding your face upward. When your eyes met his again, you realized his gaze was fixed on your lips.

You waited, heart pounding, expecting him to make a move. Yet he hesitated, his eyes darting between your lips and your eyes, as if silently battling with himself. Ni-ki desperately wanted to kiss you, but a small, lingering fear held him back—the fear that this might ruin your friendship, his worst nightmare.

Feeling a mix of frustration and fondness, you rolled your eyes, your annoyance outweighing your nerves. Without giving him another moment to overthink, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft and cold, catching Ni-ki completely off guard. For a moment, he stood frozen, but then relief washed over him as the chaotic voices in his mind were silenced.

When you pulled away, your gaze locked with his deep brown eyes, silently conveying that he didn’t need to hesitate anymore. After a few heartbeats of hesitation, he leaned in and kissed you again, this time with more certainty, his lips moving against yours with a newfound confidence.

When your lips parted to catch your breath, Riki seemed to take it personally. He chased after your lips again, this time cupping your cheek with his veiny hand, his strong arm wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. It was as though he wanted to ensure you wouldn’t let go of his lips again.

As your bra-less chest pressed against his, his sharp teeth grazed your bottom lip, a warning that his tongue sought entrance. A quiet moan escaped your lips as you felt his tongue meet yours, the taste of watermelon from the gum he’d chewed earlier lingering on him.

When your lungs screamed for air, your lips finally broke apart. Resting his forehead against yours, Riki wore the proudest smile, his chest heaving as he felt a sense of triumph. He was certain you’d finally moved past the strange tension that had been building between you two.

But your face told a different story. Panic welled up inside you as you realized there was no hiding your feelings anymore. No more playful jokes or flirty remarks to mask the truth—he now knew how you felt.

Riki finally loosened his grip, letting his arm fall from your waist. Without a word, you quickly swam back to shore, leaving him standing alone and bewildered in the water.

“Shit!” Ni-ki cursed, running a hand through his hair. “Was I too much?” he muttered to himself, scrambling to follow you, fear flashing across his face that he might’ve just ruined everything.

“Riki, I—”

“I’m sorry... I know,” he interrupted, his voice tinged with regret. “I was too much. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him. “Let me finish, Riki,” you whispered, your voice low and tinged with embarrassment. “I’ve had a crush on you ever since the first time I laid eyes on you. But I was scared you didn’t like me back. So, I tried to play it cool around you, flirting to see if you felt the same… but you always backed out at the last minute, and it was so confusing.”

Your voice cracked slightly as you confessed, a sad pout forming on your lips.

“Are you serious?” the tall boy asks, his voice tinged with disbelief as he looks at you with the sweetest expression you’ve ever seen on him. “I’ve liked you this whole time too. That’s why I get so shy and clumsy around you. I wanted to impress you!” Riki confesses, his lips stretching into the biggest smile. “I was too much of a loser to make the first move, and I’m sorry for that. But I’ve always liked you.”

Ni-ki’s large, bony hand reaches out for yours, interlocking his fingers with yours. His heart swells, completely captivated by you, especially the way you seem to get shy only because of him. But you let go of his hand to get dressed, bending down to pick up your shorts from the sand.

Behind you, Ni-ki fights the overwhelming urge to grab your hips and pull you against him, his hands itching to explore every inch of your body. In his mind, he’s already tracing your sides, mentally cataloging every detail of how your skin feels under his touch.

When you turn around, he notices your soaked t-shirt still clinging to your chest. “Here—” Ni-ki offers you his dry shirt, his voice soft and a shy smile tugging at his lips. “I know it must be uncomfortable having your t-shirt stuck to you. You can wear this instead.” His cheeks flush red as his curious eyes flicker to your chest again before he quickly looks away.

“Thank you. Now, cover your eyes,” you instruct, turning away from him.

Ni-ki obediently hides his eyes with his hands, though he leaves a small gap to peek. His heart skips a beat when he catches sight of your bare back and the outline of your chest as you lift your arms to slip into his shirt. Your silhouette, illuminated by the faint moonlight, makes it impossible for him not to bite his lip, cursing himself for making things harder on himself.

When you turn back around, he shuts his eyes tightly, pretending to have been an angel the entire time. “You can open your eyes now,” you say, and he removes his hands, smiling innocently at you.

Ni-ki slings your wet t-shirt over his shoulder as the two of you begin walking back to your place. He rummages through his backpack, pulling out some snacks to share. The only sounds are the crunching of the food and the rhythm of your footsteps, accompanied by the warm breeze that returns as you leave the cool shade of the trees behind.

You steal glances at him every now and then, enjoying his goofy side as he tries his best to make you laugh.

When you reach your house, Ni-ki pouts, his full lips jutting out cutely. He clearly doesn’t want the night to end.

“Goodnight, Ni-ki,” you say softly, your gaze fixed on the ground, still flustered by the memories of what happened at the lake.

“Where’s my confident Y/N gone?” he teases, loving this shy side of you. His hand reaches for your cheek, gently caressing it.

“She dissolved in the cold water,” you quip sarcastically, punching his strong chest playfully. Then, you lean up and give him a quick peck on the cheek before heading back to your balcony to climb up to your bedroom.

The tall boy stays rooted in place, watching as you ascend. His curious eyes trail after you, lingering on your form until you slip inside your room. You send him a playful kiss before sliding the window shut, disappearing from his view.

Ni-ki lingers outside for a moment longer, his gaze shifting between your house and the starry night sky. With the memory of your lips on his, he finally turns to walk home, his mind replaying every second of the evening.

As he walks, a giggle escapes his lips, only for him to cringe at himself immediately after. Still, he can’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest. You’re all he can think about—the way you fit so perfectly in his arms, your laugh, your teasing. He’d come to your house hoping to distract himself and fall asleep faster, but now, as he lays in bed, sleep feels impossible. His mind is consumed with thoughts of you and all the ways he’s going to make you his girlfriend.

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joelsprettyprincess · 2 days ago

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Taming of the Shrew - Part 1

Pairing: dark!Arthur Morgan x f!reader Summary: After you finally call it quits on your on-and-off relationship with the outlaw, Arthur is forced to find a different way to make you stay. Series-wide tags: Toxic relationships, manipulation, obsessive behavior, smut, secretly unprotected piv, babytrapping, pregnancy, canon-typical violence, slight canon-typical misogyny. Wordcount: 3.3k A/N: I am very, very excited for yall to read this. It was so fun to write. Unfortunately I girlbossed a little too hard and it's almost 10k words. 😭So, this 'mini-series' will be split into 3 parts. As for accuracy, I did try, but the timeline is a little off. Just ignore that.. And what do we think of the series name?? Bonus points if you know the reference! I felt it was appropriate. Also, there is no smut until Part 2. Sorry! And as always MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Tags: @dandelion-ranch @i-will-give-you-love @amaranth-writing @heloixe

Part 2 is out!

“Just leave me alone, Arthur!”

These words flew from your mouth like bullets that struck him in the chest.

“Excuse me?” he said in a low growl, stepping towards you. You were both by his tent in his gang's current camp, and it wasn't exactly isolated. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kieran watching them curiously over by the horses.

You sighed, running a hand over your hair. “I'm just so tired of this.”

“Tired of what, exactly?” Arthur inquired dryly. He crossed his big burly arms and gave you an annoyed look.

“Everything, Arthur. The runnin’, the stealin’…the killing. I'm sorry, but I am not meant for a life like that.” You crossed your arms as well. A soft wind blew; inappropriate weather for the pressing conversation the two of you were having.

He came even closer. Those eyes…they were piercing yours with that discerning stare. “You say that like you've actually done any of it. I'm the outlaw, not you, sweetheart.”

You threw up your hands. “That's exactly the problem. If my daddy knew, he'd just about kill me, then hunt you down too. You know I can't…I can't…”

Arthur grasped your hand roughly, but you threw him off. You stomped away to where your horse was hitched, and of course he followed.

Arthur called your name, trying to stop you. Mary-Beth was watching you now too, but he didn't seem to care. Luckily most of the camp was out doing whatever it was this gang did for fun. Robbing, most likely, you thought, snorting.

“Quit the games,” Arthur spat. “We both know you're just gonna run back to me. You need me– and I need you. Don't leave.”

“I most definitely do not need you, Mr. Morgan,” you snapped. “Why don't you go back to that Mary girl? I've seen them letters.”

A shadow passed over his face for just a second. “...Just go home. You are heartless, woman.”

You felt a little bad, but swallowed the feeling down. “I'm leavin', and I ain't coming back,” you cried, getting on your horse. “I've had enough of this gang's shenanigans. Don't come near me neither. I can't guarantee I won't let my daddy shoot you.”

With those cold parting words, you sneered at him and rode off towards Rhodes.

Regret sat like a pit in Arthur's stomach as he watched you leave Clemen's Point. Relationships were like a curse in the Van Der Linde gang. Inevitably they would be struck by death or divisiveness. Arthur had tried hard not to fall into the same patterns, but it seemed his loves were doomed from the start.

He paced around camp as he decided what to do. You and him had not been together long, only perhaps 3 months had passed since he first crossed paths with you at the saloon.

You'd looked so out of place, sitting stiffly at a table in the corner with your maid. He'd watched you down a cup of brandy and immediately start coughing. It was clear you weren't used to the rough environment of a bar.

Arthur decided then, that he would show you.

And show you he did. You were initially attracted to his shadowy aura and western roughness, but spending more days with him revealed the genuinely caring man underneath. Arthur showed you so much of the world; he took you out for long horse rides through the forests, winding through the trees before making camp for the night and perhaps fucking before drifting off to sleep underneath the stars.

He introduced you to a new way of life, one that was fading due to civilization, but exciting nonetheless. The first time you saw him shoot a man, you weren't sure whether to feel incredibly aroused or disgusted. Maybe it was a bit of both. Maybe the way of the outlaw was your path?

That is what you thought, until he brought you back to camp. It was a pretty bit of land, flat and grassy, but the people were something else. The men were loud, stinky, and violent, and the women were like men themselves. They all knew how to shoot, to steal, to survive.

And you didn't. You were a wealthy girl; your father made his fortune in oil. You'd slept on a bed with silken sheets almost your whole life, and the closest you had come to a gun was looking at the ones your father had on display in his office.

Your mother was a society lady, obsessed with gossip and flirting with the help.

Both of your parents disgusted you, but you knew the privilege you had. You were their only child and therefore would receive a sizable inheritance upon your father's death. As cruel as it seemed, that was the only reason you tolerated them.

However, this was now threatened by your romance with one of the most wanted men in the country. Of course, you hadn't known he was wanted so badly when you first met. It wasn't until he had shot that bounty hunter that he'd told you the truth.

“I've got a price on my head,” he admitted to you while cleaning off the blood at a nearby stream. “A pretty big one.”

“How big?” you'd asked, sitting on the grass near him.

He dabbed at his shirt with a damp rag. “Er, about…five thousand dollars.” He mumbled that last part.

You whipped your head up. “Excuse me?”

“Five thousand dollars,” he repeated gruffly. “I know, I know.” He chuckled. “You can turn me in, if ya want.”

“Arthur,” you exclaimed, standing up. “That's…that's just so…who are you?!”

“Just somebody who's made a lot of dumb choices over the last 20 years. Listen, sweetheart, it's fine. I been runnin’ all this time and they ain't caught us yet.”

“Yet,” you said, then paused. “So…you killed a lot of people, then?”

He shrugged. “You really wanna know?”

“Good point.”

You weren't willing to completely submerge yourself in the pool of crime, and Arthur couldn't quite blame you for it. He knew you were a society heiress, destined to hold luncheons, not revolvers.

But that did not stop him from trying. Would not. That thing with Mary…well, he didn't like to think about that. It would not happen again.

Arthur jogged across camp to his horse…then realized that following you was probably not a good idea. You were angry right now, and you would cool off eventually, but right now you probably needed some space.

He sighed. Dutch was right. Women had so many needs.

Arthur spent the rest of the day doing chores around the camp, plotting and thinking. And his thoughts got angrier and darker as time went on. Who did you think you were, anyway? Refusing Van Der Linde's most trusted associate? One of the most feared men in America? You were so uppity, with your silk dresses and thoroughbred horse.

He slammed his axe down on the chunk of wood in front of him, frowning deeply and squinting his eyes against the sunset. Perhaps he should just tie you to his horse and bring you to Tahiti with the gang. Maybe then you would lose that damn attitude.

Arthur hit the wood so hard it burst into pieces, going everywhere. He grunted, then dropped the axe to the ground and trudged over to his cot.

He could not pretend like your passionate declaration was unwarranted. You had seen the gang do violent things, things that made you think that being a sheltered rich girl wasn't so bad.

But the taste of freedom kept drawing you back like a drunkard asking for one more shot. You liked how the gang didn't answer to anyone but themselves, not dominated by any law or person or expectation.

It was a war of ideals, and his side was nearly out of ammo. Arthur really couldn't offer you anything but his love. It was no wonder you were running back to your parents.

But his love was deep as an ocean, and as all-consuming as one too. After Mary closed the book on their romance (or was it just a fling to her?) forever, Arthur had been sullen and angry for a while. He swore he wouldn't let any woman make a fool of him again.

And then he met you. You, who was even richer than Mary, with twice as much sass and the same sweet Southern accent. You were drawn to each other like a ring of oil and a match.

It was a love that was sure to burn and destroy.

Arthur slept fitfully, still angry at your rejection. He was hoping you were just caught up in the heat of the moment, but if you weren't, well…he would cross that bridge if he came to it. Tomorrow he would visit your father's manor.

After leaving Clemen's Point, you rode your horse back to Rhodes, fighting tears. That man! Arthur was an enigma sometimes. He was a stupid man if he thought you would really give up your life for him. No matter how handsome and broad-shouldered he was…

You were not returning though. You had a bad habit of pushing Arthur away, then coming back within a week. The two of you had an unpleasant cycle of affection: after you inevitably returned to his arms, he would act kind enough, then subtly become more obsessive and manipulative and suffocating until you’d had enough. He never chased after you too hard, knowing you would be back.

And you always were.

Just before this latest rejection, Arthur had been angry because you didn't express much interest in learning to shoot.

“‘S not like we'll be sending you on missions or anything. Just think you should be able to defend yourself, is all,” was his reasoning.

“I thought you would protect me?” you had countered. He'd promised you wouldn't have to lift a finger if you stayed with him, that he would do everything for you.

“An’ I intend on doin’ that,” he insisted. “But it don't hurt to know how to use one. You see Molly? She don't know how to do much of anything, and you see how Dutch treats the girl. I don't want that for us.”

“It just feels like you misled me,” you huffed, smoothing off your riding dress. “I didn't know this lifestyle was so…so…”

“Well, newsflash, sweetheart,” Arthur said snarkily. “We survive out here. Ain't no oil money for us to fall back on. If that's the way you feel, then, just leave, ‘cause you obviously hate me.”

“Arthur!” you chided him. “You know I love you–”

“You sure?” he cut in. “It sure seem like you just came here lookin’ for a good time. I've bared my soul for you, and you can't even do this one thing for me.” He shook his head, disappointed.

That had set you off and caused you to take your leave, yet again.

But this time it was really going to stick. You were done running around with a criminal, especially since your parents were starting to notice how often you were absent. And if Arthur came around, well, you'd get your father to shoot him!

Arthur woke up early the next morning, still feeling annoyed from yesterday. The snooty look you had given him when you got on your horse pricked his mind like a thorn.

He needed you…to behave. To submit. To love him. Violent feelings were coursing through his veins. This was different than with Mary. When she left, he'd let her go, knowing it was useless.

But you…you were different. You actually had an affinity for the lifestyle. Maybe you just needed…a little push?

He hopped on his horse and started towards your home. He was going to convince you, no matter what. Dutch was still talking about taking them to Tahiti. Arthur bet you would like it there, better than your stuffy manor, surely.

Arthur rode fast and hard. Usually he met you quite a ways away from the town to avoid anyone possibly seeing and recognizing you, so he'd only been around your home once or twice, which was north of Rhodes, near the Kamassa River.

He was really tired of this running around. You needed to commit, now, and stop the bullshit that kept spouting from your mouth.

A good bit of riding later and he slowed, seeing the stately silhouette of your manor. It always made him vaguely uncomfortable.

He hitched his horse nearby, then took up a position that would allow him to observe the front of the house without being seen. He just needed to talk to you.

Arthur was used to staking out locations for hours, so he settled in. You had never dared to sneak him into the house, so he wasn't sure which window was yours– but he would wait. Oh, yes, he would. You were not going to escape that easily.

After perhaps an hour and a half of watching the help come and go, Arthur finally saw you emerge from the house, alone. About time, he thought gruffly.

He hung back, waiting till you got on your horse and start towards town before quietly mounting his horse and following you.

Arthur waited till the path was isolated on either end, then easily rode up beside you. “Morning, sunshine,” he greeted you cheerfully.

You squeaked in surprise, then turned and looked. “Arthur?! What– what’re you doin' here?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said firmly. “You ran away so fast yesterday, didn't even give me time to defend myself.”

“Ain't nothing to talk about,” you replied. “We're done.”

“We ain't.”

“We are. Leave me alone.”

“This is what you want in life? Stayin’ in some giant empty home with cash to burn? No excitement or nothin’?”

“Maybe,” you said annoyedly. “What of it?”

“I know that's not what you want,” Arthur said firmly. “I gave your life meaning, and I'll be damned if you try to deny that!”

“You have no idea what I want, Arthur Morgan,” you snapped, riding faster. He kept pace with you.

“I know you want more than this. I know you love me…or at least, I thought you did. Maybe I'm a fool and you've just been using me this whole time. Is that it, princess?” he demanded.

“No, Arthur–”

“No, Arthur,” he repeated in a squeaky voice. “You always say that. I can't believe it! I've been such an idiot this whole time. You never loved me. You just wanted a– a chaperone. You women are such cunning creatures. I gave you my whole heart, and you just stomped on it.”

“Arthur!” you cried, feeling guilty and angry at the same time. “You know that's not true. You know I love you. But the truth is…if my father were to ever find out about you, he'd surely disown me, and cut me out of the will. How could I risk that?”

He snorted. “All you care about is money, huh? Listen to me, sweetheart. It doesn't matter if you get that inheritance or not. You'll be alone forever. You will never, ever find someone like me. No one else puts up with your bullshit like me. Maybe you'll find a nice enough banker, who'll give you a kid or two out of duty, maybe you'll live in this house and hold parties just like your mother. But you will never be fulfilled like you would with us. You'll be surrounded by fancy possessions, maybe, but you'll always regret not coming with me.”

“Arthur,” you said hoarsely, staring at the dirt path ahead. This is how he got you everytime. He knew your biggest fear was being unfulfilled in life. He knew, and he never hesitated to use that against you.

Arthur knew you like a priest knows sin. He'd listened to your confessions for days on end, and now he was using them to break you down.

“I…I…” It was difficult to articulate your thoughts. He was very skilled at making you feel bad.

Before you had a chance to answer, a shot rang out and a bullet zipped between you two. Your horse neighed loudly, reared, and you fell off with a shout. You fumbled, getting tangled in your skirts, trying to crawl away.

Arthur cursed, then vaulted off his horse to grab you and drag you to the nearest cover. He stowed you behind a large rock, then peeked over and started trading shots with whoever was trying to apparently kill him.

“Arthur Morgan!” a masculine voice called out. “Turn yourself in or we’ll be forced to put a bullet in you!”

“Who is that?!” you screamed, terrified.

“Another damn bounty hunter, probably,” he grunted, switching to his rifle. “Just keep your pretty head down.”

You covered your ears and cowered. A few shots later, and the only sounds remaining in the forest were your horse’s panicked neighs and Arthur’s labored breath.

He sheathed his rifle and wiped off his forehead, leaning his head against the rock. “You okay?”

“Barely,” you said angrily. “You see what I mean now? I can’t live like this, Arthur! I’m sorry! I can’t risk it.”

Arthur went silent for a bit, and you glanced over at him. He had his hat pulled down low to where you couldn't make out his expression. “I’m gonna see who was huntin’ me,” was all he said before getting up and going over to examine the bodies.

You had no desire to see any mangled corpses, so you stayed behind the rock while Arthur investigated.

You heard a shout, then a sick groan. What the hell? You lowered your head even further.

Arthur came back a couple minutes later. “We’re clear,” he said. “Just some idiot who thought he could really capture me.”

He had blood on his hands and his shirt. That coupled with the sweat that was shining on his forehead, made him look kind of attractive to you. Wait, what?

“He wasn’t quite dead,” was his explanation.

You shakily stood up, dusting off your skirts. “D-D-Don’t ever talk to me again, Arthur. I want nothing to do with this.”

Arthur examined you for a while, and you grew uncomfortable under his stare, but you looked right back at him.

He finally sighed and shrugged. “If that's what you want.”

You watched in disbelief as he got back on his horse and left, apparently riding back towards Clemen's Point.

What just happened?

That little nymph.

Arthur was internally raging, gripping the reins of his horse so hard it was sure to leave angry red marks on his palms. If it weren’t for that damned bounty hunter! He was sure he could have convinced you to come back.

This was going to require something more drastic. Something…serious.

He rode back to camp while he thought about it. Luckily things were pretty calm for now, besides those hunters. He hoped it wasn’t a sign of something urgent. Dutch and Hosea were working on locating some gold that apparently existed around these parts, and were opting for the long run instead of going in, guns blazing. That worked out for Arthur, who had no desire to leave you anytime soon.

The question was this: What would not only bring you back to him, but make you stay permanently? Hmm…some sort of pressing situation, obviously.

He couldn't threaten you; that would be a bad foundation for your relationship.

The untimely demise of your parents, maybe? No, you would most likely be sent to a relative’s house.

Speaking of parents.

Arthur felt a good idea forming. He furrowed his brows in concentration.

Speaking of your parents…you had spoken about your fear of being disowned.

Would that push you back into his arms? If you had nowhere else to go, would you turn to him?

But under what circumstances would you be disowned? If he made an appearance on your estate, you would probably be disgraced but not disowned, and he would be shot on site with any subsequent visits.

He needed you so bad it fucking hurt. Even just the thought of never seeing you again made Arthur desperate enough to try even the craziest plan.

An inkling of an idea was taking shape…

Perhaps, instead of a death…maybe a birth?

End of Part 1.

#18+ mdni #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #low honor arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #red dead redemption

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 2 days ago

Text

P.S. Do You Still Love Me| Bonus

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ P.S. ...and I never will <3 ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒpt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ

The sunlight was soft as you lay tangled in the sheets with Jisung. The soft sound of his breathing filled the space, and everything was calm- just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

Jisung stirred beside you, his hand resting gently on your belly. You felt his thumb trace small, loving circles there, his touch warm and comforting. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked down at you with a soft, sleepy smile.

"I love waking up next to you," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. As he nuzzled his nose to your forehead.

You chuckled softly, your eyes half-lidded as you snuggled into his chest. "You’ve been saying that every day since we got married," you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

He let out a quiet laugh, his lips brushing the top of your head. "Can't I? Every morning feels like the best morning when I wake up next to you."

You smiled, closing your eyes for a moment, feeling his warmth surrounding you. "You said that yesterday."

"And I'll say it again tomorrow." Jisung’s hand gently moved from your belly to your waist, pulling you closer to him as he nestled his face in your hair. "I’ll never stop saying it. You’re stuck with me now, remember?"

You laughed softly, the sound light and full of affection. "Trust me, I wouldn't have it any other way."

After a few moments of peaceful silence, Jisung shifted, his body slightly pulling away as he stretched, a soft groan escaping his lips. "I’ve got to get to the studio," he said, rubbing his face with his ringed hand.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, watching him as he began to get up. "You’re always rushing off," you teased. "You’d think you were in a race."

He turned to you, flashing a grin. "It's live today, and I’ve got a few things to prepare." His hand briefly touched your belly again before he started to walk toward the closet. "Maybe you can stop by. It's been a while since you stopped by the studio."

"Baby, I was there two days ago."

"Well the guys want to see you too."

You watched him with a soft smile, still lying in bed. "Too? Or two?" you questioned, your voice warm and you pulled your shirt over your stomach.

"Both."

You got up out of bed. "Let me make you coffee while you get ready."

You made your way to the kitchen, Jisung in tow.

Jisung paused by the counter, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint. "You know, since we’re doing a live today..." he started, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Do you think I could announce it?"

His voice trailed off, his eyes flicking over to the fridge where an ultrasound picture was taped, a small post-it note reading “P.S. We love you” in bright, cheerful handwriting.

You and Jisung had started the post-it tradition not long after you had gotten back together. Little reminders, mementos of how far you had come. You had hundreds of little P.S. notes stowed away in a box.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. "Announce what?" you asked, your lips curling into a teasing grin as you started the coffee pot.

Jisung’s playful expression faltered for a second, and then he pouted, heading toward you with a quick stride. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around your waist. "You know what, baby..." he whispered, his voice sultry and full of affection. "I think Stay will be happy when they hear the news." He gestured toward the fridge, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

You followed his gaze, your heart skipping a beat as you looked at the ultrasound picture on the fridge, accompanied by the note. "Really?" you asked, your voice breathless, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Yeah," he said softly, his hands gently cradling your face as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. "They love you...I think it's time they know."

You kissed him back, your lips lingering against his for a moment. "Yeah. I think they'll be thrilled," you whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes.

Jisung smiled, his face soft with love. "I can’t wait to share it with them...with everyone. With you. This is our moment."

Jisung looked at you one last time before heading to get ready, with his mug of coffee, his eyes filled with pure adoration.

When he was heading out the door, he looked at you with a smile. "I’ll be back soon. Don’t forget to take care of both my babies while I’m gone. Or just come visit the studio." he teased, winking at you before he went out.

You stood there for a moment, your fingers gently tracing the edge of the ultrasound picture on the fridge and note that accompanied it. A perfect reminder of the new chapter you were beginning together, formed together by all the letters in between. ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy @holly-here ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ

#skz imagines #skz x reader #skz stay #stray kids #skz reactions #stray kids reactions #skz fluff #skz angst #skz #skz han #skz han jisung #skz jisung #stray kids han #stray kids han jisung #stray kids jisung

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green-cargaytions · 2 days ago

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JAZZ IT UP - ✅ if there’s one thing to be said about 2024 it’s that i definitely did jazz it up!

DO IT SCARED - debatable. i think so?

DO IT BORED - see above

READ MORE BOOKS - ✅ yes i haven’t had a lot of time to read, but i did do so and enjoy it. i shojld rly keep track of what i read this year

CLIMB MORE TREES - ✅ the semi state tree is and will always be the love of my life

UNPRECEDENTED LEVELS OF FAGGOTRY - ✅ i would call this one a success

BREATHE, BREATHE, BREATHE - ehh i can always strive to breathe more

HUG YOUR FRIENDS - ✅ i have been told i hug like a velociraptor

WAFFLES AT IHOP - ✅ not waffles but i do have a specific order that i always get at ihop, and winter percussion season starting means MORE IHOP

INHABIT YOUR SPACE - mmm i had a hard time inhabiting myself this year and i’m struggling to inhabit the spaces i love because i know i have to leave them soon. room for growth on this one

CULTIVATE - ✅ winter makes this difficult but i did have a lot of love in my heart for grass and flowers and trees this year. my grape hyacinth whimsy <3

GRILLED CHEEMSE - i did not have enough grilled cheese sandwiches this year, and in a more general sense, i still struggle to prepare good food for myself. we keep working!

JAZZ IT UP MORE - ✅ you know what, i DID jazz it up. no matter if i don’t feel like i made any progress some days, i have. i have!!

CRINGEFAIL SWAG - ✅ oh brother you know i have this one down

FLOOR TIME - ✅ i am spreading this gospel truth to every member of the percussion section and also ap music theory

FROLICK IN A FIELD - ✅ i did in fact do this

LOVE HUGELY - ✅ it is painful but it is worth it and it is also something that is integral to me and i can’t change it anyway

LOVE SPECIFICALLY - ✅ i did fall in love with many people and things this year.

GET LIT - ? unclear what i meant by this. what does the general audience think

RINGMASTER OF THE SHITSHOW - ykw i could work harder to bring levity and self-control to upsetting situations. we keep working!!

FUCK NASTY - no comment

MORE JAZZ - ✅ UNDOUBTEDLY

DONT CHANGE YOURSELF SO OTHER PEOPLE WILL LIKE YOU - i did fail to keep this perspective in my mind some of the time. this one is a life long pursuit i fear

INHABIT SPACES THAT WERE NOT BUILT FOR YOU - ✅ i mean this in two ways: be comfortable with spaces that are not your “home territory,” and (ofc safely) inhabit spaces that were not meant for people like you. i think i made progress on both!

BUILD SPACES THAT ARE FOR YOU - ehh i did but i stressed myself out about it? idk. much to ponder

LET PEOPLE CARE ABOUT YOU - i will be honest i fully tanked this one especially in the latter half of the year. sigh. we will keep working!!!

GENDER IS A CARD GAME AND BROTHER I AM THE DEALER - i did not come out fully or start transitioning this year but i have begun to explore my style a little more and that’s exciting!

@boycritter @geodethecrow @sergeant-toast @goncharov-propaganda-factory @burntoutandproud @ anyone else, if you want to do a roundup or some or all of these or your own goals from 2024 feel free!!

2024:

JAZZ IT UP

DO IT SCARED

DO IT BORED

READ MORE BOOKS

CLIMB MORE TREES

UNPRECEDENTED LEVELS OF FAGGOTRY

BREATHE, BREATHE, BREATHE

HUG YOUR FRIENDS

WAFFLES AT IHOP

INHABIT YOUR SPACE

CULTIVATE

GRILLED CHEEMSE

JAZZ IT UP MORE

#notes from the herb garden #2024 #tag games

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wandering-pirate · 2 days ago

Text

When the moon fades, the stars guide

Part 1

Part two of "How does a moon lose its shine?"

Summary: When the chaos went down, what led up to it? And what will happen next in the dark, metal casements of the Tulpar?

Pairing: Father figure! Swansea x reader

a/n: ask and you shall receive~ thanks for y'all's patience!!

Trigger warning: Depictions of sexual abuse and violence. There are no explicit scenes of the rape itself but the trauma and experience of y/n is very much described. Please take care of yourselves while reading <3<3

Day of Departure

The Tulpar’s engines hummed steadily, a sound you came to think of as the freighter’s heartbeat. Three years on this ship, and it started to feel like a second skin at this point. But still, every haul gives you that faint, familiar buzz of excitement, like the thrill of stepping into something bigger than yourself. Responsibility.

You leaned against the inventory console, triple-checking your clipboard. Rows of numbers and codes blurred together, but the satisfaction of seeing everything in order made the strain worth it.

"So, you’re the famous Y/N," a voice chirped behind you.

You turned to find Daisuke, the new mechanic intern that Curly told the crew about. He looked barely out of his teens, his uniform covered with a bright yellow hawaian-patterned shirt that he somehow managed to smuggle and had a grin a little too wide. Newbie's buzz, you thought.

"And you’re the new grease monkey," you teased, extending a hand.

"Mechanic-in-training," he corrected, shaking your hand with exaggerated seriousness. "Big difference."

Swansea scoffed from the other side of the utility room, tinkering away with a coolant valve. "Big talk for a kid who just learned what a carburetor is."

"I thought it was a coffee maker for cars," Daisuke mumbled to you, pouting.

Biting back a laugh, you shot Swansea a grin that practically dared him to roll his eyes. He didn’t disappoint.

Jimmy entered the room, clipboard in hand. His presence had always been grounding, his confidence infectious. He nodded at you as he passed. "Inventory’s in good hands, as usual."

"As if you’d trust anyone else," you replied, your tone light but your chest warming at the compliment. He smirked, tapping the clipboard.

The ship’s intercom crackled to life. "Alright, folks," Curly’s voice boomed. "Buckle up, we're launching at five."

Your hand froze on the console. No matter how many times you’d done this, the Tulpar's jump during the launch always lit something in you. The co-pilot once commented how you're like a puppy with a treat dangling in front of you.

As a kid, you’d been obsessed with the idea of outer space. Not in a “memorizing star charts” kind of way, but in a way where you just admired them every night that you gazed at the night sky.

Whenever you see pictures of galaxies, stars, or any heavenly body, it was like looking at something familiar, something that made sense to you. The outer space wasn’t just an escape; it was home.

Anya appeared at your side, her medical bag slung over one shoulder. She flashed a small smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Let me guess," she said, her voice relaxed. "Gonna watch the Earth fade away again, huh?"

"Every. Damn. Time." You nudged her playfully, earning a laugh.

"Swansea's really rubbing on you with those words."

When the Tulpar lurched, you gripped the edge of the console, your gaze already flicking toward the viewport. For a moment, the universe stretched out in every direction, infinite and vast. You couldn’t help the grin on your face.

Out here, it all felt right. The stars, the ship, the crew… they all came together in a way that felt as natural as breathing. For now, at least, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

One Month After the Crash

When you thought things were about to get better the night you broke down, helpless, at the lounge... you were desperately wrong. Somehow, the man who betrayed you, the monster you treated as a friend, a mentor—hell, even family—claimed Curly's title and is set loose.

And now? You were cowering at the corner of the utility room, covering your ears as the voices outside grew louder with every passing minute. Funny how one voice made you gag and the other made you feel secure.

“Come on, Swansea. I told you, I’m not gonna hurt Y/N, alrig—”

“If you’ve got a death wish,” Swansea’s voice, low and bristling, cut through the tension. “Keep yappin’.”

It had been a month. A month of watching your back. A month of slipping between rooms, dodging Jimmy’s shadow, a sick game you were forced to play with him. But it was also a month of being under the mechanic’s wing, always having him or Daisuke by your side when checking inventories, because almost facing your deaths just days ago wasn’t enough reason to stop your job. Or being in the locked medbay with Anya when both your guards were busy.

“Look, I just wanna make things right,” Jimmy said, his tone too smooth, too practiced. “Curly’s out of commission, and now, as captain, it’s my job to take responsibility for what I’ve done.”

For a second, your stomach twisted at the pause. Would Swansea actually believe him? Could he? You strained to hear the older man’s reply, then there it was.

It started weak, the soft wheezing sounds went through the metal wall. It grew louder, rougher, until it was a full-blown, bitter laugh that rattled the air. Guilt filled your chest—why would you even ever doubt him after all he's done?

"What a fuckin' joke. Know what? If yer that desperate to play captain, wanna tell me how the ol' Tulpar really crashed?"

Silence. Not even a breath from Jimmy. Then, heavy, angry stomps faded down the hall.

For a solid ten minutes, you stayed frozen, your pulse loud in your ears. The air in the utility room felt thick, clinging to your skin. Then the door hissed open.

“That roach’s got some nerve,” Swansea muttered, stepping inside. His face was carved with exhaustion, but his sharp eyes softened when he met yours. He offered a tired smile, and you returned it, grateful.

"You shouldn’t be out here," Swansea grumbled, his eyes scanning the corridor as he steered you back toward the medbay.

"I’m fine." You tried evading him, but given his bouncer-like body, he placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Sure, and I’m the swan princess from that pink doll kid's show."

The Tulpar floated through infinite space, a shell of its former self. It wasn’t one of those massive freighters like the newer ones Pony Express had, but a running old freighter is infinitely better than a broken old freighter. Supplies were low, tensions were high, and the Tulpar's once-familiar corridors felt more like a prison than home.

When the asteroid hit, or so Jimmy claimed, Curly had supposedly saved everyone by making a split-second turn to minimize the impact. It was a story that gave the crew a shred of hope, something to hold on to.

But cracks already started to form in Jimmy’s tale. The damage didn’t match the trajectory of any known asteroid paths. The ship’s logs were corrupted, erasing any evidence of what really happened.

It wasn't farfetched to believe that Jimmy didn't stay put at his quarters when the crash happened.

Swansea has his suspicions. So did you. But neither of you said it out loud. The truth was a dangerous thing aboard the Tulpar now, fragile and very explosive, just waiting for the right moment to destroy whatever was left.

"Kid," Swansea’s voice broke through your thoughts. You hummed, "Don’t go doin’ that thing where you stare off into space like a lost puppy."

You managed a weak smile. "Can’t help it. Space is kinda my thing."

He snorted, but his eye-roll was absent. He didn’t let you go until he was sure you were back in the medbay, under Anya’s watchful eye and the door's lock.

2 Months before the Crash

Jimmy’s compliments had always felt harmless. You were used to his jokes, his easy smiles, and the way he called you "kid". It was comforting, in a way - until recently.

"Nice shirt," he said one day, leaning casually against the inventory shelves as you logged spare parts into the system.

You glanced down at your standard-issue disgustingly yellow t-shirt, streaked with dust and grease from helping Swansea earlier. "Uh, thanks? Didn’t know grease-stained chic was trending."

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You pull it off, though."

You gave him a half-smile, feeling like the co-pilot has something more to say than he's letting on. His tone felt... heavier. You chalked it up to overthinking and turned back to your work. Jimmy was your friend, someone you’d always trusted.

But somehow, the comments became more frequent, more pointed. A hand on your shoulder lingered too long. Always looking at you when he laughs.

The next time it happened, you were helping the mechanic in the engine room. You crouched next to him, handing over tools as he muttered under his breath about "cheap replacement parts." The rhythmic clank of the wrench echoed in the space while Daisuke watched because the last time he helped replace something, he had to receive 3 stitches from Anya.

"Careful not to scratch the paint off," you teased, smirking.

Swansea snorted, rolling his eyes. "Look who's talkin', Ms. 'I-can-make-any room-look-like-a-fukin' junkyard' with all the shit you leave laying around."

"Ha! Boss' got you there Y/N!" You poked your tongue out at the intern.

Swansea gave you a sideways glance, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You wanna talk about paint? Maybe start by remembering where you put all yer inventory sheets before I have to staple ‘em to yer forehead."

You laughed, wiping your hands on your coveralls, when Jimmy walked in. His gaze lingered too long as he leaned against the doorway.

"Got the inventory finished?" he asked, his voice casual.

"Mostly," you said. "Swansea needed a hand, so I figured I’d multitask."

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed briefly, just a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. His smile returned, too quick to feel natural. "You’re a real team player, kid."

Swansea grunted in agreement, not looking up. "She’s handy, I’ll give her that. Saved me a headache with these damn filters."

"Hey! I'm here, to--"

"Tell me what happened to yer forehead with just a screwdriver, boy." That seemed to silence Daisuke up.

Jimmy’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the edge of the doorframe, though he quickly masked it with a chuckle. "Better not let her show you up, old man."

"Not a chance," Swansea shot back, oblivious to the tension.

But you felt it. The way Jimmy’s smile didn’t match his eyes, the way his presence filled the room like static. Something about it was off. You wanted to brush it aside, but the feeling lingered.

Later, in the lounge, Curly tossed you a cup of coffee. "Heard you’ve been pulling double duty with the inventory and the utility. You gunning for my job or what?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Dream bigger, Curly. I’m aiming for Swansea’s."

Curly laughed, but his attention shifted behind you for a moment. You glanced over your shoulder to see Jimmy standing in the doorway again, watching. His posture was casual, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the counter.

When you turned back, Curly raised an eyebrow. "Jimmy’s been hovering a lot lately. You notice that?"

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "He’s probably just bored."

But deep down, you weren’t so sure. You sipped your coffee, forcing a laugh. "One more compliment from him? I’m charging him rent."

Curly chuckled, but his smile faded slightly as he glanced at Jimmy again. "You should tell him that. See what he says."

You smiled weakly, staring into your coffee as the unease settled in your chest.

One Month Before the Crash

Jimmy’s words echoed in your ears, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice trembling, his breath uneven. "But I can’t stop thinking about you."

You remembered the way his hands shook, how his eyes flitted between you and the walls, never meeting yours. He looked like he wanted to convince himself as much as you. But it wasn’t the shaking or his words that lingered in your mind, it was the suffocating fear, the way the air in the room thickened, pressing down on your chest until you couldn’t breathe.

You fought back, kicked, punched, scratched, used everything in your disposal, but it wasn't enough.

In that moment, the world felt unrecognizable. The Jimmy you looked up to, trusted, and even laughed with, was gone. Or maybe he had never been real.

And you felt something within you... break.

You didn’t cry. Not then. The betrayal was too sharp, cutting through your chest like shards of glass. You couldn’t feel anything but the raw, jagged edges of shock and pain. It was never-ending, it was unforgiving.

Later, when it was over and the room was silent again, you sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the dull metal wall. The memories replayed in your head, over and over, a loop you couldn’t escape.

"Why didn’t I stop him?"

"Why didn’t I fight harder?"

"Why didn’t I say something?"

The questions bit you, each one sinking its sharp fangs deeper into your guilt, into your body, mind, and soul.

Jimmy’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts. You remembered how he sat across from you, his voice low and soft, as though he were the one wounded.

"I didn’t mean for it to go like this," he’d said, his tone almost pleading. "You don’t have to hate me, you know? I care about you. I just… I just couldn’t hold it in anymore."

Each word sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. The confusion was unbearable. Was he sorry? Or was this another lie? Another betrayal? It didn’t matter. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him or yourself anymore.

And from that night on, everything you loved about your life on the ship, the crew, the stars outside your window, even your own reflection, felt like it died.

You went through the days like a ghost. Your laughter was gone, replaced by silence. Meals went untouched. The inventory, your pride and responsibility, piled up unchecked.

The crew noticed. How Swansea’s gruff teasing didn’t make you laugh anymore. How Daisuke’s bad jokes only entered your ear and exited the other. And every time Jimmy walked into the room, your body froze, your skin crawling as though his gaze alone could trap you again.

Anya, however, never pried. She saw through the silence, the robotic movements, the emptiness in your eyes.

One evening, she's nursing you. You sat on the cot, staring at the floor, your hands limp in your lap. You passed out from hunger earlier and Dasiuke had to carry you to the medbay, sweating and frantically assuring himself more than anyone through panicked mumbles.

She approached quietly, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand. "Y/N," she said softly, placing the tray beside you.

You didn’t respond.

Anya pulled up a chair and sat down across from you, her gaze steady. "You have to eat."

"I’m not hungry," you murmured, your voice flat.

She didn’t push. Instead, she reached out, her hand resting gently on your arm. Her warmth cut through the cold numbness you’d wrapped yourself in.

"You know, it’s okay to feel like this," she said quietly. Her tone wasn’t pitying, just kind. "But you don’t have to do it alone."

You didn’t react. You couldn’t. Her words were like waves breaking against a stone, unable to reach its core.

Anya stayed with you anyway. She talked softly, about nothing in particular, old stories, small jokes, telling you how Daisuke stole Swansea's snacks and having to say I'm sorry for a hundred times as punishment. She didn’t expect you to respond. She was simply there, filling the silence with her presence.

Even when you retreated deeper into yourself, Anya never gave up. She left food by your workstation, tidied your quarters when you weren’t looking, and covered for you when Curly asked too many questions.

One night, as Anya walked you back to your quarters, she stopped just outside your door. Her voice, usually gentle, held a weight you hadn’t heard before.

"Y/N," she began carefully, "I’ve been where you are."

Your steps faltered. The numbness you carried didn’t lift, but her words sent a faint ripple through the sea of numbess. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, your hand tightening on the doorknob.

"I know what Jimmy did to you," she continued softly.

The air in the hallway felt suddenly heavy. Anya hesitated, then added, "It happened to me too. Weeks ago."

The words were like a thunderclap in your mind, sharp and deafening. You turned to her, your eyes wide with disbelief.

"You knew?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, raw and cracking. Anya went through the same thing yet here she is, stronger than you, caring for you. Your stomach churned in guilt. "You—why didn’t you tell anyone? Tell me?"

Anya’s expression didn’t falter, but her shoulders tensed as though she’d been bracing for this. "I told Curly," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady. "But… nothing changed."

Nothing changed.

The words hit like a sledgehammer, shattering the fragile threads of hope you’d been clinging to. Your chest tightened as anger and despair fought for control.

"You told him," you whispered, the words trembling with a pain that reached far deeper than you’d let anyone see.

Anya didn’t look away. She didn’t try to explain or justify it. "I thought it would help," she said, her tone even. "I thought it would stop."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, sharp and hollow. "And now it’s my turn, right? Cap kept quiet and hoped it wouldn’t happen again?"

"Y/N--"

"Now what, Anya?" You snapped, your voice rising despite the lump in your throat. "What was the point of telling him if it didn’t change anything? He was supposed to be the captain, he was supposed to protect his crew. And no it didn’t stop tha--"

Your words broke off as your breath hitched. The weight of it all, Jimmy’s betrayal, Curly’s silence, Anya’s quiet endurance, crashed down on you like a tidal wave.

Anya reached out, her hand brushing against your arm, but you pulled away.

"I can’t—" you choked out, shaking your head as tears blurred your vision. "Sorry Anya, can I be alone for a moment? Please, don't look for me."

The hallway felt too small, the air too thick. You stumbled back, your legs moving on instinct as you fled toward the lounge, where the empty silence swallowed you whole.

This was where it all unravelled like a predator ripping meats of its prey piece by agonizing piece.

The knife in your trembling hand, the memories replaying in your mind, the feeling of the world collapsing around you, all of it led back to this moment. To the truth you could no longer ignore.

The one person you thought could protect you knows - and he did nothing.

Two Months After the Crash

The cargo bay was dimly lit, the faint hum of the ship's remaining systems filling the silence.

Jimmy had been relentless over the past week, pestering Swansea to let him talk to you about the cargo. Why? Well unlike any other facilities of the freighter that's unlocked by codes visible through the Captain's flashlight, the cargo bay can only be unlocked by a code held by two crewmembers - the captain and inventory officer. Obviously, with Curly laying helpless in the medbay, Jimmy only had one person left to disturb. And the man grabbed the opportunity to talk to you again.

Exhausted, that’s what you were. Tired of Jimmy's persistence, of how he kept shifting from casual then cutting sharper the next. And all these bugging went straight to Swansea. As much as you didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction, you knew there was no way around it - you gave in, but not for Jimmy. You did it for the mechanic.

“Are you sure about this?” Swansea asked earlier, his voice low but heavy. The lines on his face deepened as he watched you wrestle with the decision.

You nodded, though your stomach twisted at the thought. “Jimmy’s not going to stop bugging you about it, and you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll deal with him.”

The mechanic grumbled something under his breath, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. You shouldn’t have to deal with him at all.”

“I know,” you’d said softly. “But he’s not going to stop. And… I’ll have you and Daisuke with me. It’ll be fine.”

Swansea did not looked convinced, but he eventually relented, only after you promised he could stay nearby, just in case.

Now, standing in front of the cargo bay's doors with Jimmy pacing in front of you, you were keenly aware of Swansea’s presence by the door. A silent guard, his watchful eyes never leaving the co-pilot. Daisuke was at your side, arms crossed and radiating quiet protectiveness, like a little brother who didn’t care how big a fight he might have to pick if it meant keeping you safe.

Jimmy, oblivious or indifferent to the tension, took a step forward, his movements quick but not careless. “Y/N, I know you’ve been keeping tabs on the cargo. But it’s been two months. We need to know what’s in there. It could help us—”

“It won’t,” you interrupted, your voice steady but firm. “I’ve told you before, Jimmy. It’s nothing important. We'll just waste our time."

Jimmy’s jaw tightened. “Leave that up to me to decide whether what's in there is important or not."

Swansea cursed under his breath and your lips pressed in a thin line, but the man's gaze didn’t waver.

Daisuke took a step forward. “She’s not wrong. Y/N wouldn’t hide anything if it could help. She knows what she’s doing, Jimmy.”

Jimmy scoffed. “I’m just saying—if there’s even a chance, we should check. We’re running out of options here.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Fine,” you said, exasperated. “You want to see it so badly? Go ahead. Open it. But when you'll find out I’m right, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

Daisuke frowned but didn’t say anything, glancing at you like he wanted to intervene but knew better than to push. Instead, he stepped closer to your side, his quiet presence grounding you.

Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as though he’d won some kind of victory. “Thanks, the code?” he muttered, moving toward the cargo bay doors. Swansea was already there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked on Jimmy.

“She said yes,” Jimmy said defensively as he approached, but Swansea didn’t move.

“She shouldn’t have to,” Swansea muttered under his breath, stepping aside only when you gave him a small nod.

"4517" The pad beeped with each number you tell him. The entrance hissed open, like a dragon waking up from its deep slumber.

The cargo bay was dim, the rows of hundreds of boxes towered over all of you. You followed Jimmy inside, Daisuke sticking close to you while Swansea lingered by the door.

The co-pilot walked straight to the nearest box, his movements quick and eager. “Let’s see what’s so ‘unimportant,’” he muttered.

As the box was pried open, the sharp, clinical smell hit instantly.

Mouthwash.

Jimmy froze, staring down at the neatly packed bottles as if they might suddenly transform into something else. Daisuke peered over his shoulder, his eyebrows raising. “Huh. Well, that’s… useful,” he said.

Jimmy’s face burned as he looked back at you. “This is it? You’re telling me this is all we’ve been hauling?”

“I told you. Nothing important. But you couldn’t take my word for it, could you? You know what's funny, Jimmy?" You balled your hands on your sides, "I should be the one not trusting you, after what you've done."

Jimmy stood there, eyes narrowing and jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like he was gearing up to argue. But it was all so painfully obvious, the desperation in his stance. He wanted to paint himself as the victim, again, to make excuses, again, as if he wasn’t already a pathetic excuse for a man.

You glanced at the box, the sight of the neatly labeled bottles almost comical in its absurdity, mocking the co-pilot. Then your eyes landed at him, his confidence snapping under the weight of his proud insistence.

“Satisfied now?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a knife. Without waiting for an answer, you turned your back. “This is your answer, Jimmy...”

For the first time since the crash, you felt something crack open inside you, not fear, not guilt, but anger. Controlled, righteous anger.

"We don’t survive by hunches or waiting for some fucking miracle," you spat. "We survive because people are actually out here making sure the Tulpar doesn’t fall apart."

Your eyes met Swansea's, then to the ground.

"Everyone pitches in, does what needs to be done, no matter how much of a death trap the job is. But if you’re too busy playing pretend captain while the rest of us are holding it all together, maybe it’s better that you step back and let the people who actually know how to keep this mess running do their thing."

You didn't wait for a response, not even tried to gauge his emotion. You left the cargo bay, going into the only place that gave you comfort, utility room.

Swansea appeared in the doorway. Before he could speak, before you could even gather your thoughts, you found yourself moving toward him. The words caught in your throat, but your legs carried you anyway, and in one swift motion, you collided with him in a tight hug. The kind you hadn’t realized you needed until the warmth of his body pressed against you.

“Thanks for everything," You paused, and before you could stop it, the words slipped out. "...dad."

For a moment, everything went still. The hum of the damaged Tulpar only filling the air, and for one fleeting second, you feared you said too much. That you crossed a line, said something you didn’t have the right to say.

But then, without a word, his arms wrapped around you, solid and sure, holding you like he was never going to let go. The tension in your chest slowly released and a stray tear rolled down your cheek.

“Always, kid.” His voice was low, thick with meaning, and at that moment, it held everything you needed to hear.

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thewinter-eden · 1 day ago

Text

Blink Twice if You Need Help

images are mine (except middle CB pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 3 of the skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Seo Changbin x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: stalker!Changbin has been following you for weeks. He’s looking for his next target, and he’s obsessed with you. While he’s watching you, however, he learns the secret you keep—you’re being routinely robbed by your addict brother. After watching this cycle of abuse end with you crying almost every night, Changbin takes pity.

warnings: Familial abuse, drug addict brother, satirical but definitive death of character, physical abuse, stalking, nonconsensual photographs, creepiness, fear, breakup, blood and injury, strangulation (brief, no death), automotive-related death, please for the love of god don’t take this seriously, Changbin’s kinda icky (I’m sorry babes I swear I love you), chai lattes

word count: 6k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info

You’re radiant.

You always are, have been since the moment you first stepped foot in his café.

But today, you’re radiant in blue. It’s a sweater he’s seen a dozen times, but now as you tiptoe up to the counter, pushing your sleeves up to your elbows and baring half a dozen clinking bracelets of various metals and stones, he thinks he’s never seen anything so perfect.

He responds to your chirped good morning and waits for the next notes of your voice to tell him what you’re ordering, and he can’t help but trace the lines of your face with his eyes as you glance over the menu.

Startled out of his admiring trance by your sharp gaze pinning him with a smile, he forces his stare to stay above your lips as you give a half laugh and request, “A chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves, please.”

You never try anything new.

Today it’s yellow.

The bell above the door rings an announcement of your arrival, and there you are; wearing a warm yellow dress with thick black tights that keep the chill off, your cheeks flushed from the cold.

He can’t say your smile lights up a room, because from his perspective, your smile blacks the room out. Everyone else disappears. No one and nothing exists except for you, right before his eyes, your windswept hair a halo around your brow.

He hands off the drink he’s just finished making for another regular customer, sending them out the door with a kind smile, and then turns to you just as your fingertips touch down on his counter top.

It’s almost procedural, the way he anticipates each move you make just before you make it. You slide your fingertips towards the register before laying your palms flat, cocking your hip against the counter as though you have to lean closer to see the menu.

Your eyes trace the words and pictures for a few long seconds, gifting him with the view of your throat curving up towards your jaw, and the contemplative bow of your lips. And then, finally, you’ll drop your eyes to his, smile like you’ve never been more excited to order a cup of coffee, and then you place your order.

Always a chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves.

“Good morning,” He greets you when you appear in a pink jumpsuit. His eyes follow the sounds of your bracelets jingling, up to the clink of the two necklaces you always wear, up to the cheeky swish of the earrings that ornate all three of your lobe piercings.

Your eyes fall from the menu to his face like they’ve been physically pushed, surprised by his friendly voice, and he doesn’t think he imagines the sudden rush of heat that crawls up your throat with a wash of color. “Oh.”

He’s caught you off-guard; he knows, because you’ve never given him that upward tilt of your voice before.

“Good morning!” You sing back, that smile pulling your lips back.

“Chai latte with oatmilk?” He recalls, already lifting a cup and holding his marker at the ready.

“With extra cloves.” You confirm, slightly in awe that he’s remembered.

Of course he remembers.

He flashes you a wink just before he turns around to start on your drink, and sees you in his peripheral moving towards the pickup counter. You’re smiling down at the rings that clutter your fingers, and he can’t help the swarm in his chest that floods in as a result of the fact that this time, you’re the one flustered over him.

The day that you arrive at the café to find that your latte is already made and ready for you, you’re missing one of your earrings. He catches your eye as you enter, his gaze flickering over that blue sweater again as you approach the register.

Before you can order, he’s pushing your full, steaming cup towards you and the screen is already flashing your total. His eyes flick from yours to the empty piercing on your left lobe. “Good morning,” He says.

You’re staring down at the cup with a sort of delighted, half-confusion, before your gaze snaps back up to him. “Is this—”

“Chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves.” He confirms with a grin. Then he falters, tilting his head at you. “Unless you want something different today?”

Your hands bring the cup closer to you, possessively. “No, this is perfect.” You argue, and then you’re digging for your billfold. “Thank you…” You drift off, eyebrows lifting hopefully as you hint around for his name.

“Changbin.” A pink tint covers his cheeks as his grin softens. “And you?”

You give him your name, and your money, and leave the café with butterflies in your stomach.

When he finds the missing earring a few feet from the entrance to his café, accidentally dropped on the sidewalk, he scoops it up and tucks it in his pocket with care.

On an unseasonably warm day, you appear at his register in a shorter black skirt and a slouchy gray sweater that hangs off all the protruding points of your body with teasing subtlety. He passes you your drink, with the addition of a new flavor of muffin that his baker is trying out in the form of mini pastries, and notices that your skirt is well above your knees, fluttering around your mid-thigh in a way that has his gut clenching.

The tights don’t distract at all from the musculature of your legs and the curve of your ass that suddenly seems dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

“Good morning, Changbin,” You greet cheerfully, and the sound of his name in your mouth brings his attention back to your bright features.

He makes sure no one follows you home. Your sweater is too flirty with your curves, your skirt too short, for him to rely on the strength and decency of lesser men.

You make it home, safe and sound, to your modest and tasteful townhouse. You live on the ground floor, surrounded by windows and bathed in soft fluorescent lighting.

You listen to pop music in the mornings, and early 2000s grunge rock in the afternoons. He takes note of the artists you listen to the most, and, soon enough, when you walk into the café in the mornings, there’s familiar music playing through the speakers.

He lives for the way it makes you smile when you notice.

As you get ready every morning, you put the same TV show on in the background, so he finds the station. It takes a few days for you to realize that he has it on one of the TVs mounted in the corners of his café, but when you do, you start lingering for a few extra moments every day to catch a couple seconds with fondness on your face.

He’s never watched an episode of the show in his life, but if it gets him two more sentences out of you every morning, consider him obsessed. He watches it all the time.

All of your snacks and meals are high protein and low sugar, because you go to the gym for two hours every other day and your one self indulgent treat is the sugary chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves that he makes for you.

This fact warms him from the inside out, because he resonates with this lifestyle choice. Your gym is near his, and it’s almost as large, almost as nice. You’re a hard worker, your beautiful curves the product of self discipline and dedication. He stops offering you his baker’s pastries and starts giving you the rich and smoky cheesy egg bites instead, and starts to realize that the guilty smile you once accepted your freebies with is now replaced by weightless excitement.

There’s not a single inch of you that needs less sugar, of course. He’d give you every muffin in his shop if he thought that was what you wanted. But he understands the yen for the feeling of progress in the gym, and the burden of cheating yourself through bad nutrition, so if he can help you feel like you’re getting stronger, he will. Hell, he’d start serving steak in his café if he thought you had an iron deficiency.

“Changbin!” You keen one morning as you flounce to the register in a flattering red blouse that he watched you pick out this morning. You lean against the counter with a great heave, and past the rush of excitement he feels for the very deliberate interaction you’re giving him, he notices a trace of greenish blue wrapping around your throat.

Then you turn your head and the light shifts the shadows on your skin, and he’s not sure.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” He greets casually, despite the pink tinge to his cheeks. “What’s going on?”

You scrub your nails over your scalp with exasperation and then set your enormous pleading eyes on him. “Binnie…”

His gut swirls.

That’s a new nickname.

It’s in his head now, locked into his brain, the way your tongue forms the sweet sound of his name like that.

“Changbin,” you say again. “Changbinnie.”

Despite the absolute earthquake happening in his chest, he gives you the flattest expression of suspicion that he can manage, and hopes his skin tone isn’t currently tomato. “I’m not sure I like the sound of this.” It’s a lie.

A bald faced lie. He loves the sound of this. He wants you to keep repeating his name like that until it’s all he can hear.

Your bottom lip juts out in a pout, and he has to physically turn away to clean the milk steamer before he loses control in his place of business.

“Tell me you haven’t made my latte yet?” You plead, leaning further on the counter.

When he glances over his shoulder, he sees the way you’ve inadvertently showcased your breasts for him, and he spins around again, pinching his eyes shut. As though his apartment walls aren’t disappearing more and more by the day behind pictures of you.

As though he doesn’t know every single color in your underwear drawer.

“No, not yet. Why?” Another lie. The latte is sitting by his left hand, still steaming, just waiting for your manicured hands and perfectly lined lips.

“My blender broke this morning.” You whine, and dig in your purse for something. “I know you have smoothies on your menu, but I was wondering if you would add my protein powder to one? Is that legal, to take an ingredient from a customer?” You flap an admittedly suspicious looking ziplock bag at him. “I have a protein smoothie every morning for breakfast, and at this point it’s more of a crutch than my latte and I’ll just spiral for the rest of the day if I don’t start it with a strawberry shake, so please, Binnie—”

He cuts you off with one hand covering the one of yours that holds the ziplock, and the other pushing your latte towards you. “I have protein powder. You want vanilla or strawberry for your strawberry smoothie?”

Your mouth makes a beautiful “O” shape as your free hand cups the hot latte. “I thought you hadn’t made it?”

Changbin tosses a wink over his shoulder, already grabbing the vanilla protein powder. He already knows it’ll be vanilla. He already knows you want the whey powder and not the plant-based. He already knew about the blender.

Your morning may have started with an unexpected hiccup, but his is going exactly according to plan.

“Pull up a chair and drink while I make your smoothie. The latte is on the house.”

You immediately protest, but he won’t hear of it. He basks in your company as you sip down every bit of your comfort beverage, and then offers idle chatter between the scenes of your TV show as you spend ten minutes more than usual in his café, drinking your protein smoothie.

He got a full thirty minutes with you this morning, and it’s worth every second.

The morning that you wake up with another man steals the smile from his face. You must have brought him home with you last night, invited him to stay over, and are now foregoing your sacred protein smoothie in your new blender for a more traditional breakfast of eggs and toast, for the sake of your half-naked guest.

Changbin’s heels haven’t cooled even by the time you make it into the café for your latte, and he’s especially somber when you order an additional drink, a reeking pumpkin cappuccino that he’s forgotten to erase from the menu from a month ago.

He notices the extra warmth in your smile; your excitement is diminished, replaced with a satisfied contentment that makes his shoulders tense.

You’re falling in love with this new man, blushing down at your phone and walking home with your chin high, waking up in the mornings with a smile on your lips.

Changbin serves you every morning, your rich and creamy oatmilk chai latte with extra cloves, and the nauseating pumpkin cappuccino for your bedfellow. He doesn’t know why this man doesn’t come to the coffee shop with you, if he sends money or if he makes you pay for both of your drinks, if he even likes the autumn atrocity that Changbin makes with shaking hands every day.

The fire in his throat only heats when your drink order abruptly changes to two hot green teas. He watches you turn down his readily prepared chai latte with an awkward darting of your eyes, lifting your hand in refusal as though if he doesn’t take it away, you’ll reach out and snatch it from him.

“I’m actually getting some green teas this morning,” You say, and he knows he isn’t imagining the disappointed chuckle in your tone.

He takes your discarded usual away without hesitation, suddenly concerned that you may have developed an allergy or an intolerance for your favorite drink, but you just swipe a palm over your forehead and lean your elbow on the counter, settling into the comfort of your casual friendship with the attentive barista. “My boyfriend and I have decided to start eating healthier,”

Changbin can’t bring himself to believe you. You eat vegetables and chicken or fish for lunch, you snack on cheese and meat, you bake with honey instead of sugar, and he can’t remember the last time he’s seen you without a water bottle in hand, in various stages of emptiness.

“We’re opting away from the lattes and cappuccinos for a bit.” You give another awkward laugh that turns his stomach, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

“You like the green tea?” He’s surprised. You have tea at home, of course, but it’s all black teas—rich and spicy and meant to be topped with a swirl of milk and brown sugar.

The skin around your mouth tightens as you fight a shiver. “Oh, no, but my boyfriend does.”

“I can make you something different,” He offers. “I have a bunch of teas. I just got in a new chai spice blend—” He breaks off when you raise your hand again, a physical barrier between your weakening determination and his tempting offer.

“That’s okay, Binnie. I think it tastes like soap and grass, but I promised him I’d give it a chance. Just the two green teas, please.” And you give him a sweet smile, just to make sure he knows that you’re not frustrated with him so much as your new dietary commitments.

You know he’s about to argue again, so you toss an appreciative glance around his coffee bar. “You live around here? I can’t imagine working every day like you do.”

“The apartment upstairs is mine,” He explains. “This café is my life; it’s not really a job anymore.”

“Wow.” Your soft voice is awash with jealousy. “That sounds like a dream.”

He hums softly at you, pulling the tea from his shelf. “It only tastes like soap and grass if you brew it too hot,” He says, and flicks on the kettle, indicating the thermometer on the lid. “If it tastes fishy, or sudsy, it’s either steeped too long or brewed too hot. Brew it low, steep it briefly, add a drop of honey, I swear it tastes like summer. If you don’t like it, I’ll give it to you for free.”

You protest, rolling your eyes nervously at his kindness, insisting that you’re not going to like it but you’re going to pay anyway. But when he hands you the drink—yours with honey and the boyfriend’s without—he urges you to take a delicate sip and watches your anticipating frown fade into pleasant surprise.

“Oh, it’s not bad.” You say, and beam at him.

He beams right back. “You want more honey?”

You shake your head. “No, this is fine. I’m still not sold on the flavor, but it’s not rancid like it’s always been from other shops. Thank you, Changbin!” And then you skip right out of his shop, on your way to deliver the drinks you don’t even like to your boyfriend.

But then, the morning that you arrive at his register with dark circles under your eyes and a downward slant to your lips doesn’t bring him the sense of relief that he thought it would. Your voice is low and unengaging as you order the teas, your smile unconvincing as you pay and leave without so much as a glance toward the TV.

Your boyfriend starts waking up earlier than you, leaving you to eat breakfast by yourself. It allows you to go back to your usual protein smoothies for breakfast, which seems to grant you at least a little bit of peace.

It seems that you’re still meeting him for lunch, because you still come in and order the two teas that you hate so much, but you hardly even talk to Changbin anymore. He watches your posture droop when you walk home, watches the way your muscles bunch and tense when your boyfriend looms behind you to greet you, hears the rising voices float across the street as you argue for the hundredth time.

Changbin hates the man who’s taken you from lovesick and floating on air to burdened and fearful. He hates the snippets of your life that he gets to see, the early morning sighs of disappointment as you realize you’re waking up alone again, the drag of your feet as you prepare to head in and grab the teas, your discouraged slump after lunch when your boyfriend comes home from work.

So when the morning comes that you arrive with your makeup sloppily done, tear tracks splitting the seamless layer of your foundation, and you order a single chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves, Changbin smiles sympathetically at you and gives it to you for free.

He had watched you receive the breakup text over breakfast, his heart keening as you cried into your smoothie, his gut clenching as you sniffled your way through applying and reapplying your mascara, smiling proudly as you stared at yourself in your bedroom mirror and set your shoulders, determined to go about your day as you intended.

“His loss, gorgeous.” He says, unprompted, as your purple-tipped fingers curl around your cup of comfort.

Your eyes snap up to him, wide with surprise, and for a second his smile stalls. But then he reaches across the counter and presses a napkin into your hand, gesturing to where your eyeliner has fallen from your lower lid, and says, “I assume the tears, the single drink, and the lack of rancid green tea means your boyfriend isn’t in the picture anymore.”

Suspicion falls from your shoulders and you dab at your eyes brokenly. “Your tea was never rancid, Changbin.”

He reaches across the counter in a move that he, himself, wasn’t anticipating, and covers your hand with his own. “I know you’re having a bad day, gorgeous, but you can always talk to me.”

That brings a smile to your face. “Do you give all your customers such five star service?”

“Only the crying ones,” He winks, and then gives your hand a squeeze once he notices that you haven’t tried to pull it away.

You gather yourself with a bit of his offered strength, pushing your shoulders back and swallowing the next threatening round of tears, and flash him a smile that holds a trace of your old vibrancy.

He smiles proudly back at you. “Can I assume you’ll be taking your usual from now on?”

You nod, pulling a long drink from the beverage you’ve missed for so long, and give him the most beautiful sigh of contentment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Binnie.”

“See you soon, gorgeous.”

It turns out, that ominous bruise on your throat from a couple months ago wasn’t a trick of the light.

You bounce into the café wearing a shade of green that makes your eyes pop, earrings jingling as you make your way to the register. When you take a habitual gander at the menu, as though you’ll ever order anything but your usual ever again, he sees it again.

Not greenish blue, like it was that time, but a bright red and darkening purple, freshly settling into the flesh of your smooth throat.

You’re chattering about something, his peripheral catching flashes of your teeth as you talk, and his ears catch the clatter of your bracelets when you gesture with a hand to punctuate whatever point you’re making, but Changbin’s eyes are on the faint handprint beneath your jaw.

A paper to-go cup, mercifully empty, crushes in his angry fist, and your words stop abruptly.

“Binnie?”

His mouth stutters open, mind searching for words to demand an explanation for the signs of violence against you, stare still stuck on the marring of your perfect skin and supple flesh, when a delicate blanket of warmth covers his shaking hand. His mouth clicks shut, gaze dropping to where your hand is wrapped around his.

“Binnie. It’s fine.” How you knew what is speeding through his mind escapes him, because all he can see is another handprint, this one wrapped around your wrist, barely concealed by the stacks of mismatched bracelets.

When he finally catches your eyes, you look embarrassed and ashamed, but not unwell. Your smile is weaker this time, and his fingers pinch around the crumpled cup when he notices your lips trembling. “Binnie, I swear it’s fine.”

He takes your hand on his as permission to reach for you, and he tosses the cup in the trash and leans against the counter, his hand sliding up your forearm to grip your elbow. “Is someone hurting you?” His eyes narrow and his head cocks to peer under your jaw at the large, obviously male handprint.

Now that he’s close enough, he sees redness on your scalp, thin spots in your hair, tiny specks of crusted blood. Someone’s been yanking you around by the hair, and he’s almost sure it’s not a consensual act.

His mind is made up then, certain that something bad is happening in your house after he’s gone, determined that he needs to stick around longer and make sure you’re okay. Some time between his afternoon watch and his early morning check in, you’re being harmed by someone much larger than you.

When he looks away from the bruise at last, feeling your perfectly painted nails dig into the muscle of his forearm, he finds tears in your eyes.

“I’m okay, Binnie, I swear.” You whisper, and your free hand reaches for the latte that he tried to give you right before he noticed your damaged throat.

He loosens his grasp on you—it wasn’t tight to begin with, but he doesn’t want you feeling trapped. Instead of helping you reach the latte, he brings his hand up and lifts some of the loose strands of your hair away from your throat.

Changbin hears your breath catch, sees the pulse racing beneath your ear, so he pulls back. He drops his palms on the counter and watches you with a frown, observing as you desperately try to collect yourself from the intimate touches he’s surprised you with.

He can’t do anything about it until he knows what’s going on, so he just matches your weak smile and clears his throat. “Don’t go letting someone hurt my best customer, alright? No, put that away, it’s on me today.” He makes a waving motion at you as you go for your billfold, and the tension escapes from your chest.

Your voice sings with light laughter. “How can I be your best customer if you keep giving me things for free?”

Changbin just nods towards your latte. “Get out of here, gorgeous. Enjoy your drink.”

“I always do, Binnie.”

It’s your brother.

There’s a definite family resemblance in the slope of your noses and the bends of your knuckles, but the similarities stop there.

It’s after dinner that he arrives—two, three times a week—bursting into your house with no regard for your privacy or boundaries, rifling through the wallet that you keep on the mail table. His voice booms through the house, calling for you, so loudly it travels across the street.

He’s the reason you start coming in with darker bruises, poorly concealed by makeup on your throat, on your wrists, under your eyes. He’s the reason more of your hair tangles in your shower drain in clumps bunched together by clotted blood. He’s the reason for the spattering of bruises across the smooth skin of your chest, the reason you’ve stopped wearing bras with underwire that press into your damaged ribs for the sake of soft and gentle sports bras.

Your brother is the reason you sit on your bed at night, pressing an ice pack to your naked thigh where a faint boot print has stiffened the flesh. He’s the reason two of your fingers are wrapped and splinted, and the reason that Changbin has watched you sell your family piano and your late father’s expensive stereo set.

All for drug money.

Threats and violence and theft from your own brother so he can meet with his dealer outside the fourth street McDonalds.

Your smiles grow heavier and Changbin’s heart pounds harder as he watches you tremble in front of him, holding your latte with both hands. The expensive stones from your jewelry collection are gone, as is the vintage watch that your grandmother gave you.

It’s getting worse.

Your brother comes by more often, he gets more desperate. He’s no longer just looking for drug money, now he’s in debt, and you don’t have the means to help him pay it back. Not that he can be convinced of that.

You stop coming to the café. Changbin knows why, he knows you don’t have the money to spend on a drink every morning—even though most times he gives it to you for free. You won’t take advantage of him, even though he tells you you don’t have to pay.

Instead, he sees you tenderly rise from bed, walking on stiff and pained legs to your closet, dragging loose clothes over your mottled skin. You haven’t stocked up on your protein powder; it’s an expensive supplement, and your bank account is drained from your brother’s latest visit. Your breakfast is the last of your frozen strawberries, blended with yogurt and honey, and you sag over your straw like you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

He sees you bend over your work with your water bottle next to you, not having the energy to take your usual gym break. Instead, you nap.

You’re drained of money, drained of strength, drained of hope.

He sees you lock your door, and then sweep up the splintered wood after your brother breaks it down. He sees you block the door with a bookshelf, and then collect all of your books off the floor after your brother shoves it aside anyway. You try everything, from nailing the door shut to setting a burglar alarm, but you just end up having to clean up shattered windows or stand silently while your brother explains to the police what a silly misunderstanding it all is.

And then one night, the one night that Changbin has to stay late to update his inventory after his weekly supply shipment at the café, there’s a knock on his apartment door. He’s fresh out of the shower, upper half bare and a towel draped over his shoulders, one end of it clutched in his hand and scrubbing the dampness from his hair, when he swings the door open and there you are.

You’re a tortured vision in white; white t-shirt and white sweatpants, your face streaked with tears and your left eye swollen from a fresh beating, and you throw yourself into his arms like you’ve known him forever.

He’s stunned, panicking, desperate to get you out of his apartment, but he’s a weak, weak man because you’re wrapped so tightly around him, your hands pressed into his back, your chest flush against his, your damp face curled into his neck, and his brain just blanks out.

The towel drops from his grasp and his arms find their way around you. Whether it’s his heart or yours that’s pounding like a jackhammer between you is unknowable, especially when he breathes in the scent of you. He knows the smell, knows it like his own home, but it’s different when it’s directly from you.

You’re weeping into his ear, trembling beneath his hands, and he’s forgotten everything he needs to hide.

“Slow down, gorgeous, I’m here.”

You crumble in his arms, sagging against his chest.

“I’m here.” His hands smooth delicately over your hair, mindful of the abrasions that you’ve suffered, and his strong arms keep you on your feet.

“I need help, Binnie.” You weep, pulling back ever so slightly. Your eyes flutter open and it’s like the entire ocean is inside them. “Please, Changbin, I—”

And then it’s too late.

Your gaze drifts over his shoulder, and there they are.

The walls are covered. Printouts, pictures, drawings. You sipping your smoothie in your kitchen, you working at your computer in your home office, you tugging a shirt over your head, the lace of his favorite red bra peeking out between the hem of the shirt and the skin of your stomach, you doing your hair in your bedroom mirror.

You.

It’s too late. He can’t get a word out before you bolt.

Gone in a second, terrified by the man you had run to for safety, disappearing into the night.

You pull all your curtains closed after that. The lights in your house are always off, a for sale sign goes up in your yard. You exist in the darkness, hiding in the shadows, suffering alone.

His heart breaks as he feels you slip further and further through his fingers.

You’re still hurting, still being hunted. Your brother keeps coming, keeps attacking you, keeps stealing from you. He’ll take the money from your house, too, Changbin already knows it.

It makes him angry.

He’s so angry, he hasn’t touched his camera in weeks. He’s so angry, he hasn’t swiped an article of clothing to hold onto the scent of you in ages. He’s so angry that your own brother has treated you so badly, that now all he does is watch.

Because you won’t be getting any more bruises.

You are so scared and tired of your brother’s treatment of you that you ran to Changbin’s apartment for the first time in your life, just to seek protection. You trusted him. You wanted his help. You knew he would protect you.

A million pictures of you aren’t worth that gift.

So he watches.

And waits.

And then, one night, just as the sun has disappeared beneath the neighborhood houses behind yours, your brother pulls up in the driveway. He stumbles out of his car, jerking with nerves, and pounds your door down, disappearing inside your home.

Each crash fills Changbin with rage. Each shatter, each groan of damaged belongings sets his blood on fire, until he’s across the street and on your porch. He finds the key where you’ve left it in the hanging pot and pushes the door open, skillfully dodging the creaky floor panels in the entryway.

The desperate grate of your brother’s voice worms into his ears like a venom, and the ensuing whimpers and cries from you settle in his stomach with painful weight. He rounds the corner and finds you there, your back pressed to the wall, your brother’s hands around your throat.

Your face is red from strangulation, your eyes wide and reddened from burst blood vessels, trails of crimson streaming from your scalp. Your brother is screaming about the money you owe him, money that he’s expected to find by some miracle after having already pilfered your paycheck earlier this week.

And then, just as your eyes begin to roll, you catch sight of Changbin. For a second, you freeze, and it’s fear in your expression as you behold the barista that you thought you knew, creeping through the shadows of your dark living room.

But then your brother’s other hand smacks against the split skin of your cheek, and your expression changes.

Changbin sees it.

You’re staring at him in relief, your mouth forming desperate pleas for help, tears spilling down your face in a sudden moment of vulnerability.

His chest clenches.

At your next whimper, he has your brother by the collar, hurling him backwards. At the thump of your feet hitting the floor, the rest of your body falling in a heap, his hands are fisted in your brother’s shirt, shoving him out of the house.

Your brother is spluttering and shouting in confusion and protest, while you’re coughing and gagging behind them.

There’s only a few seconds where your brother attempts to fight back, his wired muscles throwing stabbing punches into the dark at Changbin’s face, but he doesn’t land a single one. Instead, a deliberate blow strikes his jaw, knocking him back. Another hammers against his eye, and he sprawls in the grass, gasping for air.

You’re on your feet then, following them out of the house, standing on your porch as you watch through stinging eyes.

While your brother is stunned, Changbin turns and sees you, and he freezes. He knows he’s scared you. He knows he’s crossed every line of acceptable social interaction, and that you caught him red handed. He says your name, a whisper into the night, and your gaze shifts to him.

You’re thinking, panicking, mind no doubt tracing back through the evidence of his intrusion plastered all over his walls, the sanctity of your home utterly violated by his undetected presence.

While you try to make up your mind about it, Changbin can’t breathe.

But at this point, your brother can. “What the hell?” He gasps, breath clouding above his face. “This is none of your business, asshole.” He’s up on one knee then, cupping his face and getting his wits back.

Changbin whips around to face him, his fists once more clenched in fury. “Touch her again and I swear to god—”

“Binnie.”

Your voice is a song in his ears and his head snaps back around to you. Your hands wrap around his still tight fist, your eyes peering up at him in earnest. You’re leaning into his arm, begging for safety, and he sees the blood that spills over your lips.

You’re hurt, you need medical attention, and you’d rather be with him than with your brother.

“I’m gonna take you to the hospital, okay?” Changbin whispers, and when you nod weakly, he brings his hand to your temple. You’re hot, feverish, under his touch. “Will you let me do that, gorgeous?”

“You’re not taking her anywhere.” The voice is an inch away, and your hands grip Changbin’s bicep.

He reacts on impulse, shoving your brother away from himself, away from you, and can only watch as the larger man stumbles out onto the street, illuminated by the yellowish glow of headlights. And then it’s like that scene from Mall Cop—one minute he’s there, the next he’s been plowed out of sight like a sliding transition in a Star Wars movie.

You don’t scream.

You don’t cry.

Both of you gasping in shock at the completely unintentional turn of events, Changbin feels you press yourself into his side, your weak and bleeding arms winding around his back. He can’t believe you’re there, trusting him, clinging to him, but he holds you like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

He needs to take you to the hospital, let them figure out why you’re coughing up blood, check your bones for new breaks, but right now your face is nestled against his throat and he can’t move.

“You’re still such a creep.” Your broken voice whimpers, but your hand tightens in his shirt.

He could cry with relief. You’re not letting go. “I know,”

He gets a grumble in response. “You stole my favorite sweater.”

Not even the flashing red and blue lights speeding around the corner can take this moment from him. “I’m sorry, gorgeous. I’ll give it back.”

“Promise me you’ll burn the pictures.”

“All except the ones that incriminate your brother.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 hours ago

Text

To Those Who Wait 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn’t resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

'Morning, sunshine.'

The sarcasm burns into every letter. You stick your tongue out and type your reply. You lay in the dim of your drawn curtains, still half-nestled in your bed.

'Morning, sparky.'

Curtis' response makes you giggle. 'Sparky?'

No emojis. He's not the type. You laze despite the minutes ticking by. Your thumbs flick over the digital keys.

'Give it but can't take it.'

The next bubble has you breathless; 'oh I'm more than willing to give'. Oh, okay. You don't know how to answer that. You send a wink emoticon then prompty groan at your own cluelessness.

You lock the screen and sit up. Is this what life is? Torturous obligation and cringey efforts to be normal. You want to send a message telling Curtis it's okay if he just gives up. You're a mess.

You drag yourself out of your room. As you try to empty the reusable filter for the coffee grounds, you spill it everwhere. You need to start emptying it after use. Another missed checkbox.

Your phone buzzes again. Great. You're sure it's just him calling you lame. You snatch the cell and go to swipe away the message but it isn't Curtis.

WhatsApp.

Hm. Maybe another recruiter cold messaging?

You tap with your thumb, resolved to finally delete the app and wipe the slate clean. You just need to forget that mistake. If you can.

The message waiting for you doesn’t bode well.

‘Feeling thirsty yet?’

You stare at it. You can’t be sure it’s Hugh. The number isn’t the same, you would recognise the last few digits at least. The coffee machine spits out the last few droplets. You turn to grab your cup, the phone buzzing in your hand.

You read with dread, ‘ah come on, just one more go.’

It has to be him. Who else could it be? What else could they be referring to?

A video pops up and plays automatically. You click it to make it bigger as you try to make out what’s going on. Your heart drops and your phone nearly does too. You stare at the recording of yourself on the bed, undressing as you huddle near the top of the hotel bed.

A cold splash sends a chill through you. You remember him turning on the speaker. He must have connected his phone but then you didn’t see what he did with it after that. You didn’t think to pay attention to that, you were too swept up in your own catastrophe.

‘Let’s talk.’

Those two words spike your panic. What did you do? You’re so stupid and yet how are you surprised? Nothing ever goes right. How dare you even try to believe things could get better? That maybe Curtis could be something more than a disappointment.

Loser. Loser. Loser!

You want to bang your head on the counter. You want to scream. You want to crumple into a heap in cry.

You don’t do anything of that. You simply key into the screen; ‘why?’

He sends a laughing emoji. Then a real message. ‘That’s what we’re going to talk about.’

Your eyes glaze with tears and you shake your head. He’s taunting you. Toying with you. This is all just an ego stroke for some narcissist that gets off on himself. Why else would he do what he does? Well, who are you to judge? You paid for his services.

‘That cafe near your office. 12:30.’

You toss the phone on the counter like it’s acid. What the hell? How does he know where you work? How does he know there’s a cafe there? No, no, no. How does he know anything about you? Why does he care?

You pace around hectically. You can’t stay still. You scratch your skin as if you might peel it off. An unbearable itch burns through you. You make a noise somewhere between a sob and a wretch.

You reel in your doom, just enough to retrieve the cell from the floor. You shakily send a thumbs up. That’s all you can manage. Not a good job, just a confirmation. You’ll be there because you have no other choice.

⛅

Your morning is frantic. You have a thousand things to do at once. The phone calls are endless and Shania double-booked another reservation. Don’t you always get the happy job of informing the guests they have to rebook. Fun, fun, fun.

The demanding customers are the least of your problems. Work at the Travel Agency can be downright agony but right now you prefer it to the alternative. It’s the rare instance where you curse the clock for going too fast.

Usually, a trip down to the cafe is your relief. An indulgence on an especially stressful day. That day is more nerve-wracking than any but you don’t think a dose of caffeine would make it any better. You’re already rattling through to your bones.

You reluctantly leave your desk. Your phone is firmly in your purse, where it’s been all day. You don’t want to look at it, even if it’s Curtis making it buzz. You just want to shut down.

You take the stairs. You don’t want to be around other people though you realise the cafe will be busy with the lunchtime rush. You wonder if that’s deliberate. You get to the ground floor and make your way outside.

You stop before the cafe. You peer along the tinted windows and your eyes stop on the singular familiar figure. There he is. Hugh. Somehow, he looks different than that night. How, you can’t say. He’s wearing a similar swear, a light robin’s egg blue, luxurious even. The sweater can’t be cheap given the small logo embroidered on one side of the chest.

You enter and skip the line. You go straight to the table and stop behind the chair opposite...him. You cross your arms and glare at him. Hugh casually lifts his chin and smiles up at you. Your forehead wrinkles in disgust.

“You look wound tight,” he sits up completely, the last consonant sharp. “Need help with that?”

Your nostrils flare and you drag out the chair. You drop into the seat and push your elbows into the table. You lean across it and snarl, “what do you want?”

He snorts, “I like that about. Always straight to the point... even when you have no idea what you’re doing.”

Your cheeks tingle with heat and you look away. You push your shoulders back and shift in discomfort. Even as the bruises fade, if you think hard enough, you can feel that night still.

“That boyfriend know about me yet?” He sips from the tall porcelain cup in front of him. You shake your head and put your eyes to the table.

“Aw, well, I can’t blame you,” he clinks the cup down. “He wouldn’t be able to handle the competition. Would he?”

“I have to get back to work so whatever you want, just say it.”

He chortles again and hums, “I said I wanna talk. We’re talking. Isn’t it nice?”

“I don’t have money if that’s what you’re getting at--”

“Money? Hm, that’s real funny. Oh, you think... you think I’m desperate? I wanted some Balenciaga.” He flicks a finger up and down the mug handle. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

You huff and shake your head, “and it’s better that you get off on embarrassing me? Well, I hope you’re enjoying it because you’ve done a great job.”

You peek up at him and his grin slants. He leans an elbow on the table as he sits forward. His eyes crinkle as he considers you.

“It’s not about money, not even about a joke,” he says. “It’s the way you squeezed me. The way you whined for me,” his voice lowers to a sultry rasp. “The way you drained me fucking dry. You know how many princesses I’ve had on my dick and they just lay there and--” He makes a motion with his hand, “dead fish.”

You frown, “you’re gross.”

“I’m secure in myself,” he argues. “Real rich of you to act like you didn’t like it when you came all over my fucking fingers. Didn’t even take much.”

You rub your neck and stare out the window. Your stomach is boiling. You just want him to get his kicks and go.

“It’s how I know you didn’t lie. About being a virgin, or whatever,” he says. “You know, you could’ve sold that yourself but I guess you were having some trouble finding a buyer--”

“My lunch is almost over,” you grit out. “Get to it, Hugh.”

He laughs louder than before. He scoops up his cup and drains it. “You’re so funny. Really. You make me laugh.” You glower and his smirks widens. “Alright, alright. Pretty simple, you probably already know what I want. Just one more time. I just need to feel it again. That grip--” He makes a fist and you scoff.

“I told you I’m not interested--”

“No? Not interested at all in your porn debut,” he taps his phone and you reach across to swat his hand back.

“Why did you do that?” You hiss.

“Woah, I gotta be safe. I record in case something goes wrong,” he pushes your hand away. “Lucky me, it went so fucking right. You know how many times I’ve watched it?”

You groan and rest your head in your hands. You’re fucked. Utterly and totally. Likely literally.

“Tonight,” he says. “Tell the goth boy you’re doing overtime.”

You sit back and stare at him. Your chest pits and your eyes glimmer. It shouldn’t hurt so much but it does. You don’t want to lose Curtis, not yet.

This is exactly why you didn’t want to get attached.

☕

You don't text Curtis. You can't bring yourself to do it. You just leave him hanging. He'll probably assume your busy. You're sure he has something better to do.

Just like most things in your life, it's over before it begins. Why did you let yourself believe it could be anything? After tonight, it definitely won't be.

That time is different. You don't primp yourself or preen over whether you look good. Instead, you toss all those things you bought to do yourself up the first time in the trash. Everything but the condoms.

You pace restlessly around your apartment. That's another violation. You offered another hotel. 'Your place.' The argument was short. Fuck.

He can't come here. He can't do this. You can't do this. Not again.

Your legs wobble and you teeter to the couch. You sit down and fold over your knees. You can feel the dull pain already. Back in that room, bawling as he pumps into you, scraping out your guts.

You're going to be sick!

You lurch up and run to the bathroom. You spew into the toilet and pant through the acidic saliva left in your mouth. You shut the lid and flush.

You should leave the residue in your mouth. It might repulse Hugh enough to get rid of him. Yet if you don't rinse out the acidic flavour, you'll just hurl again.

You brush your teeth slowly then look at yourself in the mirror. You look scared. You are but you look utterly terrified. Why is this happening to you?

You're not stupid enough to think you're special. No, you're weak. He's a shark and he smelled blood in the water. He set you up for this. You were too nervous, too desperate, and too stupid to see through his ploy.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it, even as it thrums against the table noisily. If it's Curtis, you might just cry.

The door buzzer chirps. Right. You push away from the sink and shudder.

Your feet hit the floor clumsily and you walk as if you're wadding through thick mud. You hit the button as your stomach churns again. His voice adds to the broil of sickness.

"Baby, I'm here."

You press the button down without as response. You stagger away and linger by the door. You hear him coming down the hall. You open the door at the first knock.

"Someone's eager," he snickers.

You don't say a word. You step back. He enters and whistles.

"Not bad. Cozy," he says. "Bouta get real cozy, huh?"

You shut the door and lock it. He turns and examines the walls. You stare at him.

"Jeez, baby, you got a knife or something? Looking like you're about to crack up over there," he taunts.

That might have been a good idea if you weren't nervous of stabbing yourself in an attempt. Besides, he's a lot stronger. You remember how thick his muscle was, how easily he ignored your pleas.

"Hospitable too," he sniffs and slips off his velvet loafers. "Whatcha got going on?" He struts further into the apartment. "Wine? Beer?"

He goes to fridge and pops it open. You loom like a shadow against the wall as you tiptoe after him. He sucks his teeth as he examines the contents on the racks.

"Ugh, boring," he remarks.

"Don't drink," you croak.

"You didn't seem to mind the wine," he shuts the fridge without his bounty. "Fuck, well, it'll be good. You'll like it better sober. Although I do prefer a sloppy fuck."

You grimace. He makes no pretense as he continues his exploration. He strides past the living room and head through your bedroom door.

"No cute jammies tonight, huh?" He calls through.

You waft into the doorway like a ghost. That's what you are. You are hollowed out. You resign yourself, surrender yourself to ruin. It's all over.

Goodbye, Curtis.

"Looks like you don't got much in mind but don't worry, baby, I planned ahead," he faces you with a wink. "Wanna try something new?"

No. You don’t want to do any of this. You glower.

“Shit, baby, you keep looking at me like that and I’m going to have to wipe that look off your face... along with something else,” he grabs his crotch and growls. “Hard already, you know? Just thinking about what I’m about to do.”

Your lip curls as disgust crawls up your back. “Just get it over with,” you murmur.

“Trying,” his eyes flash dangerously. The retort makes you think of Curtis but he never spoke to you so harshly.

You step out of the doorway before you can fall apart. Your breath clouds in your chest until it feels like someone’s standing on you. You let it out slowly as plays with the black cat figuring on your bookshelf. He scoffs, unimpressed.

“So,” he faces you and tugs at the hem of his sweater, inching it up, “why are your clothes still on?”

You glance away angrily. “Your phone goes in the drawer,” you point to the night stand.

“Pfft, come on. I already got the good shots. What’s another dirty movie, baby? I gotta say, you look good on film--”

“Put it in the drawer,” you insist.

“Damn, don’t gotta be so mean, baby.” He snickers and wiggles his phone at you then puts it in the night stand.

“I’m not your joke, so stop laughing at me.”

“Lighten up. I’m not laughing at you, baby. I just...” He pauses as he pulls his sweater over his head. He wears a thin white tank underneath, his reddish chest hair peeking out the top. “How many women do you think hold my attention once I’ve been in ‘em? Let’s just say, we both had our first that night.”

“Don’t try to flatter me,” you snip.

“Girl,” he squares his shoulder and the humour flickers from his expression, “get your clothes off.”

Your mouth twitches. You take a breath and turn away. You look down at the wrinkled blouse you wore to work. You’re sure he’s full of hot air, he’s just mocking you, especially since he’s wearing Calvin Klein and you’re in Walmart clearance.

You unbutton it as you hear his clothing rustle softly. A shiver speckles across your back as you throw it in your hamper. Your pants go just as easily as you push down the elastic waistband. Another wave of nausea threatens but you keep it down.

You unhook your bra as your bed squeaks. You keep your eyes down and step out of your panties. You pause as you dangle them over the basket. You blink away the heat in your eyes. Why did you run away from Curtis all those times? Why does it have to be Hugh?

You spin and march over to him. He sits on the end of the bed, naked, knees wide. You reach for him, intent to be done with him, but he catches your hands and holds them away from him.

“Uh uh, you really think it’s going to be that easy,” he sneers. “Oh, baby, I didn’t get any of that mouth.”

Your lip quivers and your nose scrunches, “what?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fun, baby. I can train you up for the sad boy,” he chuckles.

“Shut up,” you twist away from him. “Don’t talk about him.”

“Aw, what’sa matter? He don’t make you wet like I do, huh?”

You stomp away and snatch the box of condoms from behind your dresser. You take one and bring it to him. He snorts.

“You like the taste of rubber?”

“Put it on.”

“You think I’m dirty? You saw my test results.”

“I don’t care,” you shove it into his chest.

“Be a lot nicer if you tasted the real thing,” he huffs.

You cross your arms and wait. He rolls his eyes and peels the wrapper open. He pinches the thick ring then presses the rubber to his tip.

“Well, get on your knees. You’re the one so anxious to get this done with. Is the boy toy on his way? Scared he’ll catch—woah!”

He lets go of himself and the condom rolls up just to his tip. He catches your hand before you can make contact with his cheek. “I told you not to talk about him.”

“I like this zest,” He stands and raises your arms above you, “but you won’t like mine.”

He spins you and pushes you onto the bed. You fall heavily and bounce, your teeth snapping down on your tongue. You whimper as he slides his fingers around his dick, pushing the rubber to his base. He climbs up on his knees, straddling you as he advances up your body.

You push on his thighs as he gets higher. Once more, he has your wrists. He clasps them against the mattress, locking them above your head. You flail your legs and he laughs again. His other hand goes to his length and he strokes himself as he presses the lubed condom to your lips.

“Open up for daddy,” he jeers and pushes until he meets your teeth. “I feel the hint of a nip and I’ll skip the kitty and go straight for the peach. Understand that, baby girl?”

Your eyes widen as your bottom puckers. Your fear radiates from your gaze and draws another pleased hum from him. You open your mouth and close your eyes, gagging as the rubber smears lube across your tongue.

He angles as he dips down, touching your reflex as he invades your throat. You choke and spasm under him as he wiggles his hips, testing your limits. You can’t breathe.

He rears and you heave in before he blocks your airway again. He groans and tilts again. Thrusting in and out as you writhe. Tears crest along the brims of your eyes and your saliva smears around your mouth. Each time, he pushes a little further.

“Fuck, baby, how is it just as good as the pussy?” He purrs as he clutches your hair, rocking over you as the smell of the condom adds to your revulsion.

He pumps into you until you’re raw with agony. He lets go of your hands and you push on his hips, begging for him to stop. He doesn’t care. He just keeps going. He quakes and groan, grasping the blankets around your head as he fucks you your head into the bed.

“Gahhh,” he pulls out of you so quickly you gag.

You cover your mouth as he bounces over you. He rolls the condom off and keeps stroking himself. You’re surprised as he spurts his cum onto you, the slimy mess string over your knuckles and onto your nose and cheeks. You put your hand out to shield yourself as he grunts and sits back on his heels.

“The hell?” You gasp.

“I couldn’t fucking hold it, woulda split the damn thing in half,” he puffs as he cups his balls. “Speaking of splitting things in half--”

You lift yourself on your elbows, trying to drag yourself out from under him. He snags you around your ribs and pushes you flat. “Where are you going?”

“You just--”

“Finished? No, that’s round one,” he snickers. “You don’t think I got a few tricks? I mean, a blue pill keeps me in business.”

You curl your lip again and he laughs even louder. You glance up at the night table at the box of condoms. He sighs.

“Fucking tight ass,” he hisses. “Want me to see if that’s literal?” You look at him and bare your teeth. He waves you off and climbs off you to grab the box. “Whatever. At least you had the good sense to get good ones.”

You slowly sit up and wipe your face. He leans on one knee and slides on another condom. He quivers and exhales through his nose. He grabs your shoulder and nudges you.

“Wouldn’t mind it from the back,” he says.

You resist and he snarls, “relax. If I go through the back door, I might not get it out with you being so uptight.” He pinches your nipple cruelly. “Go on, show Ransom that booty.” You tilt your head curiously. Ransom? His eyes dart away, “you gonna listen to daddy or you want some spankings while I’m back there?”

You move reluctantly. You roll over and he grabs your hips, guiding your ass higher as he jostles behind you. He drags his hands around your ass and down your thighs, then up again. He smacks you harshly so you feel the jiggle. You yelp and he guffaws.

“Oh, fuck, should flipped you over the first time.” He gropes your ass and rubs himself against you.

Your insides curdle. You hide in yourself. You try not to think about reality. Not about the desecration of your home, your safe space, of the place you made all your own. Nor the same being done to your body. To your relationship.

Whatever, it was never going to last.

He glides down between your cheeks, lingering as if considering it. You twitch and he snorts. He trails further down and presses against your cunt. He groans as he stretches you slowly. It isn’t easier. Not better. Not like they say.

No, they say the first time is the worst. No, this is. This is torture. This is hell.

He leans into you, grunting as you squeeze him, as your body resists his intrusion. He bends over you, his torso flush to your back, and thrusts. He impales you complete and you cry out. You push against him as your body racks in agony.

He pumps again and you squeal louder. Fuck. Your fingers curl until your knuckles hurt. You hang your head and shudder. He rocks into you, playing with your hair as he nuzzles your nape. He puffs into your skin and it sends a roil of disgust through you.

You sink down until your face is in the blankets. You crush your arms beneath you and drone into the bed. He hooks his arm under you to keep your ass up, rutting faster and faster. Your flesh claps like thunder, a never-ending cacophony.

He growls and brings a hand under your chin, then his other. You wriggle as he squeezes your face and hooks his fingers in your mouth, pulling taught your lips. You arch your back and whine as he keeps his callous pace.

You grab onto his arms as the strain in your lips feels as if it might tear. He lifts your head and you deepen the curve in your back, trying to balance him at both ends. His nose tickles the back of your ear.

“Yeah, baby, squeeze me just like that. Ugh, that pussy knows what it wants better than you do,” he taunts. “Ugh, you latched on tight.”

You can’t speak, you can’t shake your head, you can’t deny him in any way.

“You feel so good,” he snarls. “The way you go me... fuck I feel it in my gut... I’m gonna...”

He slides his hands from your mouth and wraps his arms around you instead; one at your neck, the other around your middle. He pulls you up with him and pounds relentlessly. The bed rocks furiously beneath you as your addled voice gurgles from your throat. The headboard knocks into the wall in a frenetic tempo.

“Yeah, so good,” he rasps between deep breaths. “So good. Never... think I’d let you go, huh?”

You hang from his embrace. Defeated. You did this to yourself. So take it.

#ransom drysdale #curtis everett #dark random drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #curtis everett x reader #dark curtis everett #dark!curtis everett #to those who wait #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #snowpiercer #knives out

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monayen · 1 day ago

Text

Ranfren texting headcanons !!

a/n - wellll not actually the author since this post was submitted by a lovely person who wanted to share their own headcannons without it glitching out in my inbox </3 i tried to only change the formatting a bit since i think these are sooo well written and i really appreciate the effort put into this !! everyone give them a round of applause ^_^

Luther

- Doesn’t usually text. He loves using his rotary phone for making calls. It’s on a side table next to his armchair and he can sit there and chit chat over nothing for hours

- He has an emergency cellphone for when he’s away from home. It’s the most basic fliphone in existence

- Sometimes doesn’t notice he’s gotten a text/his phone is muted or dead so he unknowingly ignores messages

- His texts are stilted with accidental punctuations

- Autocorrect is his enemy. It will mix up what he was trying to write and at the same time not catch all mistakes

- Always signs off with his name

- Example:

Good morning My Dead.Remember to water the Plants I will Be home soon .?

Luther von Ivoty

* Nyen & Nyon have matching flip phones that are different colors

Nyen

- Will leave you on read. His phone is for Luther to contact him only

- He doesn’t use it aside from that. There’s nobody he wants to be in contact with

- It’s a hassle to use with his long nails, plus he has large hands that lack dexterity

- If he needs something from you he’ll just shout for you to come to him

- He has a hard time adjusting to new technology. If you showed him how to take pics and send them back and forth he’d become more interested in using his phone

- If you don’t want frequent blurry pics of him flexing shirtless and him expecting pics in return don’t teach him that though

Nyon

- has some difficulty with reading & writing English so his texts are short and to the point

- He won’t text first but he will always reply to you

- Mostly with single words or a thumbs up emoji

- Will sometimes send memes

- Texts you first when he’s high. Quite a few messages and longer too

- Expect some texts in Russian

- You never know what they mean and when you ask him the next day he will just stare at you silently as always

Sebastian

- has no phone privileges

- If Luther thinks he’s well behaved enough he might give him a toy phone or maybe one of those with lipgloss inside

- Don’t let Randal near the lipgloss. He will make a mess and torment Sebastian with his "makeup skills"

- Before becoming a pet he had a cheap smartphone with a slightly cracked screen

- Ran out of battery when he was lost and if nobody’s taken it it’s probably still at the pound

- Used to be an awkward texter

- Didn’t have a ton of people who’d talk to him so he’d get very excited if somebody sent him a message. His nervous fumbling is a result of that too

- Example: if you’d text him asking to go get ice cream he’d reply like

Okay sounds good haha ;)

Oh my god

That was an accident!!

I didn’t mean to send that wink I’m sorry!!!

I pressed the wrong button I just wanted to send a normal smiley

Like this :€

Sorry…

- And he’ll agonize over it forever

- Fun to tease if you’re up for it and over time he might even quip back. He’s a bit bolder over text than in person

- You could even get him to send a bathroom mirror selfie if you encourage him enough

Randal

- broke the emergency cellphone Luther gave him

- Now he has a phone he pilfered from the human school. It had a tiny voodoo doll as a phone charm and he didn’t think twice about taking it

- Super annoying, will double and triple text and if you don’t reply will send you messages where he’s just talking to himself

- Texts all hours of the night and it’s just weird unfiltered thoughts

- His phone looks horrible, he’s so careless with it. You can barely see the screen with how many cracks there are

- Annoying and frequent use of kaomojis

- Will attempt to start roleplays that always escalate

- Example:

HEEEYYYY ψ(｀∇´)ψ

*glomps u*

*noms ur arm*

*bites a chunk of flesh out of u and chews* mmh sho tasty (*´Д｀*) *drools on u*

Satoru

- has a ridiculous amount of charms on his phone. One is part of a friendship set and he gave Randal the matching one

- Texts in a weird mix of Japanese and English characters that makes sense in the dream (something likeトoトally)

- tasteful and sparing use of kaomojis (^_−)v

- Doesn’t send many texts because he prefers hanging out when everybody’s lucid and his phone can’t reach the real world

The Ratmen

- The only way they’d get their hands on a phone is if they stole it or you gave them one

- To avoid one of them hoarding the phone and a fight breaking out giving them a tablet would be a better solution. Plus it’s big enough to they can all look at the screen

- It’s probably best if you leave it plugged in your living room so nobody can take it for himself and it doesn’t run out of battery unexpectedly

- Stick to making voice messages and show them how to play them only. Lie about the tablet not having a microphone if you need to

- If you don’t want to be annoyed every hour of the day don’t tell them how to call you or send voice messages themselves

- Since they can barely read they mostly communicate with emojis

- Robert & 3 don’t text much

- Robert doesn’t have a lot to say over text and is self sufficient anyways. He can wait till you come home if he has something to tell you

- 3 is insecure about not being able to read/write well and would rather leave you on read than embarrass himself by sending messages you don’t understand

- Michael gets emojis mixed up. He will send a 😂 and it means he’s sad. You will only know what’s up when you’re home

- He’s not smart enough to communicate with symbols alone. Sometimes he just sends emojis he liked the looks of, no meaning. Expect to be confused when he’s the one sending a message

- He gets distracted easily looking at the food emojis too

- 4&5 are good at using emojis to form more complex messages. 5 is probably the best

-Example:

🫵🏠🍳🥓➡️🐭🍽️❓

🌙📺👩‍🍳❓

🐭🤓🍽️🧼➡️🤮

🫵🏠🧽🪣

- Don’t ask if they want something for the store or they wil send every food emoji

- They all crowd around the tablet to listen when you send a voice message

- Referring to themselves with emojis is kinda tricky. The others will use 🤓 when talking about 3 and he hates but they all think it fits him too well. Same with 🤥 for 5. He never uses it for himself and since he writes most of the messages you’ll hardly ever see it

- Don’t download games to the tablet if you value peace in your home. If they can fight over an account or their turn they will

- If bored enough the ratmen will still play around with the pre installed apps like the calculator or the compass. The camera roll is a mess too

- If you put something on for them like a movie they will be enraptured. Depending on what they’re watching they might become scared an believe it’s real. Remember the SpongeBob episode where he thinks mr krabs is a robot? Kinda like that

- And if you put on a cooking show they will pester you to cook what they’re making in the program. Also there will be marks on the screen from somebody trying to lick it

Hope you enjoy these :)

#mona.submissions #submissions #ranfren #ranfren x reader #randals friends #randal ivory

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