#I know this looks like a vent but I promise it isn’t

[zaacataac]

Percy Reed really has one of the worst cases of homeschooled pastor’s kid syndrome I’ve seen since I looked in the mirror

[suddenlyspectral]

why are men being so fucking weird to me when i go out. WHY.

[highvern]

Houdini

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: smut, hint of fluff at the end

warnings: drinking, allusion to drug use, sub hoshi likes when reader is mean to him, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, protected sex, reader calls hoshi a furry more than once, cumshot, hair pulling, reader wears bunny ears

Length: ~5.3k

Note: this started as a prologue to a different fic but i wanted it to become its own fic. danke @gyuswhore for being my torture subject as always as well as @onlyhuis @temptaetions @cheolism

Summary: The guy wearing a tiger onesie and ripping a bong in the corner might not be the most promising prospect of the night. But you've got a point to prove and a bet to win. series m.list: Green Light [s], Yuck [f], Talk [a, s, f], Casual [a, s, f], Mine [s], espresso [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The cramped living room is hazy with the smell of pot, cut by cheap led strip lights painting everything in violets and blues. Butt numb from the stiff armrest of the couch, you adjust the bunny ears on your head for the fifth time in the twenty minutes you’ve sat there.

Everyone else skitters around, dressed as different animals. More bunnies, a few cats, a guy dressed like a dinosaur hogging a joint. It’s someone’s birthday; a friend of a friend you’ve never met, but the promise of free alcohol before heading downtown isn’t even close to the worst way to spend your time. It’s why you fished out the dumb satin bunny ears from your closet; a relic from Halloweens past when you needed a cheap excuse to wear something scandalous in public with little judgment. 

June disappeared thirty minutes ago to find the birthday boy, leaving your entire group to mingle until she returns. 

You intently listen as Lily vents about her work crush for the nth time. His name is of no relevance, but she’s convinced herself it's love despite the fact he possesses fewer brain cells than a rock. A proven fact since he didn’t know the difference between consonants and vowels despite being well into his twenties.

“Why all the talk about relationships?” you interrupt. “Can we please have one night where we don’t talk about guys.”

“Some of us want boyfriends.” Anna rolls her eyes. 

“And yet, you can find one hundred percent of the benefits of one with zero effort. At least without all the mind games you two go through every week.”

“Easy for you to say.” Anna argues. “You’re like the poster girl for no-commitment sex.”

“I like what I like,” you shrug. “Not guys that say they want a relationship and then claim you're moving too fast when you ask him to treat you like a person.”

Lily gives an exasperated groan to the ceiling. “We get it. You hate romance.”

“I don’t hate it. I just like to be realistic. Most guys are good for one thing and I happen to admire them for that.”

“Do you realistically think you can get any guy here to sleep with you?” Anna asks. 

Any guy is a stretch. You’re easy but not without standards. Taken men are strictly off the menu. Along with weirdos or guys that look like they’ve never seen the inside of a shower. Anyone looking for a relationship typically removes themself from the running after figuring out you aren’t looking to be saved or changed, just a warm body that’s easy on the eyes.

“Pick anyone and if I pull him you owe me breakfast tomorrow.” You challenge them with a smirk. It’s slim pickings so early in the night, but nothing you can’t work with.

“Okay, then.” Lily agrees. “What about him?”

It takes you a moment to decipher who her manicured finger is pointing at. There's a small crowd in the corner of the room, guys too scared to mingle or uninterested in anything beyond their circle jerk. But he’s easy to spot; a tiger onesie and a dark crop of hair are all the details you get from this far away.

He seems to be the main entertainer of the bubble. Hands fly in different directions, chaotic but graceful. Now that you’re locked onto him, the boom of his voice floats under the heavy music. Tiger guy isn't your usual type. He’s lithe and lean; maybe a dancer or something athletic. You like them tall and domineering. It makes it that much sweeter when they try to dominate you, only to be beaten at their own game. Mingyu wasn’t your A-list fuck buddy for no reason. A damn shame he moved away at the end of last year.

But the man Lily’s picked will do what you need him to; prove a point and grant you a free meal. If you get at least one orgasm out of it then that’ll be a bonus. Chugging the last of your drink (which smells like nail polish remover and paint thinner had a very toxic baby), you drop the empty cup into Anna’s hand.

“And we want proof!” Anna calls as you stalk toward the far wall.

One of the other guys he’s talking to sees you approach, and you watch the way his eyes convey your presence, nearly bugging out of his skull. A gentle tap on tiger guy’s shoulder has him turning to greet you.

Confusion clouds his face. He’s cuter than you expected, with furrowed eyebrows and a pout that draws your eyes to his mouth with curiosity. You’ll find out their talents soon enough. 

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi?” he parrots.

“I’m Y/N.” Eyes round with faux innocence, you make a point to take a few seconds staring at his mouth before meeting his curious gaze.

“Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung. The name rolls along your tongue easily. You light up at the way his eyes follow the curve of your mouth around the sound. It’s too easy.

Pushing forward, chest to chest; raising on your toes. You relish in another shiver at the brush of your mouth against his ear. “Is this your party?”

“Yeah, it’s my roommate’s birthday,” he says.

So that’s who June knows. 

“Cool. Wanna show me your room?”

“What?” You can hear the record scratch in Soonyoung’s brain; see the disbelief in his eyes.

Stepping into his space, your gaze burns a path from his lips to his eyes before you repeat, “your room?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can…definitely do that. This way!”

His own friends, still circled in the corner, gape in their own disbelief. Soonyoung has you charging through the crowded living room and down the hallway. Good. Even more bodies fill the narrow space but he nearly pushes them aside, waving off any grunts of discontent at his roughness.

You pass several doors on each side, all closed from prying eyes but you don’t have an interest anyway. His room is at the end of the long passage. A whiteboard with a crude image of a tiger and a rainbow hangs at eye level, coupled with ‘TamTam + Hoshi 5ever’ but you don’t have time to admire the art before you’re inside.

“So, this is it,” Soonyoung announces, hands wringing in front of his chest nervously. 

The tiger thing isn’t so much a coincidence and more of a theme. A poster of a tiger hangs on the wall above the dresser. But it’s not the worst of it. His bed hosts several plushies, all different sizes and shapes but certainly tigers. 

Whipping around, you eye him with incredulity. “Are you a fucking furry?”

“No!” He shakes like a bobblehead. Like he’s had to explain it dozens of times before. “It’s a joke! From college, with my friends.”

“A joke where you collect tiger memorabilia as a grown man?” You shoot back.

“It’s not that bad.”

Eyebrows flying to your hair line, you make a sweep of the room. “You have a framed picture of a tiger, are wearing a tiger suit, and have a miniature army of stuffed animals.” 

“Okay, maybe it is that bad, but I’m not a furry.”

If he was hiding more of the garish pattern out of sight you wouldn’t be surprised. For good measure, you fold over the blanket of his bed and sigh relief to find navy sheets instead of orange. You’ve slept with weirder guys for less but it’s nice to know he isn’t that weird.

“Whatever you say. But if you ask me to wear a tail, I’ll walk back out there and tell everyone.”

You peel your shirt off without another word. Once your vision is free of the fabric, you’re met with a starstruck man — mouth open, eyes skimming your chest, and what seems to be a half-chub tenting his pants. You revel in the silent awe rolling off him, preening at the attention. So easy.

But Soonyoung seems to come to his senses when you start working on the zipper holding together the back of your skirt shut.

“Woah, okay. We don’t have to go so fast,” he says, taking a step in your direction.

“So I should put my shirt back on?” You make for it like the threat is real.

“Let’s not be too hasty! I’m just saying, maybe we should, like, talk a bit first?”

Your feet carry you until there’s barely a breath between his body and your own. Soonyoung’s shirt brushes against your naked stomach with each stuttered breath as you eye his lips. “Well, do you wanna talk or do you want your dick sucked? Because I can only do one at a time.”

“Definitely the second one,” Soonyoung starts, dipping his hands to your ass for a harsh squeeze while shepherding you to his bed.

His mouth tastes like smoke and need. A disgusting combination if not for your tipsy brain easily ignoring it in favor of focusing on the roughness of his touch.

Soonyoung is eager, to say the least. He can’t touch you fast enough; hands darting from your ass, to your sides, to your breasts, and back down again. If this was happening at your apartment you’d tie him down and refuse to let him feel anything at all just to watch him squirm. 

You manage to flip him under you, pinning him in place with your thighs to rest across his lap like a throne. Taking the change in stride, he uses the new angle to mouth over your bra; sucking harshly at your covered nipples till they stiffen for his fingers to pinch at.

“Condoms?”

Soonyoung shakes his head. 

Digging the heel of your hand into his forehead successfully unlatches the suction around your nipple.  He pouts at the interruption.

“You don’t have condoms?”

“I do, but I’m not about to fuck you after two seconds of making out,” Soonyoung argues. “I‘m not even hard yet.”

Shocked by the sudden attitude, you huff before rolling your hips down. You're met with a familiar lump pressing into the crotch of your pants, and Soonyoung has the nerve to simply return to his previous task as you rock against him again.

“Liar,” you pant after a delicious drag of his teeth on your collarbone and his cock against your ass.

You stay locked like that for a while, writhing against one another as clothes come off without abandon. Your bra first, then the damn tiger onesie. Soonyoung gets you on your back before flipping up your skirt and pulling your panties to the side, revealing your drenched center.

He sucks a bruise on your nipple, tongue messy as he explores what’s between your legs with a gentle stroke of his fingers.

“Can I go down on you? Please say yes.” Soonyoung traces the request across your chest with more nips of his teeth. 

“You have to ask?”

“Consent is sexy.”

“You sound like a PSA,” you comment. “But, yeah go ahead.”

Your hips lift to aid in removing the last scraps of clothing. There’s no shyness as you spread your legs wide, flashing the aftermath of a good make-out session for Soonyoung eyes only.

“Oh my god,” he moans.

The heat of his breath fans across your folds, sending a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t even blink as you clench from the aching need to be filled with whatever he’s ready to offer,

“What?”

“This is gonna make me sound weird again, but you have a really pretty pussy.”

Not something any previous partners have chosen to comment on, but you preen under the compliment. “Thanks.”

“No. Thank you,” Soonyoung says before looking at the ceiling. “God, thank you so much for blessing me like this.” 

“Stop being lame or I'll leave.” 

“Sorry, you’re hot.” He says it like an accusation. “Just wanted to let the universe know I recognize that and appreciate it.” 

“How about you recognize the fact I’m drying up as we speak?” 

“No you aren’t,” Soonyoung argues. “You’re dripping on my sheets.” 

Your hand skates across your front, falling between your thighs. Like hypnosis, he watches with rapt attention as you frame your clit between two fingers, giving a clear target for his attention. 

“Then do something about it.”

With a hand fisted in his hair, he does. An aggressive suck against your clit without warm-up sends a tremor through your core. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting until he’s forced away from your cunt with a petulant frown. 

“If you keep licking my clit like a scratch off I will make you cry.” A jostle of the bed tells how effective your words are. “Oh my god. Did you just?” 

“I’ve never been threatened in bed before, okay? I'm just as shocked as you.”

He hides the embarrassment by wedging back between your thighs, gentler than before, lapping away the new flood of arousal from his responsiveness. A thrill hums down your spine and settles where Soonyoung’s mouth returns to work. His shoulders burn hot against the underside of your thighs, every surge of muscle rocking you back into the slick of his tongue. 

“Fuck.”

“Better?” he asks around a mouth full of pussy.

There might very well be a crowd at the door listening to every lewd squelch and pathetic whine, but you don’t care. A little direction, a grind of your hips when he does well and the sting of your nails when he gets ahead of himself does wonders. Soonyoung is eager to please and impress. You could probably lay here for an hour without a complaint for him; if anything, he’d actively encourage such indulgence if it meant your approval. 

It makes the temptation to overwhelm him too sweet to ignore. 

One of the hands flat against your stomach falls away easily, knotting his fingers through yours because of course he’d be the type to hold hands during sex. It’s cute, but that fondness is stomped down for something safer. 

Like sucking two fingers between your lips like it's his cock.

Soonyoung grunts frustration straight into your core, refusing to watch you wet his hand even when you moan at the prod against the back of your throat. Another hump against the mattress as an edge of teeth drags over his knuckles. 

You can’t help but laugh as he scrambles to stretch you across them. He curls one slowly, like you’ll object. When you don't, Soonyoung adds the other and resettles your thigh so he can watch them disappear inside. His knuckles return even more soaked and even you can’t pretend it isn’t a turn-on. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Before you can respond, he’s licking away the fresh wave of wetness from his praise. It isn’t new information, but Soonyoung is impossibly earnest and you’re pretty sure if he came from eating you out he’d be just as satisfied as if you fucked him.

“Gimme a third.”

Soonyoung moans like he’s the one getting off as he does what you ask. 

Your legs lock, sore at the hips from being dragged to the edge so quickly. It bubbles just under the surface. Too far away where you can’t reach it but know Soonyoung can. He knows it too by the way you whisper his name. 

“If you touch yourself right now will you cum?” 

“Probably.” 

“Good.” You're overeager, just like the man between your legs, but the idea he can get off from eating you out can’t be ignored. “Show me.” 

“If you make me cum twice tonight I will talk to my therapist about you, so no.”

You whine a protest. Something that would sound far more responsible falling from his lips in the established dynamic, but you don’t care. One of your feet wedges between the bed and his crotch, toeing along the bulge still hidden behind a pair of thin boxers.

“Is it not enough that I might cum from you insulting me, you have to see it happen?” He asks. 

The picture behind your eyelids is nothing short of demonic; pulling Soonyoung’s boxers down and the inside sticky with cum, but his cock still hard because once is definitely not enough. Or streaks of white coating his chest and thighs, the perfect trail to trace your tongue over. 

You don’t even have a chance to share the fantasy before he splits you on his tongue again. Firmer this time, with a hard press to your knees that has you vulnerable and exposed. He keeps his tongue flat and heavy on your clit. Perfect to grind up against until you shudder.

Since you can’t get Soonyoung to give in, you settle for ruining any future encounter he might have by making a show.

Your fingers tickle up your stomach, nails raising goosebumps at the soft touch. Back and forth and back and forth, a little higher each time until you catch the hill of your chests and circle the hard peaks. There's no reason to ease into it, not when you sneak a glance down and find a pair of brown eyes framed between your legs.

The way he watches makes you feel dirty. Nipples pebbled between your fingers, you arch into his next move. His tongue stays flat for you to use. You curl into it, humping Soonyoung’s face like he’s nothing more than a toy to get off on. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” 

He’s definitely slipped a fourth finger inside. The stretch borders just on the edge of pain but you take it in stride. Soonyoung looks like he might cum before you do. 

“I’m – oh. Just like that.” You groan deep from your core. 

Your clit is throbbing with sensitivity as he continues to coax pleased sounds from your tongue. Heating from the inside out, your hands abandoned the torture on your chest in favor of keeping Soonyoung in place so you can rut against him.

A switch flips with your next moan. Hands on your stomach, your breasts, shoving your thighs out of the way as he digs into your cunt like the best meal the world will know. 

“Cum for me. Please let me see you come,” Soonyoung begs. 

Fizzling out, you do what he asks. Your stomach tenses for a second and then you fly off the mattress from locked muscles. 

Soonyoung doesn’t stop as you twitch, nor when you kick an ankle into his side. Maybe you go a little wet at the eyes as he forces you straight into a second orgasm without an ounce of reprieve but it's probably coincidence.

Soonyoung finally moves away at an inhuman whine. His mouth is stained with the taste of you, but he wears it well. It almost makes you want to push him back down and see if you can survive a third orgasm.

To stop from blindly following temptation, you roll until you’re sat in his lap. You must look as disheveled as you feel; sweaty and strung out. Ready for more.

“Wait,” he sighs with the pain of a man delaying his own gratification. “Wear these.”

The wrinkled satin bunny ears knocked from your head earlier come back into view. Soonyoung doesn’t  even pretend to be ashamed as he plants them back on your head before finding the dip of your waist again.

You hate the idea of giving in so easily, but Soonyoung’s need rolls off him in thick waves feeding straight to your ego.  “Oh, but you’re not a furry?” 

His cock fits well against the curl of your fingers as you stroke him, standing tall and proud from his lap. Oddly enough, you get his earlier sentiment. You’ve never thought of a dick as pretty but Soonyoung’s is nice. Red and leaking at the tip, you’re tempted to duck your chin and get a taste, but Soonyoung drags you up to his mouth before you can even make a good faith try.

“Stop being mean to me or I’ll bust a nut,” he whines.

“Can’t have that,” you snicker. “Condoms?”

“Drawer.”

The door slams open in your haste. It’s a mess of lube, sex toys, and random chargers. Who keeps a phone charger where their lube is? Too eager for the promise of such a pliable partner doesn’t leave with an interest in asking, and the way he continues to suck at your throat isn’t helping. Until you find something that stokes your curiosity even more.

“Soonyoung. What are these?” 

A set of fuzzy tiger print cuffs dangle from your fingers. The jokes write themselves. But you ignore the re-occurrence of orange and black because you really want to know if he likes bondage. (Hopefully it’s a yes. Even more hopeful is he likes to be on the receiving end.)

“Birthday present.”

“Your friends are weird,” you say. “Have you used them?”

He looks shy, like he hasn’t just asked you to don animal ears and ride him into the mattress. Handcuffs are nothing in comparison but you wait out the nerves flashing on his face. “Maybe.”

“On who?”

“Umm…”

“Have you been handcuffed?” 

Do you want to be? The idea is just another fantasy you’ll think about later in the dark of your room when you need a quick way to get off. 

“No.”

“Lame,” you tease before tossing them to the floor and shoving a foil packet into his chest.

Soonyoung’s ability to multitask is nonexistent. Not when your nipping his ear lobe and whispering how bad you want him to fuck you; how you can’t wait to feel him inside you; how big his dick is. Perfect flattery that makes him whine and fumble the condom over and over again until you grant clemency and do it yourself.

His hands are rough against your ass as you slip him inside, slow because you want him to suffer just a little bit. Your thighs scream in protest at the angle but Soonyoung looks at you like he’s watching a miracle unfold and the discomfort is more than worth it.

If there was time, you’d let him fuck you from behind just to see how he’d fair with such a visual, but this is already dragging out too long. Soonyoung looks like he needs more time to adjust to the way he’s digging in your walls than you do. So you keep theme and start bouncing on his cock just to watch him go insane.

“God,” he grunts, neck strained and a vein rising on his forehead. “You’re fucking tight. Shit.”

Your eyelids flutter shut in focus. “Keep talking. Tell me how it feels.”

“Feels amazing, oh my god. You’re so wet.”

Your pelvis tilts so he can meet each stroke from below. The slap of skin on skin drowns out any other noise; the music, the screaming partygoers just outside. If someone walks by his door they’ll figure out what's happening in a second. Makes you want Soonyoung to be louder.

“You’re so hard for me.” 

You sink flat until your ass is cradled against the firmness of his thighs. You use the leverage to sit up and give an uninterrupted view of your front; how your breasts bounce with each movement, where his cock sinks deep into your guts without any resistance.

“All for you,” he nods, eyes wild and unfocused. There’s sweat on his neck and you can’t fight the sick urge to suck against the muscle laying underneath. “Fuck you make me so hard.”

“Should’ve let me suck your dick.”

“I know,” he whines. An arm loops around your waist, crowding you into the sheets from a smooth flip. An open mouth kiss, really just panted breath and tongue, distracts you further. A thumb at your chin keeps you pliant to whatever he wants.

He rocks deeper, as if it's possible. Surges right into that spot that curls your chest tight with rough fluidity. Your thighs fold wide to give him room.

One of your hands rubs at your clit to catch up.

“God, yeah, touch yourself for me.” Soonyoung whines. “Can you come again?”

He’s not just a sub, he’s a sadist.

“I—”

“Please,” he begs with a hard rush. 

“Yeah, okay,” you mumble. “Fuck me harder. Make me cum on your cock.”

You dig your free hand in his hair, tugging until it stings at the roots just the way he likes. The reward is another harsh rut of his hips that leaves you gasping for air. 

“Fuck. Right there, baby,” you moan along with the sloppy noise echoing between your thighs. “Don’t stop.”

You scramble to grab his ass, pulling him flush against you for the perfect angle to batter your insides. Your skins on fire as you tumble closer and closer to that point of no return. 

“Soonyoung!” you gasp. It’s right there. That blissful ending is just a hairwidth away. 

“God, you’re so hot,” he folds in half as he says it, crushing you underneath his body until you're bent in half in his lap with the wet of his tongue at your jaw. “Cum for me, cum on my cock.”

You twist tighter under his insistence, shrinking and shrinking, and then — finally — it splinters. The waves rock through you, head forced back into the pillows from the force of moans wrecking your throat. “Oh— fuck, that—god. Oh.” 

Vision black against the inside of your eyelids, you melt into nothing. Only Soonyoung’s grip keeps you from shaking apart into a million pieces as you whine into his mouth. 

“Holy shit, that was so hot,” he’s rambling the way to his own end, hips shaky from the way you’ve wetted his cock. “You’re so hot. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You want to watch him cum. Even if the temptation to lay there and take it is sweet you won’t give in. 

Bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat, Soonyoung is a mess in his own right. Pink at the ears, lips bruised. You can’t get enough. His eyes darken as you suck along his thumb, tongue lashing against the sensitive pad. Soonyoung isn’t the only one that wishes you got to suck his dick. 

“Cum on me,” you whine. 

He pulls out, quickly tossing the condom aside. Your hand is already waiting to jerk him off over your body, the grease of the latex making the strokes smooth as Soonyoung fucks your fist with the same desperation as your pussy. It takes only a few thrusts before you feel the heat of his spend drip across your chest and stomach. You’re careful to stay still, body spread flat as he coats you in pale streaks. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. He twitches when you don’t stop, biting his tongue through the sting of overstimulation until he has to pull away.

Soonyoung collapses to the side. Shoulder to shoulder, you catch your breaths in the dull thump of music.

“That was fun.” You pat his stomach before standing. The floor is a mess of clothes needing to be plucked through. His shirt becomes a cum rag as you wipe away the mess staining your body.

“You aren’t gonna stay?” He calls from the bed. 

“No?” 

Why would I? you think while pulling on your underwear.

Soonyoung watches, splayed across the bed with his dick still wet in his lap. “Then, can I, like, call you sometime?” 

“No thanks.” 

“If you keep being mean to me I’m going to fall in love with you.”

 “Quoting New Girl isn’t giving me much incentive to be nicer,” you snort, untangling your bra. 

“It’s a great fucking show.” 

“Here’s a tip: if you want to fuck me again, stop being such a loser.” 

“You still let me hit so I think you like losers.” 

He’s smiling. You really need to find your underwear so you can get away from it.

“I like hot guys with big dicks,” you shrug. “You happen to be that.” 

“I know you want me,” he sings

“Dead, maybe.” 

“You’d miss my stroke game.” 

“I’d love to stroke you.” You coo. “With a bat. To the head.” 

“I love when you talk dirty to me, baby.” He groans with dramatic flair. “By the way, you have cum on your skirt.” 

You do, on the hem somehow. A mystery to be solved when you’re safely back in the crowded expanse of a party and not alone with the guy with a tiger fetish you might want to fuck again. “Not the first time.” 

“God…. Please give me your number.” 

You can’t swallow the smile blooming at his request. Instead, you turn to leer over him. He’s watching your mouth, licking his lips like he wants to drag you down for another tumble. “Keep begging.” 

He’s got enough humor to get on his knees and clutch his hands to his chest pathetically. You’re still close, watching him down the slope of your nose while hiding a smirk. 

“Queen of my dick, please bestow a crumb of kindness and allow me the pleasure of hitting you up at 3 AM.” 

“That time I almost caved.” You back away just in time for him to stumble over himself. “Too bad I don’t fuck guys into furry shit at 3 AM.” 

“One, not a furry. Two, who do you fuck then?” 

“One, you're not fooling anybody.” You take extra time straightening out your hair in the mirror just so he can stare at your ass. You feel him do it. “Two, myself.” 

“I will pay real money to see that.”

“I know you would. So you’re never gonna.”

He’s watching you like some lovesick fool, glowing in the light with ignorance of what comes next. Part of you doesn’t want to crush someone as earnest as he is but staying the night is out of the question when you can still hear the party rattling through the walls.

“If I give you my number,” you start. “You have to give me this.”

It’s one of the smaller plushies. Soft to the touch and attached to his keys hanging by the door. It’s cute and perfect enough to satisfy your friends’ demands. Also, an excuse to see him again if you really want.

 Maybe you do. 

“TamTam?” Soonyoung asks from your side. You didn’t even hear him approach but he’s got boxers on so it took him a minute.

“You name your stuffed animals?”

“TamTam is special.” 

“Oh, he is?” you ask. “Well, how bad do you want my number?”

“I don’t know…” Soonyoung starts. 

Your face stings at the rejection but you bury it before giving it a chance to fester into something that needs thinking about. Looking back in the mirror to correct the smudges in your make is the only cover you’ve got.

“Okay,” he nods. “But if you do anything to him I will actually cry.”

TamTam is thrust into your hands and you can’t help but smile. It’s cute. Soonyoung is cute. And it actually might make you explode. 

You hate it.

“I pinky promise I will throw myself in front of a bullet for TamTam.”

He locks his pinky around your extended one, “Good.”

And then he’s kissing you again. Every thought melts away under his lips, soft against your own with a new sweetness. The edge of the dresser digs into your spine as he crowds you against it for more leverage but it’s merely an afterthought.

Soonyoung (not a furry): btw i lied [12:15 AM] Soonyoung (not a furry): im not hitting you up at 3am [12:15 AM] Soonyoung (not a furry): what are you doing tomorrow night (pls say me) [12:16 AM] You: tamtam and i are busy [12:33 AM]

Maybe you smile at the string of intelligible letters you receive after sending the picture of you kissing TamTam’s cheek. It’s no one's business if you do anyway.

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[cameronspecial]

Let Me Fix Your Problems, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: Y/N needs to vent, but Rafe needs to solve her issues.

Masterlist

Girls know that when another girl comes to them with a problem, it is just to vent about the issue that they have. Boys. Well, boys like to go to each other for solutions and Rafe isn’t innocent of that mentality. Before Y/N, Rafe hadn’t been in a relationship, so he didn’t have a chance to learn that women just need an outlet to voice their frustration. And he is about to be taught that lesson. He waits for her at the coffee shop with a mug of coffee in his hand and a hot chocolate across from him for her. His fingers tap along the ceramic mug. He looks out the window to see if he can spot her arrival. This is the first time that they are going to be seeing each other in person after returning to campus from the holiday break and he anticipates seeing her again. He wants to see all the gifts she got this Christmas and she is excited to show him. He spots the pompom of her pastel green hat that he sent over to her for Christmas. A massive grin grows on his face and he knows the bell sounding announces her entrance. As she slides into the booth across from him, she leans over the table to kiss him on the lips. “Hey, Rafe. How are you?” she greets. 

He can see something is wrong. There is a slight furrow of her brow and a slight dip of her lip that she is trying to hide. He plays along with her pleasantries for now, “I’m good now that I get to see you, Angel. How was your Christmas?” “It was good. I got to spend time with my family. I was also pleasantly surprised with how many gifts I woke up to on Christmas morning. Some handsome fella even gave me this pretty bracelet with his initials on it. I think I might keep it and him around,” she recounts, holding out her wrist for him to see. He takes her arm into his hand, “Wow. That handsome fella must really be special if you are wearing this even though you have only been dating him for around four months.” “Yeah, I guess you can say that I love him,” she teases and kisses him. “Thank you for the gifts, Rafe. I just wish you told me we were also sending each other stuff because I hate the thought of you not getting anything from me on Christmas.”

His warm hand cups her cheek and his thumb brushes reassuringly against her skin. “Don’t worry about it, Angel. You gave me my gift before we left for break. Plus, getting that FaceTime call from you on Christmas day was my gift,” he promises. She kisses his wrist and this thumb goes to trace the slope of her lips. He can’t be in the dark about her sadness anymore. “What’s wrong, my angel? Why do you seem so sad?” he questions. She shrugs, “Nothing, I’m fine.” “Please, don’t lie to me. I can see something is wrong,” he pleads to her. She sighs, “It’s stupid, but Stacey is having a back-to-school get-together this weekend and she didn’t invite me. I guess I feel a little left out.” “That’s not very nice of her. Have you tried telling her how you feel?” he suggests. She shakes her head, “No. Do you know how embarrassing it would be to run to her like a little schoolgirl and tell her she hurt my feelings?” Rafe understands what she is saying and slides in on her side of the booth. He rests her head on his chest, vowing to help her with her problem. 

———

Rafe knocks on Stacey’s door and puts his hands behind his back. She opens the door with a slight frown at who is waiting for her. “Uh, Rafe. What are you doing here? Is everything okay with Y/N?” she worries, knowing that Rafe only cares about one person. Rafe’s head moves from side to side, “Actually, she isn’t okay. You didn’t invite her to your get-together this weekend.” Stacey nods and cracks her knuckles nervously. “I did not. Because, you see, Y/N and I aren’t really that close of friends and this party is for girls that I am really close to,” Stacey tries to explain. Her mouth shuts when she sees that is not the answer Rafe is looking for. He chuckles, “Obviously, she feels close enough to you that she feels left out by what you did.” He pauses to see if Stacey has anything to add to her defence. She doesn’t. “You know what I want you to do, correct?” Her head hinges up and down, “Yes, I understand. I’m sorry that I hurt Y/N’s feelings.” “Good, I’m glad we can come to a conclusion. I’ll see you later,” he grins and heads back home. 

———

Y/N doesn’t bother to knock. She uses his passcode to storm into his room and finds him on his bed. He sits up right at the sight of her. “Is everything okay, Angel? You didn’t tell me you were coming over,” he frets, rushing to her side. Her arms cross over each other, “You forced Stacey to invite me to her party.” “I did. You said you felt left out that you weren’t invited,” he states. He places his hands above her elbows. She lets out a low laugh, “Why would you do that?” 

“Because you had a problem and you needed help fixing it.”

“Rafe, most of the time, when I come to you with my problems, I don’t want you to fix them. I just want you to listen and agree that I am in the right.”

“Why can’t I fix your problems if I have the solution? Come on, let me fix your problems, Angel.” 

“Sometimes girls just want someone to vent to. Plus, I don’t even like Stacey so the last thing I want to do is go to her party, but now, I have to go because you made a point of getting her to invite me,” she complains. He chuckles and pulls her into a hug, “Okay, I’ll take that venting thing into account for next time. Angel, if you didn’t want to go to the party, then why did it bother you so much?” “Because I wanted to be able to turn her down,” she mumbles, burying her face into his neck. He lets out an amused breath, “I see. Well, I’m sorry that I ruined your ability to reject her. If you want, I can call you with an emergency half an hour into the party so you can leave early.” Y/N pulls back to look him in the eyes. “That is the least you can do. You are getting me sushi too,” she orders. “Sounds fair. I’ll do whatever you want, Angel.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hello !

Could you please write some headcanons with Alastor and m!reader as his S/O , where reader is a fallen seraphim / ex - seraphim?

Thank you in advance !

Hmmm! Okay! I actually wanted Alastor discovering his partner is a Fallen Angel for a while now. I can imagine what would happen… but uh, anyway. Let’s try this out, shall we? Alastor is now my primary Hazbin Hotel man, which I don’t mind! I love this man!

Alastor- Lies and Deception

Why… why would you lie?! Why did you lie?! Why did… Alastor can barely process what he just learnt. His beloved partner, his cute sweetie. A affectionate polite man, you. You’re not a demon at all, you’re an angel and you were a high-level angel as well. Charlie isn’t the only one who finds out her partner is a angel, Alastor did too

“A-Al! I can explain… I just—” “Save it, Leitore. I don’t want to hear from you” and with that, Alastor goes back down to Hell. Not hearing you out, despite when you try to explain yourself. It hurts your soul seeing your boyfriend, now, so closed-off, cold and disinterested

Alastor refuses to talk to you and when he does, he is quite passive-aggressive but yet, he can’t bring himself to be insulting. He is more business than emotions and comes off as very apathetic. It’s just because he doesn’t know how to act around you anymore with this grand discovery drilled into his head

He avoids you like the plague after the incident in Heaven and Adam revealing both you and Vaggie’s angelic origins to the Group

Alastor had ended up just like Charlie. Both him and Charlie are struggling with learning that their partner lied to them and hid their true selves for so long. Unlike Charlie, who vents to Alastor about Vaggie all the way to the Cannibal Colony, Alastor tries to not focus on you… he doesn’t want a reminder

However, he is eventually talked into trying to make it up with you by his dear friend, Rosie. She reminds him that you’re his lover and that he can’t just shut you out over you not trusting Alastor to not throw you out if you told him the truth… oh, Alastor could kiss Rosie right now! But, he can’t. He needs to make up with you after the weeks he’s spent ignoring you

Like Charlie, Alastor brings over a little gift. Surprised to find out that you’ve gotten back your angel wings after so long of merely looking like an average sinner. Three feathery sets, they are gorgeous and they make your eyes pop. Alastor may not like that his lover is an Angel and he’s a true Demon but that shouldn’t keep you two apart… and after Rosie’s talk, it won’t

After quite the long private talk with you and much forgiveness and acceptance and promising, Alastor is once again, by your side and holding your hand. He was harsh in the past about what he considered a betrayal but he has heard your side of it and forgiven you for lying to him. Not everybody is perfect

Alastor may or may not play with your reborn and re-gained angel wings when he is bored or waiting. You’re always right next to him so he’ll just run sharp long clawed fingers through the gentle feathers and be enamoured by how incredible it feels. Alastor also may just take an nap on your back with how comfortable those wings of yours are

Alastor is your sweet devil, a truly corrupted evil monster but he has an opposite in the man you are, a more pacifistic and harmless soul. Just like Charlie and Vaggie but swapped, you and Alastor are the higher-up Angel-Demon gay couple. Alastor is unredeemable and won’t be going to Heaven whilst you, a being of Heaven, is stuck down here in Hell

Alastor much prefers you stay in your original look but now, that also includes the Seraphim wings. Just keep them out of the way whilst you walk and Alastor is completely content with it. He just has to get use to having an angel in the Hotel… he has to get use to having TWO angels in the Hotel

Trust me, Alastor won’t ask about life as a Seraphim in Heaven. He doesn’t even care about it, he doesn’t care what dropped you into Hell. He only cares that you’re in Hell and that you’ll stay in Hell, stay with him. That’s all he’ll ever ask, but if you want to talk about your past in Heaven, he is all ears

Alastor, also, may not be perfect but he is doing his best to accept the reality that you had to lie to him and now that, you’re both cleared it up with one another. Now, you can be 100% honest with each other

Alastor is encouraging to you, encouraging you to let out your angelic origins and not be frightened by all the Sinners. Everybody in the Hotel knows you and Vaggie are from Heaven, just embrace it. He is embracing it one step at a time

“Oh… darling. I know I was quite harsh to you. I was just upset, I thought the man I loved was against me and I was trying to kill me from the inside. I understand you didn’t want to tell me and that’s okay… we’ll get through this little bump together”

[misc-obeyme]

Hey! Could I ask for a breaking-4th-wall kind of drabble with Solomon? In my heart I refuse to believe the boys aren’t real; they’re just in another world 💔 idk if thats denial or what but yeah lmao

something comfort or fluff would be nice ^^ even though just seeing Sol always makes me smile it’s a double edged sword and I then think back to how he ‘isn’t real’

(It’s kinda sad I can’t marry that man though…? It was love at first sight in OG game and people think Solomon’s down bad, I’m hella clingy when it comes to close relationships though ☠️ )

(Also random but as kind of a vent the kind of person best for Solomon would be someone who can heal his inner child, yeah? Problem is my inner child is also broken from emotional abuse lol, my issues would not help. I’m not good for him fr)

Hi there, anon!

Let me begin by saying that you are definitely good for Solomon. In fact, I would argue that you would understand him better because of your own issues. You know how it feels, you can relate to him in a way that someone else wouldn't be able to. And I think there's something extremely healing about having someone else to figure it out with. Why can't you and Solomon heal your inner children together?

As for the request, I hope this is what you're looking for! I definitely took the fourth wall breaking idea and ran with that!

You're sitting in your house on your phone, looking at Solomon on the home screen of your Obey Me account. You tap on his sprite and he smiles at you.

"Hm? What is it?" the dialogue says.

"I want you to be real," you say, knowing he can't hear you. "I want to touch you for real."

You sigh, turning off your phone and going about your evening. An hour or so passes and you're now focused on something else entirely when the doorbell rings.

It's odd. You weren't expecting company.

You answer the door and nearly faint from shock.

Solomon laughs gently at the look on your face. "Hi, MC. You wanted to see me?"

You stare at him with your mouth open. "What- I don't- How are you…? How are you here?"

"I'm a sorcerer, MC," he says. "With the right spell, I can make anything happen."

You're a little confused, but is it really worth asking any more questions? He's here and he looks solid. He looks real.

Solomon seems to understand your uncertainty. He reaches out a hand toward you. "I promise it's really me," he says. "Won't you let me show you?"

You couldn't have refused even if you wanted to. You didn't take the time to think about it, just immediately put your hand in his.

Solomon tugs on your hand and pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist. The world spins and you're being teleported to a new location.

You gasp when you find yourself looking out at a familiar view. The Devildom stretches out below you, RAD's great structure in the distance, the sparkling city lights next to an elaborately detailed fence. You're standing on a cobblestone street with Solomon's arms around you. The sky is dark, but it always is, here in the Devildom.

"Did you think it wasn't real?" Solomon asks. "Did you think I haven't already fallen for you?"

You clutch at him because this is all so unexpected. "Yes," you admit. How could you have possibly thought otherwise?

Solomon laughs, but it's soft, like he can't help it because you're so cute. "I'm sorry," he says. "I should have come for you sooner. Do you want to stay? For a little while?"

You throw your arms around his neck. "Yes!" you cry. And there are tears on your face because you're somehow here, with him.

Solomon kisses away your tears. You melt in his arms as he does. He gives you a questioning look, as if he's not sure how far he can go.

You let him know by kissing him. Solomon's embrace tightens around you. You can feel his heart beating against yours - rapid, like he's also overwhelmed by this impossible moment.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[bullet-prooflove]

First kiss with Alden

Tagging: @kmc1989 @sarakafarrah @caffeinatedwoman @elefrog25-blog

You don’t realise that Alden’s courting you, not at first. The dinners start off as a thing between colleagues to vent and discuss the challenges of being in a leadership role. He’d been trying to negotiate muddied waters with Nick Torres and came to you looking for ideas because of the nature of the work you do.

“You’re good at getting people to talk, at making them feel comfortable enough to open up, maybe you can give me a few pointers.” He’d said as the two of you shared a coffee in the breakroom. “I’m at my wit’s end with him.”

“I’ve got a couple of ideas, things I use for difficult witnesses.” You’d told him as you glanced at your watch and sighed. “I don’t have the time right now…”

“There’s this great Portuguese place I’ve been dying to try out.” Alden says with an enthusiasm you envy. Alden Parker and his pastries are legendary around the office. When he first arrived it was suspected to be some form of mind game “Perhaps you can meet me there, we can grab a couple of drinks, maybe a bite and you can help me figure out what to do about Torres.”

The first part of the night is spend discussing strategy. You work with people in trauma on a daily basis, it isn’t hard to recognise it in Nick Torres. You give Alden a little insight into Nick’s history before you lay out a few techniques you’ve had success with in the past. It segues after that into other topics, books you’ve read, the music you love, the fact you have this weird thing for plush lobsters.

“It’s something about the little claws.” You tell him, your hand mimicking the pincer as he peppers you with questions about this revelation. “My niece buys me one every Christmas. It helps that they live in Maine so there’s an abundance of choice.”

He has the same thing with birds, he explains. He still isn’t allowed in a certain national park because he climbed a fence he wasn’t supposed to in order to snap a picture. It’s what started his feud with the Park Service.

He puts you in a cab at the end of the night with the promise to feedback how it goes with Nick. It goes from there after that, dinner becomes a weekly thing, something you look forward to throughout the week because Alden knows all the best places to eat and he’s excellent company.

It’s the night he walks you home that things change. The back of your hand brushed against his, shoulders nudging. There’s this chemistry between the two of you, a connection. It’s been happening for a while now, the little touches that feel like electricity, the heated looks. You can’t stop thinking about how good his hands would feel on your body, what it would be like to undress him.

When he says goodbye, your hand captures his, drawing him back. You can see the surprise in his eyes but you can also see the yearning, the want. Your fingers chase up the lapels of his jacket as you raise up on tip toes and press your mouth to his.

That kiss…

It’s everything.

It’s fire and it’s passion, everything you’d been missing throughout the duration of your marriage. It awakens something in you, something wild, something reckless. You need him, his mouth on your skin, the scrape of his beard between your thighs. You’ve fantasied about this man for weeks and now it’s time for the reckoning.

“Come upstairs.” You request and Alden, he can’t resist.

Love Alden? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[riverbutghost]

Can you write a one shot where Y/n is self harming and how Simon is reacting to that?

This is my first request!!!!!!!

Also, I’m so so so sorry for this, this isn’t how i expected it to turn out, also I have a severe migraine right now and can’t look at screen too much. I wrote it super fast. Apologies, and promise that i’ll write more soon.

Go ahead and request with an angst prompt !!

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x GN!Reader

Summary: You used to self harm, but after attending military you stopped. Certain someone made you break, though.

Warnings: Graves is an asshole, no touching but cat calling?, Self harm, depression topics, kind of ooc simon, mentions of suicide…

Even though you were feeling down lately, your friends were always there for you. You knew it.

Your mental health wasn’t always perfect, and you knew it would take a while to heal. But even after healing, you knew it would always come back.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m glad you chose me to vent about it.”

It was always easy to vent to Soap, he would always make you chuckle or smile.

“It’s cool y’know? I know why you’re feeling this way. But it will always get better.”

Gaz would pat your hair, cuddle you a little like a brother and give you a chocolate. He would make you smile.

Simon wasn’t there usually. And no, you wouldn’t seek comfort from him either way. You knew the man wasn’t a people person, and he wouldn’t do anything other than getting annoyed.

So after your mission went smoothly, everyone wanted to celebrate and drink. Not you for sure.

You weren’t feeling good and stable so you politely declined. This, of course drew your friends’ attention. You just told them you were tired, because you didn’t want them to miss out on their time. They finally accepted and left the base to have fun.

You, on the other hand wasn’t feeling too well. It was overwhelming, to feel that way after a success.

“Congratulations, soldier. But you missed your shot. It was a stupid thing to do, the target wasn’t even moving ahahah.”

You furrowed your eyebrows after remembering your commander’s words. Graves, he was something. He would constantly pick on you, even though he had told you he liked you. You couldn’t understand him, was he that kind of person who would bully their crushes? Yeah, no.

You shook your head, clearing your mind of those thoughts. You needed a bath, and the base was empty. You smiled to yourself weakly. This was going to be a long shower.

You closed your door, but didn’t lock it. You didn’t care because the base was empty. You stripped off your clothes and got in.

-

“Is she okay?”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows.

“Who?”

Soap rolled his eyes and cursed through the phone. He told him your name, and Simon cursed himself too.

“Didn’t know she was here,”

Simon swore that he heard Soap rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, I gotta go. Don’t get wasted, yeah?”

Simon didn’t wait for an answer before shutting the phone down. He got up and went to his bathroom, ready to take a shower. He locked the door before pulling his mask off.

He got in, warm water immediately softening his tense shoulders. He sighed and closed his eyes.

-

You had decided to grab something from the kitchen before combing your hair. So here you were, eating an apple while going to your room.

“Ooof, here you are.”

You stopped dead in your tracks after someone grabbed your shoulders from behind.

“Our talk was interrupted,”

You swallowed and smiled at him, even though his eyes were raking up and down your body. You shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh, uhm- yeah. I don’t see you like that-“

His hands moved to your waist and you gasped quietly.

“C’mon, we both know what you want. Don’t resist it.”

You pushed him hard enough to let him off and he just snorted.

“I told you. I don’t want you, Graves.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Is that why you wear these shorts huh? Why your hair is wet and free? Don’t play dumb, you want it. Don’t worry, even if you’re bad in bed it would worth it and I won’t tell anyone.”

He winked and that was the final straw. You kicked him in his crotch, and pushed him with all your force. He groaned and gritted his teeth.

“Fuckin’ bitch. You’re gonna regret that!”

You just walked hurriedly to your room and locked the door behind you.

You didn’t know when, but you had started crying. You sat down in front of your door and cried silently.

When you realized you had dropped your apple there, you started crying harder.

“Fuck,”

You sniffled and gripped your phone. But you couldn’t, they were having fun and you wouldn’t dare to ruin it.

You closed your eyes, tried doing the breathing techniques your therapist had taught you.

“I can’t believe you’re our teammate now, you should be a model.”

“I can keep you company, you know?”

“But you’re asking for it.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend? Such a shame, you have a good physique.”

“Believe me sweetheart, no one would talk to you if you weren’t that beautiful.”

“That pretty face is missing something, a smile?”

“Oh my God, be a lady and bow down to me will you? ahahah..”

“Fuck!”

You quickly got up, the voices in your head were ringing and ringing. Graves’ voice was ringing. It kept getting louder.

You opened your drawer and took out your knife, and held it in your hand for a second.

The voices are going to stop, you thought. It will get better if I do this, you convinced yourself.

You cut your wrist, hands shaky from the panic attack. Your breaths were unstable, shallow.

You cut your wrist again, the voices were now getting weaker.

“What the fuck is going on?!”

You jumped forward with the knife in your hand. Simon gasped for a second before holding you and looking at you.

“What happened?!”

Simon shook your shoulders, not knowing what to do. You were just as shocked as him, and didn’t move a muscle.

Simon’s eyes went up to your hair and down to your feet. His breath shook as he noticed the blood dropping from your cuts.

“What the- What did you do?!”

Simon quickly took the knife and threw it across the room, then he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom.

He put you down to the floor of the shower cabin and washed your face.

“Wait here, ‘kay? I’ll be back.”

He quickly went back to his room, grabbed the first aid kit and came rushing back.

He carefully took your wrist, inspected it and worked on it quietly.

You were still in shock, eyes looking empty at the ground. It was all so quick, and your mind wasn’t comprehending it.

Simon called your real name and you suddenly looked up. It was like a switch. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at your wrist.

“Oh my God- I fuck!”

“Shh-“

You silently cried as he bandaged your wrist, thankfully you didn’t cut that deep.

After a minute or so, he got up and picked you up. He went towards your bed, and put you down. He sat down as well.

“Why? I don’t understand anything.”

You swallowed and looked down.

“I was suicidal before. And it just, I don’t know. I got triggered I guess.” You mumbled and shrugged.

Simon just narrowed his eyes. How could you be so calm about it?

“But what happened? What triggered it?”

You sighed as you let yourself down on your mattress.

“Don’twannatalkaboutit.”

Simon raised an eyebrow.

“What? Speak up soldier. C’mon now, you know you can talk to me.”

“Graves…”

Simon shot up.

“What did that fucker do?!”

You just sighed and curled up more.

“Nothing,I-“

Simon quickly got out of your room, leaving you speechless and scared. You were scared to be alone, and scared that Graves would say some shit and Ghost would believe them.

You just closed your eyes and sighed again, suddenly fee exhausted and tired.

It was so quick, so fast like it was a dream.

“What the fuck just happened..” You mumbled to yourself.

Soon enough, Simon came back. He knocked on your door and you mumbled for him to come in.

“Took care of it.”

Your heart broke a little after that. Not in a bad way, you might add.

“Thank you. I’m just exhausted, I guess. Never really thought I would ever do that again.”

Simon held your hand as you looked up at him. His eyes took you in and left you breathless in an instant. He attempted to say something, but didn’t. You smiled at him softly, laying down on the bed.

“I’m gonna go, yeah..”

He scratched the back of his neck, and contemplated for a moment to say anything else.

But he got up, leaving your room after looking you one last time.

It was probably for another day. You would talk with him another day.

[some-of-us-watch-the-sunset-too]

hii I don’t know if I’m supposed to give ya a prompt like said. But I’ve been feeling angstyyyy sooo if you can no bother my love, could ya do : all of the outsider boys reacting to you (s/o) death?

A/N: Hi anon! the post for the prompts thing is here but i’m taking requests too so dw! I’m feelin the angst rn so this was perfectly timed!

The boys if their S/O d!ed

———————————————————

⚠️ TW for death, implied suicidal thoughts ⚠️

Darry

He would go on living for the most part, not because he doesn’t care about the fact that you’re gone, but he just can’t afford to shut down. if he does, he risks losing Soda and Pony too.

He’d bring flowers to your grave once a week, on Wednesdays (don’t ask why i just decided this). Your favourite flowers. When the first bunch he put down dies, he gets someone he knows, (maybe Ponyboy, i feel like he’d dig arts and crafts) to either press the flowers or dry them so he always has them, even if they bring back painful memories.

To add to the whole getting flowers thing, he’d always take one out of each bunch, just like he did before your death to make sure that he replaces them as soon as they wilt.

He most likely got the call about your passing and had to tell the guys. He tried to stay calm while telling them but he broke down before he could finish.

Ponyboy

This hurts just to think about! He, unlike Darry would shut down completely. He’d be failing class, wouldn’t get out of bed and would hardly eat. If we count it as after Johnny and Dally die, that would be 3 people he cared about that died (other than his parents)

If you two watched the sunset together often i feel like he’d never watch it again. it would be too painful for him.

Whenever he gets into an argument with Darry he runs out of the house and straight to your grave. He’d sit there and vent to you and eventually fall asleep there. the guys probably put a bench by your grave so he’d sleep there.

I think that after he was functional again, he’d get very cold and bitter, kinda like Dally. He’d get into fights all the time and would start acting out. He just doesn’t know how to cope with you gone..

Sodapop

Sodapop would go to your grave everyday after work and just talk to you about his day. he would fill you in on everything going on with the guys, any rumbles or fights with socs, stuff like that.

I honestly think that if Soda was serious about your relationship he would have given you a promise ring. I think that even after you were gone he would keep wearing it and maybe even put yours on a chain and wear that under his t-shirt, right next to his heart.

If it was a violent death? He would completely stop fighting, he would only see it as a constant reminder of what happened to you, he would realise that it really didn’t do any good.

He wouldn’t fully shut down but i think he would stop hanging out with the guys so much and would get very quiet. He wouldn’t be his laughing, wild self anymore. He knows that isn’t what you would’ve wanted but how could he keep on joking when you were gone? how could he ignore it?

Dally

Dally would go on hating and fighting more than he ever did. The world took so much from him and now it took you too? Why should he care about anyone or anything if you weren’t there anymore.

He’d spend a lot of time at your grave. No talking, he’d just sit there and smoke a cigarette. Sometimes he’d silently cry, but he hates crying out in the open.

Dally would blame himself. It doesn’t matter how you passed away, he would look at every detail of the days leading up to your death and see if there was any moment where he could’ve done something to stop it. if it was a violent death, could he have stopped you from getting into that situation in the first place? if it was an accident, could he have stopped it from happening, could he have made it so that it was him instead?

Steve

Steve would be kind of like Dally. He’d hate and fight more than ever. How could the world be so cruel that he’d take you from him?

I feel like it could be his first proper experience with loss, which is different to the others that i’ve written about so far. He really wouldn’t know how to cope. he’d try to go on living, then he would shut down for a while, then he would probably just have to get out of town for a while.

I honestly think he’d do something drastic. Rob a gas station or snap and start a fight with his dad or something. He would get very reckless too. where he would be careful when competing in drag races, now he would speed up if anything.

He is so afraid of forgetting your face. He keeps a picture of you in his jacket pocket to make sure he doesn’t forget but he realises he’s starting to forget the smaller things like how you’d make this particular face when you’re being sarcastic, and how your face would light up when someone mentioned your favourite things.

Two-Bit

Two would start drinking even more, you were lucky to see him sober. He’d stop hanging out with the guys.

He would be angry for a while. Angry that you left him here alone. Of course he knows deep down that it’s not your fault but he can’t help it. Two probably went to your grave one day, drunker than ever. He started giving out that you left him and ended up throwing his bottle of beer at your headstone. That snapped him out of it. He picked everything up and cleaned the headstone best he could.

After the angry phase is gone he would start to write you letters filling you in on everything. He couldn’t bring himself to go to your gave so he just pretended you had moved far away. He puts them in a big box under his bed. He considered burning them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it

He sometimes forgets you’re not there though. Say if he’s doing something he might yell “Y/N could you pass me the ___” then remember you’re not there and just sits down and cries, even a few years after.

Johnny

Johnny really can’t deal with it. With his parents being so bad and you being his main support, he couldn’t take it anymore.

I honestly think that he would run away, let everyone forget him. Sometimes he would consider the ways to see you again, but luckily someone always snaps him out of it.

He hangs out with the guys more than ever, it keeps him from shutting down completely. they become his main support, but he’s even more quiet, he sits a little outside of the group when in the curtis’ house.

After a few months of grieving he remembers a list you guys wrote about all your hopes and dreams. So he decides that he’s going to complete everything on it. He lives for the two of you.

[chelseachilly]

my captain

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: literally just fluff celebrating ben leading the team out again and chels winning the semi final 😌 warnings: none word count: 1.7k

author's note: hope you enjoy, literally wrote this in like 30 mins so forgive any typos hahah

-

In all the years you’ve known and loved Ben Chilwell, it’s never gotten any easier seeing him struggle with injuries. 

It still hurts every time you watch him limp off the pitch, seeing both the physical and emotional pain behind his eyes. But it fills you with unimaginable pride the way he always works relentlessly to return to playing for his club. He never gives up, even when a lot of people would - he hardly even complains, though you’re always there when he needs to vent. 

Truthfully, you’re glad to listen to him and drive him to physio appointments and do everything in your power to make him feel better, because there isn’t really much else you can do. It’s an unfortunate reality of football that there are always going to be injuries, and some players suffer more than others.

These trials and tribulations only make it that much sweeter when you finally get to see your man back to doing what he loves. 

They also make you feel exceptionally proud when your boyfriend comes home from training and tells you that he’s back in the starting lineup for the semi-final against Middlesborough tomorrow, back to captaining the team. 

After you celebrate - which consists of lots of sweet kisses and watching one of Ben’s favourite films, since you can’t properly celebrate the night before a match - you spend the night cuddling and wake up wrapped in Ben’s arms with him pressing kisses to the back of your neck.

“Good morning, baby,” you murmur, reaching back to comb your fingers through his hair. You kind of love how long he’s let it grow out since he’s been in recovery, especially in the morning when it’s all messy and fluffy. “Happy game day.”

“Morning, love,” Ben says, gently guiding you to roll

over and face him. 

You love seeing that familiar twinkle back in his eyes, knowing that he gets to play the game he loves today. 

“You ready for tonight?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles with a kiss to your lips. “I have a good feeling about it.”

“So do I,” you whisper between kisses, shifting closer to him and smiling as his hand slides down your hip and pulls your leg over his. “You’re gonna kill it.”

Ben grins and pulls you even closer, gently nudging your nose with his before diving in for another kiss, then another; then another. You sink into the blissful wake-up he’s giving you, soft moans leaving your lips as his hands roam your body.

Unfortunately, it can’t go much further - both because of his game later, and because you’ve already had a bit of a lie in and you know it’s time to get ready for the day. 

“What time do you have to be at the Bridge?” you ask him as you reluctantly part and rest your chin on his bare chest. 

You’ve gotten used to going to his games together while he’s been out, but now that he’s back to playing and needing to be there early for warmups, you’re going with Alex, Tom, and some of your other friends. 

“Not til five, but I have a haircut scheduled in a couple hours,” he tells you, making you frown slightly. 

“I like your longer hair,” you pout, continuing to run your hand through it. “It’s cute.”

“Sorry, babe, gotta look fresh for my first game back in the starting lineup,” Ben apologizes with another kiss to your pouted lips. “I won’t go too much shorter, promise. Just a trim.”

“You better not,” you murmur against his lips before pulling away, much to his chagrin. “Let’s go make some breakfast, you need fuel for later.”

After you’ve made some smoothies, as well as eggs and turkey bacon for Ben, you enjoy a nice, leisurely breakfast together before facing the day. 

You know you probably won’t have time to see Ben before the game by the time you arrive at the stadium, so you kiss him for luck before he goes. Once he’s got his shoes and jacket on, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his.

“Good luck tonight, Benji,” you say softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Can’t wait to watch you remind everyone how good you are.”

Ben’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and though you know how eager he was to be back, you also know he’s nervous about letting the team and the fans down when they have a chance at a trophy.

“You’re amazing, Ben,” you remind him. “And if you need a reminder of how incredible you are, just look up at your box and you’ll see your biggest fan cheering her arse off for you.”

His grin widens at that, and he squeezes your waist gently. 

“I love you,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you after the game, yeah?”

You nod with a smile. “I love you too.”

Ben pecks your lips one more time and takes one last good look at you, still wearing only his t-shirt and your underwear, before he heads out the door. 

You spend the rest of your day doing some chores around the house until it’s time for you to get ready, doing your hair and makeup before changing into Ben’s jersey and some jeans. You’ve always adored wearing his name on your back, but never more than on nights like tonight. 

Alex comes over a bit before you have to leave, and the two of hang out for a while before catching an Uber to the stadium.

Stamford Bridge is full of life tonight in a way you haven’t really seen in over a year now, and you hope that it’s a good thing - a sign that things are finally starting to turn around for Chelsea. You meet Tom, Harvey, and a few other friends in the hospitality box and catch up over some drinks. 

You all take your seats before the game starts, and your heart swells with pride as you watch Ben lead the team out onto the pitch for the first time in months. 

“Come on, babe,” you whisper under your breath as the whistle blows and play begins.

To your massive delight, what follows is Ben having one of the best games you’ve seen in his career. His passing accuracy is nearly perfect, he nearly scores in the first 15 minutes and sets up the first goal of the match only a few minutes later. You can tell how delighted he is to be back out there as Chelsea scores goal after goal, his pure joy obvious as he celebrates with his teammates. 

In addition to his skill and experience, you can see the impact his leadership is making on this young squad. Nothing makes you prouder than how much time and effort he puts into supporting and encouraging the younger players, and you know how much he loves doing it.

When he’s subbed off in the 65th minute, you’re relieved that he isn’t pushing his limits too soon after coming back, and even more relieved that he’s walking off with a smile on his face instead of pain behind his eyes. 

As he’s clapping the fans on his way to the bench, he blows a kiss up at where he knows you’re sitting. Even though you know he probably can’t see you, you blow one right back. 

The rest of the game passes and Chelsea emerge victorious with six goals to show for it, a very welcome turnaround from the first leg of the semi final. You’re buzzing with excitement to see him, so you and the rest of the group head down to the players lounge shortly after the whistle blows to wait for him.

It takes a bit longer than you’d like for him to do interviews and get changed, but when you finally see him emerge, freshly showered and wearing in his Chelsea joggers and matching hoodie, you run straight toward him.

Ben smiles as soon as he sees you and opens his arms to catch you as you throw yours around his neck and bury your face in his neck.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs into your hair. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“Of course I did, you were bloody brilliant,” you tell him in no uncertain terms. “And on your first start back? You’re amazing, Ben Chilwell.” 

Ben pulls back, beaming at you with slightly flushed cheeks.

“It’s all cause of you, you know,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking your waist. “I wouldn’t have the strength to keep going every time without you. Every game, every time I wear the armband, every time I score a goal, it’s all for you.”

You don’t necessarily agree with him, since you think he’s one of the strongest people you know and you wouldn’t dare take credit for any of his success, but his words are so sweet that you can’t possibly dispute them.

“I’m so happy you’re back, baby,” you tell him softly, running your fingers through his hair that you’re grateful he didn’t get cut much shorter. “Oh, and that absolutely should’ve been a penalty in the first half. And giving Misha a yellow for complaining? I don’t know what that ref was thinking.”

Ben chuckles, obviously not overly fussed about it since they won comfortably in the end, but loving your passion for the game as always.

“I love you so damn much,” he grins, not giving you the chance to reply before grabbing your face and kissing you lovingly. 

You kiss him back with just as much affection, sinking into his warmth.

“Love you too, captain,” you smile after pulling away, squeezing his bicep where the armband rested earlier. “Now, let’s go home. I bet you need a rest after that.”

Ben nods gratefully, obviously exhausted from the most minutes he’s played since September, and wraps his arm around your shoulders so you can make your way over to bid your friends goodbye. His hand lightly grazes his last name on your back as you speak with them, never getting tired of seeing you wear it.

It’s nearly midnight by the time you get home and get ready for bed, curling up under your comfy duvet and reaching out for Ben immediately. 

As your arms and legs tangle and your head finds its place on his chest, you murmur how proud you are of him one more time before drifting off into a blissful sleep.

-

a/n: please let me know what you thought, your feedback makes my day!! 😊

[uselessmicrowave]

kinktober day two

tfp starscream x reader

tws/content- biting, blood, slight size kink, marking, aftercare, teasing, predacon reader

“Is- s’ it okay if I-” you slow the pace so it’s easier to form words.

“Yes! Frag, bite me already!” Starscream shoves your helm closer to his neck cables. So you give him what he wants. The force in which you bite down makes your denta ache. You can feel the vibrations of his vocalizer, whining and moaning and telling you to go faster, bite him harder.

You were made to serve, what else would you have done? Growling, you put your servos around his hips, squeezing his waist tightly or scratching around his array whenever you wanted.

Starscream’s optics widen when you pull away from his neck cables, you move downwards on his frame, biting his collar guard. The crunching sound of his plating is exquisite.

You bite his shoulder, not letting your grasp slip until you’ve tasted energon. You eagerly lick at the lovingly inflicted wound, causing him to helplessly whine. He sounds pathetic, which, oddly enough, adds to your arousal.

You carefully take his wing in one of your servos, rubbing at the tip and moving upwards, closer to his delicate wings. Starscream lets out a worried whine, his wing twitches away from your faceplates and servo.

“I’ll be careful, I promise.” he nods, giving you permission. You gently press your glossa against the ridge of the wing, then ever so carefully putting pressure on his wingtip with your denta. When you pull back, the softest indentation of your denta was imprinted on his wing. It isn’t very noticeable, but that too, added to the increasing amount of arousal. Seeing the slight dents in his wing, it made you proud, made you feel like he’s yours. Only for you.

A staticky screech comes from him as he overloads. These feelings, physical and emotional, make you overload as well. You close your optics as a wave of sharp relief washes over your frame. When you open your optics back up…

His plating… well, let’s just say it looks far from brand new. It’s covered in dents and energon. When Starscream looks down to see the damage you left, he looks surprised. He glares at you, still catching his vents.

“Don’t complain, that’s exactly what you wanted.” Starscream sighs, knowing that you’re right. Both of your panels snap shut.

“We should probably go see Knockout… I’ll carry you.” you scoop him up into your strong arms, trying to be gentle. His frame relaxes in your hold, he purrs and becomes a big pile of lazy affections, reaching up to kiss your face and asking for your servo as you start the short trip to the medbay.

“So, Screamer, what did you do this time, ask them to bite you?” Knockout laughs and turns away from the two of you to fetch medical supplies.

You have to stifle a laugh, Starscream weakly and playfully punches your arm from his place on the medical berth in an effort to keep your intake shut.

Knockout comes back to the two of you and starts to lay out his tools. “I don’t endorse this, you know,” he says, pointing a digit at you. “I’m just glad I’m not patching Star up from The Big M.”

You stay at the seeker’s side protectively, giving him your servo to squeeze.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Baki Short Stories: Violet Kisses

Part 1?

Yandere Jack Hanma x Afab Reader x Yandere Katsumi Orochi (Genderbend AU)

TW: WLW content and yandere behavior

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder… and in this case, Kasumi couldn’t stand the distance between her and her childhood friend. The little (hair color) girl had been withdrawn as of late and Kasumi didn’t know why… it broke her heart that her friend didn’t vent to her. They were eight and ten! They would be teenagers soon and then adults… they had a lifetime to grow old together! So (your name) should be able to tell Kasumi what was wrong.

“I-I’m moving away, Kasumi.”

(Your name) and Kasumi had been inseparable for years and now the young woman was moving away? No. Kasumi’s ten year old heart couldn’t handle this…

Kasumi grasped (your name)’s little hands in her own, her dark eyes glassy with tears. Kasumi puffed out her bottom lip in a pout, her grip was strong despite her size.

“No you can’t move away! You said we’d be together forever!” Kasumi loudly wailed, the tears fell down her face in waterfalls. (Your name) frowned and pulled the other little girl into her arms. Kasumi then began to throw a tantrum. “You promised! You promised! You promised!”

Kasumi continued to sob while (your name) held her close, the other girl buried her face into the crook of Kasumi’s neck. Kasumi clung to her like a little koala, her nose buried in (your name)’s sweater to inhale her sweet scent.

(Your name)’s eight year old body cuddled close to Kasumi’s, the young girl pressed a soft kiss to Kasumi’s forehead. Kasumi pulled (your name) as close to her little body as she could but it wasn’t enough. Kasumi wanted to conjoin with her best friend so they’d never be separated.

“I’m sorry, Kasumi. My mom and dad are getting divorced so Mom and I are moving to Canada.” (Your name)‘s body shook as she began to cry too. “I don’t want to leave you, Kasumi…”

“Then let’s make another promise!” Kasumi pulled away, the young girl wiped her snot on her sleeve. She had to look brave… Kasumi didn’t want (your name) to think she was weak and couldn’t protect her. “When we meet again let’s-“

(Your name) shot upright in bed, the young woman glanced around her bedroom in disbelief. She had that dream again… the one about her childhood friend in Japan…

(Your name) yawned and stretched her arms above her head. She needed to get around for the day before she went to go see her best friend, Jacqueline.

(Your name) crawled out of bed and hurried down the stairs, her feet pattered against the wooden stairs to alert Jacqueline of her whereabouts.

A giant blonde woman sat at the kitchen table. The table was neatly set up for two as she waited for (your name).

“Good morning, Jackie!” Jacqueline immediately rose up from the table and pulled (your name) into a tight hug. Jackie burrowed her face into (your name)’s hair and inhaled her sweet scent.

“It’s always a good morning when I get to see you…” It had been unbearable being apart from (your name) for the last few days. Jackie pressed a tender kiss to (your name)’s head, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Did you have any good dreams?”

“I had a dream about a my childhood friend again… and earlier I dreamed about having a baby.” (Your name) laughed. “Could you imagine me with a baby? Isn’t that silly?” Jackie could see (your name) with a baby. Anyone would be blessed to be with the kind young woman and it made Jackie wish even more that she was a man.

Jackie looked like a man from afar. She pushed her body past its limits, took a daily cocktail of steroids to maintain her physique, and even went as far as to lengthen her bones… Jacqueline wanted to prove to her mother that she was a Hanma too. That she was a force to be reckoned with.

Jacqueline, or Jackie, Hanma was a woman of intimidating stature. Her muscles were bigger than any man’s and her blonde hair was always shaved in a signature buzzcut. Jackie was uncouth and vicious to others… but she only had a soft spot for (your name), her must precious person.

(Your name) had met Jackie in a church when she first moved to Canada. A small Catholic Church that anyone would miss if they walked past it. But it’s where the two of them met. (Your name) had been separated from her mother and Jackie was intensely training to gain power.

Jackie remember how the young (your name) rushed over to the her when she noticed blood fall from her once blue eyes rather than tears. Jackie pushed (your name) away the first time they met. Jackie didn’t trust anyone in the world… her own father had abandoned her to her own devices so why should Jackie trust a stranger?

(Your name) tried numerous times to help the other girl, but Jackie had no interest in her friendship… at first. Jackie was apprehensive. What did (your name) gain by being close to her?

(Your name) constantly fretted over Jackie. She’d bring bandages and small meals to share with the blonde ten year old. Jackie would yell and shout to try to get (your name to leave. Yet it never worked, because to (your name), the blonde looked like a scared animal that constantly bared it’s teeth in defense. (Your name) knew that deep down, Jackie was lonely. And it made (your name) even more determined to befriend the ‘savage’ girl.

It took over a year, but Jackie allowed (your name) in when she felt like (your name) had no ulterior motive. It was the first time in Jackie’s life that someone gave her unconditional love, she didn’t know what to do…

So Jackie showed (your name) she cared in her own way. She chased off bullies and walked hand in hand with (your name) to school. Jackie sat with (your name) at lunch. It didn’t matter that she was twelve and (your name) was ten, Jackie found a way.

Jackie became extremely overprotective of (your name). Jackie chased off other people who tried to get close to the innocent girl. People were horrible… (your name) and her only needed each other. No one else.

As they approached their teens, Jackie’s training went to the extremes and her body began to collapse, but (your name) didn’t leave her side. (Your name) would help Jackie wash herself and made sure she ate and drank enough water.

(Your name) was Jackie’s rock. The light to the end of the tunnel. Her soulmate. And Jackie would do anything to protect (your name)… even murder.

And here they were today living in Japan together in their mid-twenties. Jackie was able to keep (your name) at their apartment most of the time, but it’s been getting harder and harder to since Jackie often landed herself into the hospital…

Jackie was terrified of (your name) finding better. Despite all their years together, they were only friends. Jackie wanted so much more with the smaller girl, but at the same time, she didn’t want to make (your name) uncomfortable.

Jackie pressed her lips to the top of (your name)’s head, her muscular arms still held the smaller girl in place.

“Don’t be mad at me, but I didn’t hear a thing you said.” Jackie chuckled when (your name) poked her nose. “Sorry, I was just down memory lane.”

“It’s okay, Jackie.” (Your name) leaned her head back so she could look up at her best friend. “I knew you were lost in thought. Your eyes glaze over and you look at the ceiling in awe. Is there something on your mind?”

Jackie sighed, there was no escape from (your name)’s observant eye. Jackie stood up with (your name) still snug in her arms, the other girl dropping her toast with the movement.

“My toast!” (Your name) screamed when Jackie playfully spun her around in a circle. “Put me down, you heathen!”

“I can toast you some new toast.” Jackie laughed the tall woman shifter hands to rest under (your name)’s arms.

“Maybe I formed an emotional connection with that specific piece of toast?” (Your name) crossed her arms over her chest. Jackie set her down.

“I will make you a new slice.” Jackie gave another peck to (your name)’s head. “As many as you want.”

“It still won’t be my piece of toast.” The two shared another laugh, Jackie felt her heart clench a bit.

Why couldn’t they date? They were so perfect together… couldn’t (your name) see that?

“You’re my piece of toast…” Jackie quietly whispered to herself.

The two sat together at their small table and continued to eat their breakfast. A comfortable silence between them.

.

.

.

(Your name) hummed a cheery tune as she meandered down the aisles at the store. She was determined to surprise Jackie with a home cooked meal since the blonde always took such good care of her.

(Your name) browsed the various meats until she spotted some beef chunks. She could make gyu kushi!

When the young girl reached her hand towards the meat, another hand brushed against hers.

“Oh I’m sorry-“ (your name) turned to look at the person she bumped into, only to come face to face with a rather muscular Japanese woman. Her dark eyes wide with shock and recognition.

“Ah-“ the woman clutched her hand close to her chest, a bright blush now on her face. This reaction weirded (your name) out a bit so the young woman took her chance the snatch the meat up and attempt to flee, but she was stopped by the woman. “(Y-your name)?”

(Your name) furrowed her brow in confusion. How did this woman know her?

“Um… yes?” The muscular woman pulled (your name) into a hug so tight, (your name) thought her body would conjoin with hers.

“It’s been so many years… when did you come back to Japan?” The woman speech was so quick, (your name) almost didn’t understand her. It didn’t help that (your name)’s face was smooshed between this other woman’s rather large chest. “I didn’t know if you’d ever return… I missed you so so much.”

The woman released (your name) and now (your name) could finally get a good look at her. Thick eye brows, cocky grin, and thick black hair in a pixie cut… was this, “Kasumi?”

Kasumi eagerly nodded her head. The young woman certainly filled out and was a lot more muscular than she remembered.

“Yes! It’s me, (your name)!” Kasumi pulled (your name) into another excited hug. “It’s been almost two decades since we last saw each other… can you believe that? And we’re finally reunited!”

(Your name) could hardly believe her luck. Here she just dreamed about Kasumi and now she stood in front of her… what were the odds?

“It has almost been that long hasn’t it?” (Your name) awkwardly chuckled. It’s been so long and yet Kasumi acted as if they were never apart. “I’ve been in Japan for awhile now so I’m amazed we haven’t run into each other-“

“You’ve been here awhile and you didn’t come looking for me?” (Your name) recoiled in shock at the tears that gathered in Kasumi’s eyes. She hadn’t meant to make Kasumi cry!

“I’m sorry, Kasumi. I didn’t think you’d still be waiting for me-“ Kasumi scooped (your name)’s hands together in her much larger hands.

“Of course! We promised to get married when we meet again.” Kasumi’s eyes sparkled. “I actually run the Shinshinkai dojo now! I have plenty of money so I could spoil you rotten.”

(Your name) burst into laughter, a jovial smile on her soft lips. Kasumi hadn’t changed a bit… the Japanese woman still proclaimed such outlandish things…

“It’s so nice to see that you haven’t changed.” (Your name) smiled at Kasumi, the Japanese woman’s heart stopped beating for a moment. Her childhood friend was still so cute and oblivious… if consumed Kasumi with even more vigor.

“How about I pay for you groceries and help you carry them back to your place? I’d love to catch up.” Kasumi offered with a smile. She bit her lip a bit in anticipation. She hoped (your name) accepted, she wanted to reconnect to her soon to be wife!

“You don’t have to pay for them, Kasumi!” (Your name) smiled warmly at Kasumi who merely blushed.

The young woman nervously ran a hand through her short black hair. Her heart beat wildly in her chest like a drum. Kasumi was so nervous… but she needed to show she was a good provider!

“I insist!” Kasumi bowed her head to (your name). The smaller woman chuckled at Kasumi’s demeanor. How could Kasumi still be so cute?

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” (Your name) smiled up at the muscular woman who only blushed.

“No I’m not.” Kasumi replied with a cheesy grin. “Hope that doesn’t bother you too much.”

“Not at all. Still as stubborn as always!” The two women laughed, Kasumi scooped up (your name)’s basket of groceries in her arm. “Hey, I can carry that! I’m not weak by any means.”

Kasumi chuckled when (your name) puffed out her chest, the young woman did the same. (Your name) quickly turned her head aways when she finally noticed just how large Kasumi’s chest was. Kasumi smirked at her reaction.

“Do you like what you see?”

“C-compose yourself, madam!” (Your name) blushed a bright cherry red. She softly stuttered, “I-I could see t-the outline.”

Kasumi then turned a bright red and quickly pulled her cardigan over her shirt. She hadn’t meant for (your name) to see that… but a part of her hoped (your name) liked them.

The two bashful women made it towards the checkout and eventually out of the store.

Kasumi carried all the groceries in one hand so she could off her other to (your name).

“Hey, (your name)?” (Your name) turned her head to look over at Kasumi. The sunset made the Japanese woman even more beautiful. “Do you… want to hold hands?”

(Your name) smiled at Kasumi and placed her small hand in Kasumi’s calloused one. “It’s been such a long time since we’ve done this. Your hands are so big and rough.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. Do you not like them-“

“You must have worked really hard with them. I’m so proud of you, Kasumi.” Kasumi felt a few tears fall down her face. The young woman turned her head away to try to hide her blush. “Your hands swallow mine.”

Kasumi was so happy to finally be reunited with her soul mate… a shame she wasn’t the only one.

.

.

.

Kasumi admired (your name)’s apartment. It was so quaint and cozy… she could see herself spending a lot of time here with (your name)!

Kasumi plopped herself on the giant couch. This thing was huge! Why did (your name) need such a big couch? Did she sleep here? Or… was (your name) secretly a wild woman?

“I’ll treat you to a homemade meal since you paid for my groceries. I hope you won’t mind that my best friend will be joining us soon.”

Oh! Of course (your name) had a roommate. How could she be so silly? (Your name) was too innocent to be interested in such activities.

Kasumi laid back on the couch, her mind slowly began to wander. Would (your name) want to have a big house with her in the city or the country? Did she want kids?

Kasumi glanced over at (your name) who had wrapped a frilly apron on. Kasumi felt a heat wash over her in an instance. Most definitely kids. She wondered if (your name) would want to carry them herself or adopt. Either option was amazing to Kasumi!

Kasumi admired how much her childhood friend had filled out… she looked so soft. She wondered if (your name) still smelled sweet?

The door creaked open to reveal a giant blonde woman… wait. Jacqueline Hanma?!

Jackie froze when she saw Kasumi sitting on her couch. The blonde nearly exploded until (your name) came toddling over with her arms wide open.

“Jackie! You’re finally home!” Jackie pulled (your name) into an immediate hug, the blonde relished in the hostile glare Kasumi gave her. That’s right, karate brat, (Your name) was her girlfriend.

Jackie bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of (your name)’s head. Her brown eyes glanced over at Kasumi, she reluctantly pulled herself away from (your name)

“It seems we have a guest…”

“Oh! Jackie, this is my childhood friend, Kasumi!” (Your name) happily introduced the two, unaware that they were already well acquainted. “Kasumi, this is my best friend, Jackie-“

“We already know each other.” Jackie cut off (your name) with a grunt. The blonde protectively placed a hand on (your name)’s hip.

“Yes we do.” Kasumi stood up and made her way over to (your name). Kasumi and Jack glared at each other. “(Your name)? How about we exchange numbers? I’ll drop by another time.”

“Oh okay!” (Your name) smiled brightly at Kasumi who gave Jackie a smirk. The two women quickly exchanging numbers. “I’m sad you can’t join us for dinner… you were so kind to help me today.”

Kasumi boldly scooped (your name)‘s hand up in hers and gave a soft kiss to her knuckles. Kasumi gave her a flirty wink. “Anything for my future wife.”

Kasumi then left the apartment, making sure to bump her shoulder into Jackie’s. Jackie felt bile rise up into her throat from this interaction.

Kasumi was pretty and masculine… and she was interested in (your name). Jackie glanced over at (your name) whose face was full of concern.

“Jackie, are you okay? You look troubled.”

Jackie bent down and placed a kiss on (your name)’s nose. (Your name) was always so cute and sweet to her… she loved her so much. It started to become unbearable.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Jackie softly asked, the woman knelt down to rest her forehead against (your name)’s.

(Your name) smiled at Jackie, her (eye color) eyes filled with care. “No but I can see it in your eyes. I love you too-“

Jackie tenderly pecked (your name)’s lips which threw the other girl off.

“No… I’m in love with you.” Jackie whispered. “I’m madly and irrevocably in love with you. Do you feel the same way?”

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [5/5]

we made it!!! part 5/5 + a mini epilogue (5.6k words) at long last 🥹 (aka the installment in which i remember that h/c has a c in it in addition to the h, haha.) [part 1] is here!

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

The world comes back to him in pieces—first the wooden panels of the ceiling, the sloped wooden beams. The coldness of the room, the slight, monotonous whir of the air circulating through one of the vents overhead.

He’s leaned up against the wall, seated on the floor in the hallway, and Vincent is kneeling beside him, his eyebrows furrowed.

It takes him a moment to realize where he is. He had been about to head back to the courtyard, hadn’t he? He doesn’t have much memory of anything that happened after, but judging by Vincent’s reaction, he thinks he can probably guess.

“Hi,” Yves says, for lack of a better thing to say. 

He watches a complicated set of expressions flicker through Vincent’s face—relief, first, before it turns to something distinctly less neutral.

“You’re awake,” Vincent says. He turns away, for a moment. Yves notes the clench of his jaw, the tightness of his grip—his fingers white around Yves’s sleeve.

“Was I out for long?”

“A couple minutes.”

Yves wants to say something. He should say something. Anything to lighten the tension, anything to get the point across that this is all just an unlucky miscalculation, on his part. It really isn’t something Vincent should have to be worried about. 

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” he starts. Really, what he means is, I’m sorry for making you worry about me. “I promise I’mb fine.”

The look on Vincent’s face, then, is something that Yves hasn’t seen before. 

“Why do you have to—” he starts, frustration rising in his voice. He sighs, his jaw set. “I don’t understand why you—” He drops his hand from Yves’s sleeve, and it’s then when Yves notices the stiffness to his shoulders, the tension in his posture. He runs a hand through his hair, lets out another short, exasperated breath. “You’re not fine.” 

It’s strange, Yves thinks, to see him like this—Vincent, who usually never wears his emotions on his face, looks clearly displeased, now. 

“Hey,” Yves says, softly. He reaches out to take Vincent’s hand. Vincent goes very still with the contact, but he doesn’t say anything. “I—”

Fuck. His body seems to always pick the worst time for unwanted interjections. He wrenches his hand away just in time to smother a sneeze into his sleeve, though it’s forceful enough to leave him slightly lightheaded. 

“Stay here,” Vincent says, getting to his feet. “Lay down if you get dizzy again.”

Yves blinks. “Where are you going?”

“To tell the others that we’re leaving.”

Yves wants to protest. Dinner is already halfway over. It’s not as if the festivities are particularly strenuous. They’ll probably move inside after dinner, where it’s warmer.

But he thinks better of it. Judging by how exhausted he still feels, how much his head aches, it probably wouldn’t be wise to push it. 

“Don’t tell them about this,” he says.

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“Aimee is going to worry if she finds out,” Yves says, dropping his head to his knees. He doesn’t want to look at Vincent, doesn’t want to know what expression is on his face. “Just—let them have this night. It’s—supposed to be perfect.” I really wanted it to be perfect, he almost adds. There’s a strange tightness to his throat as he says it, a strange heaviness to his chest.

He knows what it means. If, after he’s tried so hard to do his part, their evening still ends up ruined on his own accord, he’s not sure if he could live with himself after.

For a moment, Vincent doesn’t say anything at all.

“Okay,” he says, at last. “Just stay here.”

And then he heads down the hallway. The door at the end of the reception hall swings shut behind him. Yves thinks he should be relieved, but he finds that he doesn’t feel much other than exhausted.

—

The ride home on the shuttle is silent. Vincent sits next to him, even though all of the other seats are empty. Yves thinks the proximity is probably inadvisable. He opens his mouth to say as much, and then shuts it.

Vincent sits and stares straight ahead, his posture stiff, and doesn’t say anything for the entirety of the ride. It’s strange. Yves is no stranger to silence—Vincent is, after all, a coworker, and Yves has endured more than a few quiet elevator rides and quiet team lunches at the office, but it’s strange because it’s Vincent.

Vincent, who usually takes care to make conversation with him, whenever it’s just the two of them. Vincent, who stayed up through the lull of antihistamines a couple months ago to talk to Yves, until Yves had given him explicit permission to go to sleep.

Yves tries not to think about it. Through the haze of his fever, everything feels unusually bright—the interior of the shuttle, with its leather seats and metal handrails.

The shuttle stops just outside the main entrance to their hotel. Just before he gets to the doors, he stumbles. Vincent’s hand shoots out, instinctively, to steady him.

“Sorry,” Yves says, a little sheepishly. It’s not that he’s dizzy. The roads are just uneven, and it’s dark. “I can walk.”

But Vincent doesn’t let go—not for the entirety of the walk through the cool, air-conditioned lobby, through the hallways to the hotel elevators. Not when the elevator stops at their floor, not when they pass by the grid of wooden doors leading up to their room. 

Before Yves can manage to reach for his keycard, Vincent has already swiped them in, scarily efficient. He slides the card back into his pocket, pushes the door open. 

“Thadks for walking me back,” Yves says. “Sorry you couldn’t stay longer. You mbust’ve been halfway through dinner.”

“I already finished eating,” Vincent says.

“Even dessert?” Yves says. “I think Aimee got everyone creme brulee from one of the local bakeries. I was excited to try it. Maybe Leon can save us some.” he muffles a yawn into his hand. It’s too early to be sleeping, but his pull out bed looks very inviting right now.

“Take the bed,” Vincent says.

Yves blinks at him. “What?”

“The bed’s warmer.”

There’s absolutely no way he’s going to let Vincent take the pull-out bed in his place, Yves thinks blearily. He’s spent the past couple nights muffling sneezes into the covers—if there’s anything he’s certain of, it’s that he really, really doesn’t want Vincent to catch this.

“I dod’t think we should switch,” he says, sniffling. “I’ve been sleeping here ever sidce I started coming down with this. I’mb— hHeh-!” He veers away, raising an elbow to his face. “hh—HHEh’IIDZschH’-iEEW! Ugh, I’mb pretty sure I contaminated it.”

“We can both take the bed, if you’d prefer,” Vincent says. As if it’s that simple.

Yves opens his mouth to protest—is Vincent really okay with sharing a bed with him?—but then he thinks about Vincent finding him in the hallway—the stricken expression on his face, then, his eyes wide, his jaw clenched—and thinks better of himself. 

Instead, he lets Vincent lead him to the bedroom. The bed is neatly made—the covers drawn, the pillows propped up against the headboard.

“Lay down,” Vincent says, pushing lightly down on his shoulders. Yves sits. He peels off his suit jacket, folds it, and sets it aside on the nightstand.

“Hey, I kdow that was sudden,” he says, in reference to earlier. “I’mb sorry you had to witness it. I… probably shouldn’t have pushed it.”

Vincent says nothing, to that.

Yves lays down, shuts his eyes. “You didn’t have to accompady me home, you know.”

Silence. He exhales, burrowing deeper into the covers. “It’s not as bad as it looks, seriously.”

He opens his mouth to say more. He has to say something, he thinks, to convince Vincent that it’s really not that big of a deal. Anything, to assuage that look on Vincent’s face.

But he’s so tired. He can feel the exhaustion now that he’s finally let himself lay down. The bed is traitorously comfortable, with its soft feather pillows and its fluffy layers of blankets, and Vincent was right—it really is warmer.

He feels the press of a hand on his forehead, feels the cold, unyielding pressure. Feels gentle, calloused fingers brush the hair out of his face.

“Sleep,” Vincent says, firmly. 

And Yves—

Yves, already half gone, is powerless, when Vincent says it like that.

—

When he wakes, it’s just barely bright outside. He takes it in—the first few rays of sunlight, streaking through the curtains. The bed, a little more well-cushioned than the pullout bed he’d spent the past few nights on—higher up and decisively sturdier. He blinks.

Beside him, seated on a chair he recognizes as belonging to the desk at the opposite end of the room, is Vincent.

Vincent, awake. Yves isn’t sure if he’s slept at all. He certainly doesn’t look tired, at first glance, but closer inspection reveals a little more. It’s evident in the way he holds his shoulders, stiff, and perhaps a little tired, as if there’s been tension sitting in them all night. 

He’s reading a book. Whether he bought it at the convenience store downstairs, or on one of the other days when Yves was busy running errands for the wedding and Vincent was elsewhere, or whether it’d been sitting in his suitcase since the start of the vacation, Yves doesn’t know.

“How’s the book?” Yves says.

His throat is dry, he realizes, for the way it makes him cough, afterwards. Vincent’s eyes meet his, unerringly. He shuts the book, sets it down on the bedside table.

“It’s a little boring,” Vincent says. “How’s the fever?”

Before Yves can answer, Vincent leans forward and presses the back of his hand to Yves’s forehead. His touch is unerringly gentle, and Yves allows himself to look. 

Vincent’s eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, and Yves wonders, suddenly, if he’s been this worried for awhile, now. If he’s been this worried ever since he’d walked them both back into the hotel room last night.

“I’m fine,” Yves says. 

It has the opposite effect he intends it to.

Vincent’s expression shutters. “The last time you said that, you passed out in front of me,” he says, withdrawing his hand with a frown. “So forgive me if I don’t entirely believe you.”

Yves sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. It’s a fair point. “I’m usually more reliable whed it comes to these things.”

“What things?”

“Kdowing my limits.”

Vincent says, “I think you knew your limits. I think you just didn’t want to honor them, because you decided the wedding took precedence.”

He’s… frustrated, Yves realizes. Still. He’s sure he can guess why. Their fake relationship does not extend to Vincent having to look after him, to Vincent having to drop everything in the middle of a wedding, of all things, to take him home. To Vincent having to worry about all this—the fever Yves knows he has, now, and the bed he’s currently taking up—on top of everything else. As if being in a foreign country, surrounded by people he knows almost exclusively through Yves, who, for the most part, converse in a language he barely speaks, wasn’t already enough work on its own.

And Yves gets it. He hadn’t wanted this to happen, either. He’d told himself that if this—this pretend relationship, this pretense—is contingent upon both of them playing their part, the least he can do is be self-sufficient outside of it.

But now—because Vincent is here with him, and because they share a hotel room—all of this is now Vincent’s problem, too, by extension.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks.

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly, as if the answer is evident. 

“You gave up your bed just for me to steal it,” Yves says, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s really comfortable, and all, but I’mb pretty sure they make these kinds of beds for two.”

“Is that a proposition?” Vincent says.

“Maybe.” Yves thinks it through. “Realistically, probably ndot, until I have a chance to shower.” He’s still dressed in his dress shirt and slacks from yesterday, a little embarrassingly—he should probably get changed. “Speaking of which, I should do that soon, so you don’t feel the need to stay up all night reading—” Yves leans forward, squints at the book cover on the nightstand. “—Hemingway? Somehow, I didn’t expect you to be the type.”

“I’m not,” Vincent says. “Victoire lent it to me.”

“Oh,” Yves says, trying to think of when Vincent would’ve had time to ask her for a recommendation. “Yeah. She’s—” He twists aside, ducking into his elbow. “hHEH’IIDzschh-EEW! snf-! She’s quite the literary reader. Is it really that boring?”

“I can see why people think the transparency of his prose is appealing,” Vincent says. “But I’m fifty pages in, and nothing has happened.”

“Isd’t that the sort of thing Hemingway can get away with, since he’s straightforward about it?”

“In a short story, maybe,” Vincent says. Then: “You are trying to make me feel better.”

Ah.

Yves laughs. “Where in the world did you get that idea?”

Vincent just sighs. “I would be exceptionally unobservant not to notice when I’ve seen you do the same thing all this week.”

“What?”

“Telling people that you’re fine,” Vincent says. “And distracting them when they don’t believe you.”

Yves doesn’t think that’s entirely accurate. It’s not like he was trying to be dishonest. It’s just that it was never the most important thing to address.

“Distracting is a bit disingenuous.”

“I don’t get it,” Vincent says, with a frown. “You’re so insistent on putting yourself last, even when you were obviously—” He sighs. There it is—that expression again, the one that makes itself evident through the furrowed eyebrows, the tense set of his jaw—frustration, and maybe something else. “You’re surrounded by people who care about you, so why not just—”

“There are plenty of things more important than how I’mb feeling,” Yves says.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

But of course it is, Yves thinks. A wedding is a once in a lifetime occurrence. An illness is nothing, in the face of that.

“I promised I’d be there,” he says, because when it really comes down to it, it’s true. He had no intention of going back on his word. “I didn’t want to be the one to let them down. Is that so hard to believe?” He reaches up with a hand to massage his temples. His head aches, even though he’s slept for long enough that he feels like it ought to feel a little better, by now. “It’s already bad enough that I had to drag you into this.” 

“You didn’t drag me into this,” Vincent says. “I came on my own volition.”

Yves tries a laugh, but it’s humorless. “I made you leave halfway through the wedding dinner.”

“I’d already finished eating.”

“Ndot to mention, you practically had to carry me upstairs.”

“Because you’re ill.”

“That’s no excuse.” Yves wants to say more, but he finds himself beholden to a tickle in the back of his throat—irritatingly present, until he concedes to it by ducking into his elbow to cough, and cough.

When he looks up, blinking tears out of his vision, Vincent isn’t looking at him.

“You should get some rest,” he says, simply.

Yves can tell—just by the way he says it—that there is no argument to him, anymore. Just like that, Vincent is back to being closed off—poised and perfectly, infuriatingly unreadable, just like he is at work, his face so carefully a mask of indifference, even in the most stressful presentations, the most frustrating disagreements. Yves wants none of it.

 “Hey,” he says. A part of him itches to crack a joke, to change the subject—anything to take away this air of seriousness. A part of him wants to reach out, again—to take Vincent’s hand, entwine their fingers; to reassure him, again, that he’s really fine.

“I’m sorry,” he says, instead. Maybe it’s the fever that loosens his tongue. Maybe it’s just a combination of everything.

He can feel Vincent’s eyes on him, still. Vincent has always held a sort of intensity to him, a quiet sort of perceptiveness. “I’m not sure I follow,” Vincent says.

“This visit was supposed to be fun for you,” he says. “And now you’re here, stuck in the hotel room because of me, even though today was supposed to be for sightseeing.”

It doesn’t feel like enough. What can he say to make it enough? There’s a strange ache in his chest, a strange, crushing pressure. Yves is horrified to find his eyes stinging. He’s held it together for so long, he thinks. Why now? Why, when Vincent is right here?

But a part of him knows, too. Of course traveling to a different country would be more involved than going to a party, or spending an evening at a stranger’s house. But there was a time when he thought this could really just be a fun excursion for the both of them—half a week in his family’s home country, with someone who he thoroughly enjoys spending time with. 

And now, because of this untimely illness—or because of his own short-sightedness in managing it—it isn’t. He didn’t get to stay through dinner, didn’t get to wish Aimee and Genevieve a good rest of their night, like he’d planned to. He has no idea if things went smoothly in his absence. To make matters worse, Vincent is here, having endured a sleepless night, instead of anywhere else.

And really, when he thinks about it, who does have to blame for all of this, except himself?

“I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this,” he says. “So I’m sorry.” He resists the urge to swipe a hand over his eyes—surely, he thinks, that would give him away.

He turns away. It’s convenient, he thinks, that the embarrassing sniffle that follows could be attributed to something else. 

“You’ve been nothing but accommodating to me, this whole visit,” Vincent says. “If anything, I should’ve insisted that you take the bed earlier. You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

He says it with such certainty. Yves opens his mouth to protest this—or to apologize, for all the times he must’ve kept Vincent up, including but not limited to last night—but Vincent presses on.

“You spent all of yesterday morning helping everyone get ready, and when I got back, you apologized for not being around—as if the reason why you weren’t around wasn’t that you were so busy making sure everything was fine for everyone else.” Vincent pauses, takes in a slow, measured breath. Yves is surprised to hear that he sounds… distinctly angry, in a way that Yves is not used to hearing.

“And then you showed up to the rehearsal and the wedding, even though you weren’t feeling well. And you still think you have something to apologize for? Are you even hearing yourself?” Yves hears the creak of the chair as he stands, the sound of quiet footsteps. Feels the dip of the bed as Vincent takes a seat at the edge of it. 

“You know, after you left the dinner table, Genevieve was talking about how much she liked your speech? Do you know that yesterday morning, Solaine told me how grateful she was that you helped her with fixing her dress? Do you know that when I got lunch with Leon and Victoire, they told me how much time you spent preparing for everything—the speech, and the wedding, both?”

Oh. Yves hadn’t known any of those things, and he knows Vincent isn’t the kind of person who would lie about this sort of thing.

“I don’t get it,” Vincent says, sounding distinctly pained to say it. “How could you possibly think that you haven’t done enough?”

Yves finds himself taken aback—by the frustration in his voice, by the fact that Vincent has noticed these things in the first place, by the fact that he’s deemed them important enough to take stock of. He makes it sound so simple. 

“I don’t know,” Yves says, at last. He shuts his eyes. “If it was enough.”

“I’m telling you that it was,” Vincent says.

But Yves knows that he could have done more, if the circumstances were different. If he hadn’t been so out of it during the wedding. If he’d taken the necessary precautions to avoid coming down with this in the first place. If he’d been able to stay through dinner, at least; if he hadn’t needed Vincent to accompany him home. 

“You don’t believe me,” Vincent says, with a sigh.

Yves doesn’t say anything, to that.

“I can’t speak for anyone else,” Vincent says. There’s the slight rustling of the covers as he shifts, rearranging one of the pillows at the headboard. “But I had fun.”

Yves’s heart twists.

It’s sweet, unexpectedly. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better,” Yves says.

“When have I ever said anything just to make you feel better?” Vincent says, with a short laugh. When Yves chances a look at him, he’s smiling down at himself. “I mean it. Meeting your family has been a lot of fun. It’s not often that I get the chance to be a part of something like this.”

Whether he’s referring to France, or the wedding and the festivities, or being surrounded by Yves’s large extended family, Yves isn’t sure. But if Vincent is trying to cheer him up, it’s working.

“I can see why you like France so much,” he says, turning his gaze out the window, though the view outside is filtered through the semi-translucent curtains. “It’s beautiful.”

“Today was supposed to be the last day for sightseeing,” Yves says, a little regretful. “But you’re stuck here.”

“In a sunny, luxurious hotel room, with a view of the pool and the garden?” Vincent says, with a scoff. “I could think of worse places to be.”

Staying up all night, just to check up on Yves, more accurately. Vincent must be tired, too—yesterday was already tiring enough. And now it’s morning already, and he hasn’t gotten any sleep. 

“Reading Hemingway,” Yves adds.

Vincent looks a little surprised. Then he laughs. “Yes. I guess you’re right. Perhaps it’s an agonizing experience after all.”

The yawn he stifles into his hand, after that isn’t half as subtle as he tries to make it.

Yves feels his eyebrows creep up. “Are you sure you don’t want to get some sleep? There’s plenty of room.” He scoots a little closer to the edge of the bed, just to make a point.

Vincent peers down at the space beside him, a little hesitant. “At 10am?”

“It’d be, what, 4am, back in Eastern time?” Yves says. “By Ndew York standards, you’re supposed to already be asleep.”

“That’s not how it works,” Vincent says, but he dutifully moves a little closer to Yves anyways. He’s changed out of yesterday’s wedding attire, more sensibly, but now he’s wearing a knitted cardigan which Yves thinks looks unfairly, terribly good on him. Yves finds himself marveling at the unfairness of it all. How can someone look so good wearing something so casual?

Vincent smells good, up close. When he lays down next to Yves, pulling the covers gingerly over himself—leaving a careful amount of room between them, but still dangerously, intoxicatingly close—Yves feels his breath catch in his throat.

Vincent is right there, less than an arm’s length away from him, closer than he’s ever been, and Yves—Yves is—

“See,” Yves says, as evenly as he can manage to, in his current state, as if his heart isn’t practically beating out of his chest. He swallows. His throat feels dry. “This bed definitely fits two.”

“I suppose it does,” Vincent says. “Now you can tell me if I’m a terrible person to share a bed with.”

“After everything I’ve put you through,” Yves says, “I think I’d honestly feel reassured if you were.”

Vincent smiles, again, as if he finds this humorous. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine?”

“Positive,” Yves says. “You should sleep. I’ll wake you if I ndeed anything.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Vincent shuts his eyes.

It’s not long before his breathing evens out, not long before he goes perfectly still. He must really be tired, Yves thinks, with a pang.

Yves, for some reason, finds that he can’t get to sleep. He stares up at the ceiling for what feels like minutes on end, shuts his eyes, all to no avail. Maybe it’s because he’s already slept far more than his usual share. Maybe it’s the jetlag. Maybe it’s merely Vincent’s unusual presence—the strangeness of having him so close, in an environment so intimate.

But when he allows himself to look, he sees—

Vincent, his eyes shut, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. From the window, the filtered light gleams unevenly across the crown of dark hair on his head. There’s almost no movement to him at all, aside from the even rise and fall of his shoulders.

And Yves knows what the feeling in his chest is. He’s regrettably, intimately familiar with it.

He just isn’t sure he likes what it means.

—

Vincent—despite falling asleep so quickly—is up before him. When Yves wakes, next, it’s to a hand to his forehead.

“Hey,” Vincent is saying, softly. “Yves. You have a visitor.”

Yves opens his eyes.

He’s feeling—a little better, remarkably. Still feverish, still a little unsteady, but leagues better as compared to yesterday. When he looks over, he sees—

He doesn’t jolt upright, but it’s a close thing. “Aimee!”

He barely has a chance to ask before she’s crashing into him, encircling him in a tight hug. “Yves!” she exclaims, pulling back from him. “How are you feeling? Oh my gosh, when I heard you left early because you were unwell, I was so worried…”

Yves grimaces, turning away. “Sorry, I had every idtention of staying until the end—”

“You came all the way out with the flu!” she says. “I honestly can’t believe you. The fact that you still took the trouble to attend with a fever—”

“It—” Yves starts, but he finds himself twisting away, lifting an arm to his face. “hhEH-! HEEhD’TTSCHH-iiiEEw! Snf-! It’s fide, snf-! I’mb practically recovered already.”

“I should’ve told you not to push yourself when you told me you were coming down with something,” Aimee says, shaking her head. “And you stayed and gave such a lovely speech, even though you weren’t feeling well? When I was talking to Victoire after, she mentioned that you’ve been sick for days and Genevieve—you should’ve said something.”

“I’ll say somethidg next time,” Yves says, a little sheepishly. “Did the wedding go okay?”

Aimee visibly brightens, at this. “It was more than okay,” she says, her eyes gleaming. “It blew every expectation that I had out of the water.”

Aimee fills him in on everything that happened after he left, last night—dessert, the first dance, the cake-cutting; her favorites out of the photos they’d taken after the ceremony (a shot of Genevieve braiding her hair during the cocktail hour; a shot of them leaning in close, for the dance, tired but smiling; a shot of the cake with its multiple tiers, the frosting strung like banners across it; another where both of them are holding onto the cutting knife together and Genevieve looks like she is trying not to laugh; a shot of the bouquet toss, the flowers suspended in mid-air). She tells him about the conversations she and Genevieve had with others about marriage and their futures and their plans for their honeymoon.

Then she lectures him on how he should worry about his health first, next time. She tells him, in no uncertain terms, that she’s fully prepared to give him a piece of her mind the next time he tries to pull something like this. She insists that his health is more important than anything. Vincent stands off to the side the entire time, his arms crossed, passively listening in, but when Yves looks over helplessly, mid-lecture, he definitely looks a little smug. 

All in all, she doesn’t seem disappointed in him at all. And, more importantly, she seems happy. Yves finds himself relieved, at this.

Genevieve stops by, too, a little later, to thank him for the advice he’d given her the day before the wedding. She hugs him too, and she leaves him a bag of tea that she promises “is practically a cure to anything—I hope it makes your flight home tomorrow a little more tolerable.” Victoire stops by, with Leon, and Yves resigns himself to more lecturing from the both of them. It’s humbling, a little, to be lectured by his younger sister and his younger brother, though he concedes that perhaps this time, it might be at least partially warranted.

Then Leon opens their hotel fridge to show him the two creme brulees he and Vincent had missed out on, packaged nicely in small paper containers. (“Vincent told me you were interested in these,” he says, and Yves finds himself slightly mortified—but perhaps also a little endeared—that whatever it was that he’d said last night, offhandedly, Vincent had deemed it important enough to text Leon about.)

Later, after Yves showers and gets changed—when he and Vincent eat the creme brulees at the table in the living room, and Vincent tells him that he’s finished the book, perhaps a little masochistically (“it doesn’t get any better,” he says, sounding a little spiteful)—Yves finds himself smiling.

He’s happy, he realizes, despite everything that’s happened. Even with the slight headache, and the lingering congestion, the fever that hasn’t quite gone away entirely. The revelation comes as a surprise to him, at first. But when he thinks about the people he’s surrounded with, he thinks perhaps it isn’t all that surprising.

—

EPILOGUE

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Vincent asks.

“Yes,” Yves says. It’s not a lie.

This time, he’s seated right next to the window, and Vincent is in the middle seat. Yves had offered to take the middle seat instead, but Vincent had insisted(“If you wanted to sleep, you could lean against the window,” he’d said, and Yves had accepted only because it would be better to fall asleep against the window than do something embarrassing, like fall asleep on Vincent’s shoulder).

“It’s just the annoyidg residual symptoms, now,” he says. “I—”

God. He always has the worst timing. He veers away, muffling a tightly contained sneeze into his shoulder.

“hHEH-’IIDDZschH-yyEW! Snf-! I’mb — hHhEHh’DjjsSHH-iEW! Ugh, I’m fine. I feel better thad I sound.”

“Bless you,” Vincent says, leaning over to press his hand against Yves’s forehead. “No fever,” he says. “That’s good. But you should take another day off when we get back.”

Yves doesn’t think taking another day off is necessary. “I spedt the entirety of yesterday sleeping,” he says. “I think I’ve rested enough.”

Vincent just raises an eyebrow at him. “Need I remind you that someone very wise told you to take it easy?”

“Since when has Aimee been your spokesperson?”

“She made a lot of good points,” Vincent says, deceptively unassuming. “I think you should consider taking notes.”

Yves looks at him for a moment. “You’re laughing at me.”

This time, Vincent smiles. “Maybe.”

Yves leans back in his seat, reaching up with one hand to massage his temples. The changing cabin pressure is not exactly comfortable—his head still hurts a little, but he’s flown enough times to know that it won’t be as much of a problem once they finish their ascent. 

“Thadks again for coming,” he says, unwrapping one of the small, packaged pillows the airline has left on their seats. 

“You invited me,” Vincent says, blinking. “All I did was show up.”

But that isn’t true at all, Yves thinks. Vincent is the one who spent time learning basic French, who met Yves’s family and who spoke with everyone with genuine interest, who bought Yves medicine and water, all while being careful to not be overbearing. Vincent is the one who left the wedding early to walk Yves back to the hotel, who stayed with him the entire day afterwards.

“That’s such a huge understatement I don’t even kdow where to get started,” Yves says. “Thanks for meetidg my family—they love you, by the way. They’re going to be askidg about you every summer from now on, I just know it.”

He can already picture it—June, this year, after busy season is over, if their fake relationship lasts that long. Another flight where they’re next to each other. Another dozen conversations about how they’d met, about what it’s like dating a coworker, about what their plans for the future are.

Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. This was never meant to be a long-term arrangement in the first place. But something about this—about being here with Vincent—just feels so unthinkingly easy.

“It’s no problem,” Vincent says. “The feeling is mutual. I’m glad I got to meet them.”

“Thanks for looking after me, too,” Yves says, with another apologetic smile. “I’mb sure being stuck in a hotel room all day wasn’t how you were planning on spending your last day of vacation.”

“I don’t mind,” Vincent says, sounding strangely like he means it. “I like spending time with you.”

Yves nearly drops the pillow he’s holding. 

When he looks back at Vincent, Vincent looks faintly amused. “Is that so surprising? I think I’d be a terrible fake boyfriend if I didn’t.”

“You make a really good one, as it stands,” Yves tells him, sincerely, and Vincent smiles.

Yves looks out the window—where the city beneath them begins to resolve itself into miniature, where the sky stretches where he can see Vincent reflected faintly back at him, from the glass—and finds that he feels impossibly light.

[thatanimewriter]

KEEPER.

➳ synopsis: you were put up for adoption the day you were born, and though you don’t exactly hate your life, you can’t help but think ‘if a day old baby isn’t enough to keep, what is?’

➳ character/s: sebastian michaelis, grell sutcliffe, joker, gregory violet

➳ warnings: swearing, mentions of abortion (sebastian), hurt/comfort, they/them pronouns for grell because i am not getting into the ‘man or woman’ argument again-

➳ notes: this is by far the most vent-y thing i’ve ever written thus far because i am LITERALLY in the same position as the reader in this. same ‘backstory’ same thoughts SO THIS IS JUST ME EXPELLING FEELINGS I PROMISE I’M OK ._. 

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

── 𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐒.

he probably noticed you had insecurities very fast

didn’t know what over though

he thought about snooping around to figure it out

it was the constant scanning of a room and impeccable perception of body language for him

it felt like you were constantly ready for something to go wrong

and you HAD to be there to comfort and support every time someone was upset

didn’t find out about anything for a while until it was mother’s day and you hid for a little bit of the day

sebastian also probably snooped in your desk and found some letters with vent-y things written in them

things like maybe your parents should’ve gotten an abortion

you don’t understand why anyone would ever love you because the people who were supposed to love you ended up giving you away

nothing you do is ever good enough

now that he knows the reason behind some weird behaviour, there’s a lot more understanding 

he’ll put more effort into making you feel better about simply existing

and lots of praise to let you know you’re doing good and that you’re enough

but he doesn’t miss the expression you make when he tells you these things

he knows you still don’t believe him

it’s ok, he’ll just have to make you believe him eventually :))

── 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄.

dotes on you all the time

because of that, they probably don’t realise you still have problems with being loved

they love you so much, what do you mean you think they’re lying??

they picked up on it the first time they told you they love you and reasons they love you

because you looked REALLY uncomfortable

n they were like “omg did i say something wrong-”

no, it’s just that you think you’re incapable of being loved, grell didn’t do anything wrong

when you first told them that was the reason

AUDIBLE GASP

and a big therapy session with our icon

they probably cried when you said you don’t think you’ll ever be enough for anyone or anything

would like to try to help you, but they have no clue how to get you to think otherwise

so i guess you just need to get used to them being your partner

because they’re not gonna abandon you (even if you were as a baby) and they love you to the moon and back >:((

grell still cries to themselves when they think about how little trust you have in people caring for you

will now probably kill whoever decides to tell you that no one loves you because you’re adopted

death scythe to the neck, baby

── 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑.

would understand you the most, but not fully

he’s still adopted in a way, so he understands the trauma behind it

but he’ll still ask you about it to understand

he likely already knew about your backstory, but he didn’t realise how much being orphaned at day one really took a toll on you

it was a lot of frankly overwhelming offers to help that made him suspicious

because he doesn’t think anyone else has offered help so much even when they probably can’t afford to do so

notices that you work yourself so hard to the point of fainting and is super concerned

when he asked about it and you said you feel like a waste of space if you’re not being productive, he’s a very sad boy

very set on letting you recognise that you don’t need to be ‘of use’ for people to want to be around you and be friends with you

but he will start helping you as well to make you see that he isn’t trying to take advantage of your kindness

you can have nice late night therapy sessions with him if you ever want to talk about things

like how you do things to trick yourself into thinking you’re being productive like playing a little puzzle game they have in the circus

he for sure understands the part where you have both attachment and abandonment issues

you meet new people and it’s like a honeymoon phase

and then quickly you start overthinking if you’re being annoying or if they hate you about a week later

he’s always there to cheer you up when that happens

lots of words of affirmation, even if you struggle to accept them

── 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓.

he’s so eccentric that oddly enough

i think he’d be the best at actually taking in and interpreting the information

in an artistic way, of course :))

but he always wanted to use you as a model for his paintings and sketches

and he started thinking there was something you hadn’t told him about you

because you seemed to change personalities and deflect compliments ALL THE TIME

he figured out the extent of your trauma after he said

“you are loved, and you are wanted.”

and you burst into tears 

he panicked at first, worried that he upset you, but he was happy to know you cried because you could finally believe someone when they said it

maybe it’s because he doesn’t often throw those statements out there

he makes more arty pieces inspired by you and how you feel about certain things

like your different ‘personalities’ that he sees, just differences in vibe and slight changes in body language when you want to come off as a certain way

he’s very happy that you believe him though, because he realises how hard it is for you to depend on anyone else

and how little trust you have in others that they won’t use you or abandon you

has drawn you like a porcelain doll before with cracks in the body because it’s still beautiful even if you’re ‘broken’

and writes you little notes or poems daily

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev

———

“Keith Kogane, you magnanimous dumbass, would it kill you to ask me out like a man. Something like that.”

Hunk presses the pause button. He tucks his phone back into his pocket. He turns to Shiro, expectant, prepared.

“So,” he says.

Shiro stares at the space in front of him, fingertips pressed together and in front of his face.

“So.”

“Your brother is kind of an airhead.”

“He is indeed.”

“No offense to Keith. He has his smart moments. Probably.” Hunk’s mouth twitches. “Sorry. I said that to not be mean and then immediately thought of the whole Voltron cheer situation and laughed in my head. I promise I don’t actually think Keith is stupid.”

Shiro’s mouth twitches. He forces his face to remain neutral. It is a challenge.

“Keith refused to name his pet gecko as a child,” he shares. “He insisted the gecko would reveal its name when it was ready.”

Hunk bites his lip very hard. He looks deliberately away from Shiro.

“He was thirteen.”

The yellow paladin presses his hands to his eyes. He tries visibly hard to compose himself. He fails.

“…I see.”

“My fiancé often said he must have been born blond.”

“Boy, do I have news for you.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “More news than your recording of Lance processing his love?”

“There was an incident beforehand,” Hunk explains. “You know how Lance does those leg stretches sometimes? When we have agility training?”

Shiro inclines his head.

“Well, apparently last week he did them in front of Keith and Keith was so distracted he walked into a wall and broke his nose. He had to go into a healing pod.”

Truly, Shiro would love to say that he’s surprised. He’d love to say that his brother, known gay, was not so fixated on a cute boy that he walked into a whole ass wall hard enough to break his nose. He would love for that to be true.

But he knows his dumbass brother.

“Oh my God.”

“And he still isn’t picking up Lance’s hints.”

“Oh my God.”

Hunk nods, patting Shiro’s hand sympathetically. “We gotta do something, man. I can’t keep watching this.” He pauses. “Also, I really want to stop hearing about what Lance thinks about Keith’s Galra form. I really can’t hear any more talk about fangs in places fangs should not be placed. It’s not good for my mental health.”

Shiro sighs. Even he has heard Lance’s mutterings about Keith’s fangs, and Lance still gets all shy and star-struck around him. At this point it’s gotta be a human rights violation.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he promises.

———

He finds his brother in the training room, because of course he does, getting absolutely demolished by the training bot.

“You’re getting your ass kicked,” Shiro observes.

Keith grunts.

Shiro makes himself comfortable at the edge of the mat, sticking a straw in a juice pouch and sipping it leaisurely as he watches the twerp get pummelled. It’s amusing, in the way watching those test-dummy car crashes are amusing. Or videos of kids crying in fear of Santa Claus.

“Level failed,” echoes the pleasant voice of Space Siri, as Lance and Pidge have dubbed the disembodied robot voice of the training room. “Try again?”

“Fuck off,” Keith mutters to it.

Shiro stretches out and pokes him with his toe. Keith only half-heartedly tries to slice him about it.

“Somebody’s brooding.”

Evidentially deciding he would rather vent in Shiro’s direction than fall for Shiro’s transparent attempts to goad him into a fight, he flops down dramatically, stealing Shiro’s juice pouch and rudely sucking back the rest of it. Fucker.

“He’s so confusing,” he says, free arm flailing. “Just — all the time.”

Shiro politely refrains from asking him to clarify. He knows who he’s talking about.

“Hm,” he says instead, supportively. “How unfortunate for you.”

“Right!” He throws his hands up in the air, sending his bayard flying in one direction and the empty juice pouch in another. Shiro watches it go with great sadness. “One second it’s — Keith, you suck so bad, ugh, you’re such a weird dweeb. And the next it’s I’m hanging out with Coran and you’re not allowed to come and also I hate you.” He looks at Shiro expectantly. “He’s so!” He gestures vaguely. Shiro assumes it’s meant to mean something.

Shiro stares at him.

“See, to me there’s no dichotomy there,” he says slowly. “You said that as if it was two different sentiments. But in fact that was the same opinion expressed twice.”

“The tone was different,” Keith insists. “The dweeb thing is affectionate. He says it in a friendship way. I’m sure of it.”

“Friendship,” Shiro echoes.

“Exactly,” Keith agrees.

Shiro hums. He’s quite sure, now, that he is not going to explain to Keith in any words of his own how much of an oblivious dumbass he is. There is no sentence or string of sentences that Shiro can use to demonstrate just how obvious Lance is being, and how obtusely Keith is responding. He’s going to have to be clearer than that.

But. For his own amusement.

“Could you maybe explain how Lance shows his friendship to you? So I can better understand, of course.”

“Well, for starters, he says we’re enemies but always wants to pair up,” Keith says. “That’s friendship, right?”

“That’s certainly one way to put it, sure.”

“And the fact that we hang out so often.”

“Of course.”

“And the clothes stealing, of course. Lance says I have gross mullet germs but he’s always stealing my jackets, so that doesn’t add up.”

Shiro purses his lips. That is — whew. Poor Lance is in the trenches.

Keith pouts. “I just don’t get why he flips around it all the time, man. I mean, one second he’s all smiles and nudging my shoulders, and the next he’s bright red and stomping away. He’s so confusing!”

Shiro can take this no longer.

“Keith, I am going to show you something,” he says, digging his phone out of his pocket and pulling up the file Hunk sent him. “Okay?”

“…Okay,” Keith says hesitantly.

Shiro stares at him for a moment longer. Then he sighs, shoves the phone into Keith’s hands, and presses play.

The video starts shaky, audio muddled, and when it clears Lance is lying sprawled on Hunk’s bed, pillow strewn dramatically to the side.

“I just wish I could get it through his fool head that he is loved by me particularly in such a way that I want to hold hands and kiss and generally be nuisances of the affectionate kind. You know, romance,” he is saying.

Keith goes still next to him. With every passing word his jaw drops lower and lower.

“You could also ask him out like a man,” Hunk is explaining.

“Choke and die,” responds video-Lance, and then the audio cuts. Shiro puts his phone away.

“So?”

“I have to go immediately,” Keith says. He’s up and halfway out the door before Shiro can blink.

“Shower first!” he calls. “You just sweated it up with the training hot for God knows how long. Wash off before you do anything romcom-y.” Keith disappears around the corner. “Keith, do you hear me? Shower first! Keith!”

———

next

[allzelemonz]

Annoying: John Marston X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 3, Hate Sex Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Hate sex, anal fingering, anal sex, prostate massage, dirty talk, teasing, mentions of John’s situation with Abigail and Jack, Reader is an asshole, pre-Blackwater, violence, punching Summary: You’ve been sent on a scouting excursion with John to find a good spot closer to Blackwater, John is annoying through the whole ride.

It has been two hours. Walking along a barren trail with your tired horse and listening to the endless and constant complaining of John Marston. The man is undoubtedly irritating, wholly annoying. But Dutch picked you for scouting, so you to try to tune out that stupid scratch in his voice and focus on looking for a new spot closer to Blackwater.

“I just don’t get what her deal is.” John continues.

You feel the distinct desire to bash your head against your saddle horn. Maybe that would end this insufferable ride. Why couldn’t Dutch have picked Javier or Charles or someone quiet? At least Micah talks about interesting things on occasion. Bill can crack a joke. None of them have this apparent need to vent whilst riding.

“She just doesn’t-”

“Marston.” You groan. “Shut up, for the love of life itself. Just be quiet for once.”

“Oh, are my problems annoying you?”

“Yes, jeez, just shut it.”

He huffs, looking away to pout like a child.

“No one wants to hear about you and Abigail, the whole camp already has to listen to you go on and on about how the kid isn’t yours. No one cares.”

“Fuck off.” He mutters.

“I wish I could.”

There is a blissful minute of silence before he opens his mouth again. “You think he’s mine?”

“Fuck, Marston.” You sigh. “I have no clue, just shut the hell up.”

“He ain’t.” He mumbles. “Can’t be.”

“You won’t have to worry about it if you keep talking, because I’ll shoot you.”

“Why’re you always so damn irritable?”

“Because you annoy me to no end, Marston.”

You pull on your reins to move towards a clearing that looks promising, only slightly visible from the narrow path between trees. Finally sliding off your horse, you stretch your legs a little and look over the spot.

“How do I annoy you exactly?”

You rub at your eyes, feeling the ache forming behind them from having to listen to his voice. “In every possible way you could ever imagine.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“I’m not the one bothering other people with my problems.”

“At least I find the time to bring money in instead of lounging around camp all damn day!”

That, now that, brings a twinge of much more than annoyance to buzz around in your head. Not only have you been bringing in consistent money since you joined, you just pulled a job with Mac and Davey that scored the camp funds upwards of eight-hundred dollars. So, naturally, you punch John in the face for suggesting otherwise.

“Shit.” He mutters, recoiling and tackling you to the ground.

You roll for a while, exchanging punches and losing your hats along the way until you find yourself atop John. You sit across his thin torso, your fist curled into his shirt as the other stands ready to lay another blow. But, John, he goes still, as if he’s afraid to move. For all the scrapping and talk, you know you’re not scary enough to make him freeze like this so you lower your raised fist and look over your shoulder. You half expect to see lawmen or O’Driscolls or something, but it’s just the forest and the horses grazing by the trees.

“What’s your problem, Marston?” You ask, shifting slightly on him.

Then you feel it, barely brushing against the back of your thigh as you move. John Marston is hard in his pants from being beaten up by a man that hates him. His face flushes and he claws at your arm, but you just push him down harder into the grass. Your mind races for a moment, thinking of the roads you could take. You hate the man quite a bit, but you’d be a fool to deny he’s attractive and something in the back of your mind is begging you to find out what that raspy voice sounds like when it’s full of want.

“We tell no one.” You mutter, giving John a threatening look.

John’s chest moves slow as he processes, then he nods quickly. You lean down and connect your lips, catching the taste of tobacco and the scruff of his stubble. John’s hands find your hips, urging you down to grind against you but you resist.

“You’re not in charge here, Marston.” You murmur against his lips. “You just lay still and let me use you, understand?”

His eyes dart around yours quickly as his face gets redder by the second. “Y-Yeah.”

You move down to unfasten his pants and as he kicks them off, you fish a tube of gun oil from your pocket. It has always been a suspicion of yours that John gets around more than he lets on, and it is all but confirmed by the way he stuffs his pants under his hips and spreads his legs.

“You some kind of whore on the side, Marston?” You ask, fixing yourself between his open legs. “That why you got on with Abigail, a shared profession?”

“Shut up.” He mutters.

He intends to say more but you cut him off easily by inserting your slicked fingers without warning. His back arches, pressing into the feeling as he chokes on a bit of air that turns into a whimper. You’re not going to give him the time to rest or adjust, he doesn’t deserve it after talking all day. So you crook your fingers, running them along until his hips jolt from the contact. Then you focus and focus hard, pressing into that nice sensitive spot inside of him until he can’t even speak to warn you. He releases across his stomach, his softening dick untouched.

His head lulls to the side as he catches his breath and you slip your fingers out. You move as fast as you can, not wanting to hear any of his protests about being sensitive. He’d whine about it, you know he would, so you grip his hips and press inside in the midst of his recovery. John chokes on air again, muttering as he covers his red face with his arm. Only one eye peaks out at you as you start your pace and you ignore it, focusing on the act rather than the who. If you don’t think about it being John, the image of your dick disappearing inside such a nice ass and the feeling of gripping such a slim waist make you groan to yourself. If it were any other man, you’d praise him for feeling so good.

John, however, does not have that control. “God, you’re… fuck you’re good.”

It’s the moan that gets you, raspy just like you imagined, and completely wanton. You double your effort because that sound was so good for something that came from John of all people. And, to your delight, it happens again. As you slam into him, your balls bouncing enough to truly earn the nickname, John begins to pant. Your eyes are drawn to his dick as he reaches for it and stops it from slapping against his stomach. His hand wraps around and pumps in time with you.

You lean down a bit, enough to speak over John’s lewd noises. “You better get yourself off before me, Marston. I’m not helping you otherwise.”

He groans, seemingly all too happy to be treated like nothing but something to fuck in the grass of the gang’s next camp spot. You watch his hand, your eyes flicking down to watch your own fucking on occasion. Both are such a sight. John cums again, spilling a little on his hand this time. The sound he makes, such a shaky and raspy guttural moan, hits the right things for you and sends you right over. You slow your thrusts, milking yourself before burying deep inside of him.

It takes a few minutes before your muscles respond and you can pull out to rest back on your knees. John still has a haze in his eyes, his arms splayed out as his chest heaves. You let yourself relish the sight, forgetting only for a moment that you hate him, then you pick up the tube of gun oil from the grass and pull on your pants. A one time thing, albeit a great one, with such an annoying man.