#a point of tension somewhere down the road

[sifutoph]

need us to stop being a silly little guy for one second and acknowledge that t0ph is rude and it isn't some funny trait. it's a flaw. its a reaction, sure, because her whole life she'd needed to play the part of being the obedient little girl and her rudeness is a result of wanting to affirm her independence and probs as a legitimate way to exercise her confidence and/or to go about her establishing boundaries or things she didn't like, but it's still a huge flaw.

[heechwe]

but daddy i love him | 𝐬𝐣𝐲

୨୧ pairing: sim (jake) jaeyun x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 10.2k ୨୧ genre: fluff, angst, smut ୨୧ tags: badboy!au, innocent!reader, opposites attract, sexual tension, corruption kink, dirty talk, fingering, oral (m + f receiving), 69, pet names (baby, angel, etc.), face sitting, protected sex. ୨୧ synopsis: Just because there's a new and seemingly bad influence in your small town, it doesn't mean you have to fall privy to his charms, no matter how beautiful he is. But when he takes notice of you, none of the gossiping wine moms can stop him from getting what he wants. ➸ shoutout to @kwanisms and @mini-mews for helping this fic come to fruition, ily guys sm and this is genuinely one of my favorite pieces ive ever written aaa.

“Have you heard about the new family who moved into town? The son is a real piece of work!”

“He’s twenty-one but acts like he’s still sixteen on that damn motorcycle. No class or consideration whatsoever!”

“Maybe they’ll keep him in check if they decide to come to church this weekend. You know Reverend Park has no time for miscreants and delinquents.”

The familiar crowd on your mother’s front porch greets you as you’re attempting to exit the house. They cool themselves off with their makeshift fans and drink your mother’s homemade lemonade in the Saturday sun, continuing to harp on the locals in town that they’ve known for years.

Somewhere in their conversation, they drifted to the topic of the new family that moved in across the street. Three days was all it took for them to begin spouting their judgemental observations, every act from the new middle-aged couple and their son fodder for their discussion.

You smile politely with every fiber of your being, despite your instincts to snap at them and be on your merry way. If only they knew how ironic they are, pointing fingers at others from their high horses when the town kept enough space for their dirty little secrets. “Nice to see you this morning, ladies.”

They say your name with grace, their tones all air with little substance. “On your way to bible study?” Mrs. Choi asks, gazing at you from the rim of her glass.

You shake your head. “Just tutoring.”

“With the Nishimura boy? What a sweet kid.” When Riki’s name leaves Mrs. Lee’s lips, all the women hum in agreement. “Such a bright future ahead of him.”

“Of course, as long as he passes English,” you joke. The women’s faces don’t change, not taking your teasing with an ounce of anything but seriousness. The bags under their eyes, lipstick smudged in the tiny corners of their teeth, and piercing attitudes begin to damper your excitement for the day. You bid them goodbye quickly with another smile, walking down the stairs and onto the path down the street.

As you turn down the sidewalk, still hearing the resounding chatter from the women, your thoughts run wild. Is this what life would be like when you were older, doing nothing but kicking your feet up on a neighbor’s porch with only other people’s business to fill your time? Spending endless days and nights at church, listening to the same sermons leave Reverend Park’s lips until you become as overly critical as they all are?

The screech of tires halts your thoughts in their place. “Watch it!” A young man’s voice pierces the morning air, making you step back even further. You hadn’t realized how far you had walked into the road until you were back on the safety of the sidewalk. You trip on a crack between the two slabs of concrete, falling backwards and meeting the ground hard.

“Shit, are you okay?” He takes his helmet off, immediately hooking it to his handlebars to check on you.

Sim Jaeyun.

You had not met him formally until this moment, but the motorcycle and undeniable looks gave away his status as your new neighbor. Your parents had decided to let the new family settle in before trying to visit and introduce themselves. If they could see you now, your maxi skirt hitched up to your knees and the boy barely a foot away from you, they would have had a field day.

Sure, you both are of age. Butlike Mrs. Choi, Mrs. Lee, and other local townsfolk always do, people will talk about such a compromising position if you aren’t careful.

All those thoughts fade away though when Jake kneels beside you, his face flooded with concern. His eyes linger on the broken skin on your legs and then across your flushed face. “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head. “It’s barely a scratch. Sorry I almost ran into you.”

“More like almost ran into my bike.” He laughs, his expression one of relief as well as humor. “I’m just glad you’re in one piece.”

“Thank the lord.” You brush your hands on your skirt and begin to stand up, but Jake grabs you by the hand to help, taking all your weight with him.

“Thank you,�� you say, brushing the free hair from your braid out of your face.

“You’re welcome.” He unclips his helmet from the bar and gestures back to his bike. “I can drive you to wherever you’re going if you want. I don’t have a second helmet, but–”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips, the thought of riding on the back of a motorcycle too ridiculous to envision given your status as the deacon’s daughter. What would people say?

Jake just furrows his brows, his lips turning up at the corners. “Is my offer that funny?”

“No,” you say, “I would love to, it’s just–”

“Sim Jaeyun!” The shrill sound of Mrs. Choi’s voice makes you take another step away from Jake, unaware you were as close as you were to him. His presence seems to be magnetic, just like his smile. “Stay away from her or so help me God!”

Jake turns to the old woman down the road and nods his head, trying to be respectful but clearly irritated from her meddling. “Yes ma’am,” he yells, stepping back and getting closer to his bike.

“Maybe another time,” Jake says, “when you’re not flocked by the whining wine moms.”

You laugh and nod. “Maybe.”

Jake rides away on his bike, the wispy ends of his hair your last picture of him before he makes a sharp turn at the end of your street.

“Why do I need to learn this?” Riki groans, laying his head flat against his desk. The church bells ring as he knocks his head in the same rhythm against the polished wood.

“Because you need to be able to interpret text if you want to go off to college, Nishi. Otherwise you’ll be illiterate and an embarrassment to the entire town!” You put on your best harping, disapproving voice. It makes Riki laugh as he lifts his head. You’re glad at least the younger kids appreciate your sense of humor, unlike the older brood flooding your hometown.

“Alright, fine.” He opens his copy of Heart of Darkness, beginning to read the page in front of him. “I avoided a vast artificial hole somebody had been digging on the slope…”

A knock on the classroom door makes you and Riki turn. Yeri opens it with a shy grin, saying your name with the same nature. “Someone’s here to see you!”

“Who?”

“Some cute guy on a motorcycle? But don’t tell Jungwon I said that!” She runs back out the door and leaves you puzzled. Surely it’s not Jake. You just met him; he wouldn’t make the effort to try and follow you to your tutoring session, especially at the church of all places.

You head to the window to see Jake sitting against his bike, looking around at his surroundings. He’s wearing the same leather jacket and gray jeans, his white shirt marked with several spots of sweat. Riki comes up behind you, making a sound of acknowledgement. “Oh, that’s Jake!”

“Jake?” You look closer. “I thought his name was Jaeyun.”

“Yeah, but I call him Jake.” He laughs. “He’s my cousin.”

You nod your head, taking in his words. Jake’s sudden move made a lot more sense, seeing as Riki’s mother was getting sicker every day. She must have needed some help from her family to not only manage her household, but make sure Riki stayed on track.

“He probably wants to see you. Yeri must’ve gotten it all mixed up.”

Riki grabs his phone, scrolling through texts with his thumb. “Actually, he did mention almost running over a cute girl on his way to work.” The young boy smirks. “I’m gonna assume that’s you?”

You blush, the flush on your cheeks making you feel hot. “Whatever. He’s probably just picking you up!”

“I brought my own bicycle, dude. And as cool as Jake is, his driving makes me nauseous.” Riki begins packing up his belongings on the desk as you wonder what Jake would want to say that hadn’t already been said earlier. Surely he had no interest in talking to you beyond another apology for almost killing you earlier, not that you would have noticed.

As your thoughts continue on, you barely hear Riki’s parting words. “Have fun making out with my cousin!”

You venture outside and are greeted to Jake’s soft smile as he looks you over. “Didn’t expect you to be teaching my cousin how to read.”

You laugh. “When would that have come up? Before or after I fell face-first on the sidewalk?”

“Technically, you fell on your ass.” He looks over the cuts on your leg again. “Still doesn’t hurt?”

“Barely remember it.”

“Damn. Didn’t realize I was so forgettable,” he teases. You shuck your backpack over your shoulder, pretending his joke didn’t land. But you can’t help how your mouth curves into a grin. “Wanna take me up on that ride now? I don’t see any wine moms in sight.”

Being clear headed and not in the midst of a compromising position, you take a better look at Jake. He may look rugged from the neck down, muscles standing out through his jacket, but his face is incredibly youthful and vulnerable without a touch of hardness. Maybe the wine moms had gotten it wrong; maybe Jake’s actually a stand-up guy bundled up in a lot of leather.

Before you can answer, your father seems to appear from thin air. He wraps his arm around your shoulder. “Mr. Sim, pleasure to meet you officially.”

Your father holds out his hand for Jake, and Jake takes it with a steadfast grip. “Nice to meet you too sir. My mother was telling me how much you’ve been helping my aunt since she can’t attend services anymore.”

“Akemi is a pillar of our church. It’s only right to take care of one of our own as the deacon.” Your father squeezes you tighter to his side. “Glad to see you and my daughter have met. I hope she’s made a good impression upon you.”

“Yes sir. Very much so.” He smiles in your direction. The dimple in his cheek makes your heart flutter in your chest, the butterflies undeniable.

“Well, please tell your parents to come to ours soon for dinner. It would be a pleasure.” Your father begins the quick walk to his car, the silent request for you to follow him clear in his stern posture. You give Jake an apologetic smile before you leave, hoping your eyes hold the promise of taking him up on that ride someday.

When you’re both out of earshot and in the confines of your father’s car, he turns to you with a frown. “Do not get yourself involved with that boy. He doesn’t strike me as very forthcoming.”

You stutter out an excuse. Surely the first day of knowing Jake wouldn’t be the last. “F-Father–”

“Listen to me, sweetie. I know what I’m talking about.” He starts the car and begins the drive home, tightening his fists on the steering wheel. “I mean it. Do not see that boy again.”

The next morning, you’re sitting in one of the front pews with your mother, Yeri, and her mother. You see your fellow townsfolk in attendance in the other pews, Jungwon being one of them, Yeri’s longtime boyfriend. Mrs. Choi and Mrs. Lee look like they are partially focused on the attendees, but also on their own gossip.

All of you are dressed in your best outfits, your hair wrapped in a bun to maintain the peak of modesty. It doesn’t seem particularly realistic for a higher power to be judging you for your hairdo, but you gave in to your mother’s ridiculous requests as always. “We are important people in this community, darling,” your mother said as she stuck the umpteenth bobby pin in your hair. “If they can’t trust us, who can they trust?”

Riki sits behind you, his pew empty save for him. When you offer the empty spot next to you before the procession starts, he shakes his head. “Jake and his folks will be here any second.”

Your gut tightens, the words of your father playing over in your head. You know you have to heed his orders at all times, but the excitement you feel at the prospect of seeing Jake is unavoidable.

A minute before your childhood friend Heeseung sits at the piano to play the beginning of How Great Is Our God, Jake and his family walk inside. Jake’s impeccably dressed, clad in a red dress-shirt and suit pants. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing a handful of tattoos you didn’t notice the day prior. He has his mother’s arm in one hand and a bible in the other, looking completely out of place but incredibly mesmerizing.

He winks at you when he sits down, making you turn your head back to your friend at the piano. You follow in your mother’s and Yeri’s lead, singing alongside them and forgetting the new buzz in your veins. You can feel his eyes on you throughout the songs and sermons, and you should say that you don’t enjoy it, but you don't kid yourself. His attention makes your body tingle in all the right and wrong ways.

You excuse yourself in the intermission, walking outside until you’re a good ten paces away from the church. You take several pins out of your hair, grunting. The incessant tools had been scratching your scalp uncomfortably for the past three hours, and it feels like freedom taking them out one at a time.

It isn’t that you don’t believe in a higher power or the teachings your father and Reverend Park have supplied you with your entire life. The town is just too suffocating on days like these, setting you up to feel like you aren’t good enough no matter how hard you try every day to perfect yourself.

The fashion show of your humble, presentable outfit, the whispered chatter from your community, the watchful eyes of holy men. They all make your skin crawl, that itch only intensifying with every day that passes. How could you stay in such a small room for years and feel misunderstood by everyone? 

Jake saunters up to you, making you gasp in surprise. “Jesus Christ!”

He smirks, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I thought you weren’t supposed to say his name in vain.”

You shrug, smiling in relief to find it’s just him and nobody else. No-one to meddle, judge, or question your absence. “I’ll just say a few words of penance. I’m sure he’ll forgive me.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Jake chuckles and steps closer to you, his eyes lingering on your dress. It’s incredibly modest, the only skin showing high above your cleavage. but the look in his eyes still makes your nerves tremble.

 You wonder what thoughts are swimming in his head and if a majority of them are impure. Would it be so wrong to confess that you feel the same? That whatever he’s imagining mirrors your own fantasies ten times over?

“The updo doesn’t suit you,” he says finally.

You giggle and cross your arms. “It doesn’t, huh?”

He steps closer, so close you can feel his breath on your skin. It lingers across your neck and shoulder blades. You shudder, hoping he doesn’t notice how his presence affects you. He reaches behind you and takes hold of the hair tie keeping your bun together. He expertly undoes it, your hair falling in waves around your shoulders.

Before he walks away, the church bells signaling the recommencement of the procession, he whispers in your ear, “Much more breathtaking with your hair down, angel.”

The next time you see Jake, he’s across from you at your family’s dinner table, all laughs with Jungwon and Yeri as your father passes out the rest of the side dishes. Riki is also there, discussing his mother’s treatment with your mother and Jake’s parents.

You can’t help the way your eyes attach to Jake across from you. It’s almost a form of punishment that you were made to sit in such close proximity, the weight of his stare on you swallowing you whole.

The feeling of his hand in your hair, his mouth against your ear–it was all so incredibly inappropriate. You shouldn’t have thought about that day last week with such excruciating frequency, but you did. You thought about it when you heard the wine moms whispering about Jake on your porch, when Yeri and Jungwon talked about him as you studied, and when you were alone at night. 

In your dreams, it was even more painful. In a perfect world, he would take his hand from your hair and keep it on your neck, holding you close. He would move his lips from the shell of your ear to the side of your neck, kissing and tasting what skin was available to him in that moment to make you come undone.

Yes, sitting across from him is torment. But the alternative is worse, not seeing him at all and having to conjure images of him alone in the quiet of your bedroom.

“Deacon, sir,” Jungwon pipes up from his spot next to Jake, addressing your father directly. “I was going to study with Jaeyun and Yeri at my house if you wouldn’t mind your daughter tagging along.”

The muscle in your father’s jaw clenches. He’s clearly unhappy with one of the attendees being Jake, but he hides it behind a smile. “It’s up to her. What do you think, sweetie?”

On one hand, you should absolutely say no. Jake may take you into a random spot of Jungwon’s house and make any resolve you still have disappear with the flick of his wrist. Even in the company of your friends, you know no place is safe when he’s around and close to you. And were you willing to crumble so easily?

At the same time, the distance is eating away at you. You can’t take another charged glance in your direction, words unspoken but begging to be released. If you have to catch his bedroom eyes on your body one more time, you may just snap in front of everyone, and care little when you do.

“Sure. I’d love to, Wonie,” you say with a grin. “Nishi, you want to come too?”

Riki shakes his head, enjoying the fruitcake your mom set out. “I’ll stay. Someone has to help clean up.” Jake’s mom squeezes one of his cheeks. Riki’s face suddenly turns pink from his aunt’s affection, making everyone laugh.

On your way out the door, your father catches you by the arm. He whispers, “No later than midnight. Understood?”

On the cusp of 10 PM, you want to protest that time with your friends is already so limited, but you obey with a nod and walk out the door. 

When you get in the backseat of Jungwon’s car, Jake too comfortable beside you, you feel your body flicker to life. “So,” you say, “your house then, Won?”

Yeri and Jungwon laugh, a conspiratory look in both of their eyes. “We’re just gonna make a quick stop first.”

Kiss ‘Em Creek was the unofficial name of the lake that ran through your town, a spot for teenagers to spend a few hours alone with their friends or partners. It wasn’t scientifically-correct, but it stuck nonetheless, many of the locals taking advantage of the not-so-secret hideaway. What went on there you only heard about through Yeri and the wine moms’ conversations, their voices littered with disappointment and condemnation.

Jungwon parks his car and turns his eyes to meet yours in the rearview mirror, that scheming smile still playing on his lips. “Ready to take a dip?”

Your eyes widen. You shake your head at a rapid pace, making your friends and Jake chuckle. “No way,” you say.

“C’mon babe, live a little!” Yeri winks and exits the car, Jungwon hot on her heels. The two of them begin to strip to their underwear, eager to jump in the water together. Jungwon picks her up in a bridal carry, Yeri laughing the entire way as he takes the first step into the awaiting lake.

As the two lovebirds continue heading towards the water, you and Jake sit in comfortable silence, your heartbeat slowly rising at the prospect of being alone in the car together. No distractions, no disappointed parents, no judgemental hags. Just the two of you under a cloud of stars and beautiful moonlight.

“I didn’t know if you would come tonight,” Jake says, filling the silence with a quiet chuckle. “Thought you were avoiding me at all costs, like I’m some kind of plague.”

“No!” You turn in your seat to face him. His expression is teasing but holds undercurrents of disappointment, clearly confused where your feelings lie. And he has every right to feel that way. One minute you’re wishing he would pull you closer, and the next you feel it’s better he keeps his distance. “I just don’t know what your intentions are.”

His eyes darken and his lips curve into a beautiful but intimidating smile. “Is it not obvious?”

You squeeze your thighs together, a wave of heat spreading through your bones. “Maybe I just want you to say it out loud.”

He scoots closer to you, his chest a heartbeat away from yours. “Well, to start,” he says, “I would really like to kiss you.”

You smile. A breathless laugh leaves your lips, eager to know what it would feel like to touch his mouth to yours. “I’d like that too.”

Jake runs a hand through your hair and rests it on your cheek. His touch is as fragile as the tension between you. “Then what are you so afraid of?”

You shut your eyes, trying to come up with the right words and falling short. “It’s just everyone–”

“Fuck everyone else.” He forces you to look into his eyes, the words leaving his mouth being some of the truest ones you’ve ever heard in your life. “You’re not a bad person or a sinner for wanting what you want.”

“I know that.”

“You may know it but you don’t believe it.” Jake’s lips ghost over yours, his breath tickling your cheeks. “Stop thinking about what everyone else thinks of you. Think of yourself for once.”

Maybe Jake’s right. All of your choices in life have been dictated by what your parents, friends, and total strangers have felt. If you listened to your own heart, you would have left all of them in the dust by now, chasing what you really wanted far away from this place.

At the same time, you’re glad to be in this car with Jake. He’s so close to you, telling you to take the leap and choose yourself for the first time in a long time.

When you press your lips to his, the feeling of his mouth on yours soft and tentative, you know you can’t wake up tomorrow the same person. This choice will ripple into all the choices you make from this moment on, but you don’t seem to care.

All that matters is his mouth, taking more control and setting a fire deep in your belly. He presses his tongue to the juncture of your lips, diving inside without protest.

You moan into his mouth, feeling one hand firmly pressed on your neck as the other runs down your shirt to squeeze at your breast through your clothes.

“Fuck, tell me to stop,” Jake says with a heady whisper, still kneading your breast with his palm. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

You shake your head, moving closer to him to the point you’re halfway on his lap, legs intertwined with his. “So help me God, don’t stop now.”

He snickers, pecking your lips again. “You said his name in vain again.”

You roll your eyes as he chuckles into your neck. “That wasn’t the first thing on my mind.” You move your lips to his cheek. “Or the second.” They trail down to his neck, taking your fantasies and etching them into his skin. “Or third.”

“Fuck,” Jake curses, holding you tight against him. “You’re too good at this.”

You smirk. “Contrary to popular belief, you’re not the first person I’ve ever kissed.”

He laughs, the rumble of it vibrating against your mouth. “I don’t care as long as you keep kissing me.”

“Wasn’t planning on stopping.” By the time you reattach your mouth to his, you’re straddling his lap. His hands are nestled on the small of your back, wanting to inch down further but unsure where or what your boundaries are.

You take the initiative, suddenly bold, and put both of his palms on your backside. “If you wanted to touch my ass, you could’ve just said so.”

Jake licks his lips, his accent coming out in a husky whisper. “I want to touch you in a lot of places. Your ass just happens to be easily accessible right now.”

“Oh really?” You giggle. “Care to enlighten me?”

Jake sharply switches positions, your back against the expanse of the backseat as he towers over you. He rubs his hands across the outside of your thighs, eager but patient. “Gladly.”

He kisses your neck, suckling and licking with perfect pressure, making you whimper. “Jaeyun,” you say out loud, his name coming out like a question more than a statement.

“Use your words, angel. Tell me what you want.” His eyes pass over your face, your kissable lips and lust-blown irises. You’re too entrenched in him now to walk away from this car the same girl, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

It may end badly, crash and burn completely like everyone expects it to, but that’s the last thing you care about right now.

“I want you to touch me.” You take one of his hands on your thighs and place it over your underwear, its center damp.

“Jesus,” he says in wonder, rubbing his fingers against the cotton.

“You just said–oh,” you stop short when you feel Jake’s fingers against your clit. The sensation makes you buck your hips up into him, him discovering the bundle of nerves without trying hard. He’s clearly happy at the wetness he finds. He rubs your folds in the same fashion, biting down on his bottom lip hard.

“You feel so good already. So perfect,” he whispers, taking hold of your lips again with his own while he swirls his fingers in and around your essence. He switches between teasing your clit and rubbing along your pussy, his movements lewd yet graceful. Only when he puts a finger inside of you do you gasp and look at him directly, your eyes clearly giving away your fear.

“What’s wrong, angel? Did I do something?” Concern floods his face, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

“I’ve never gone this far,” you confess, looking to your side to hide your embarrassment.

“Hey, look at me.” He turns your head to face him again, fingers laying under your chin softly. “We can stop now if you want. I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

His response makes your heart clench. Most guys, you’d imagine, would be pissed off or pleading with you to continue on, to do what they wanted and enjoy the moment. That was how Jongseong was, pouting the entire time after you told him to pump the brakes on your makeout sessions.

Somehow, with Jake, it feels right to continue. You suddenly have no anxiety clouding your thoughts or expectations weighing on your heart. You kiss his lips tenderly and shake your head. “No, I want this. I want you.”

A cheshire-cat grin spreads across his face before he goes in for another kiss. He runs his tongue along the inside of your mouth as his finger slides across your folds once again. He plunges it deep inside of your heat, your body adjusting to the new sensation with surprising ease.

You thrash lightly underneath him, matching the tempo of his finger with abandon. He slips another digit in, groaning at the feeling of your soft, gummy walls becoming accustomed to him. “You’re taking my fingers so well, angel. ‘S fucking incredible.”

You gasp and feel the fire from earlier heightening in intensity, spreading from your belly into the other seams of your body. It makes your toes curl and your hand press against one of the doors of Jungwon’s car, needing something to clutch onto while feeling yourself losing what’s left of your control.

“Jaeyun, I think I–”

“I know baby,” he says, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You’re going to feel so good in a second, I promise. Don’t be afraid.”

His thumb makes contact with your neglected clit, rubbing in rapid motions as he pumps his fingers faster in and out of you. You suddenly become overloaded with pleasure; its immensity is something you’ve never felt before. You feel it coat the back of your mouth and take what’s left of your rational senses, your body moving on its own accord as you ride out what’s remaining of your orgasm.

You blush furiously when you come back down to earth, giggling like a schoolgirl as Jake kisses your sweat-drenched cheek. “That was…amazing.”

Jake chuckles, a smirk painting his features. “You’re amazing.”

You tuck your face in your hands, embarrassed but still enraptured by what you just experienced. He pulls one hand away, taking it in his own, his expression suddenly shy. “So, I guess this is the part where I ask you on a proper date.”

You laugh and sit up, placing your panties back around your hips and adjusting your skirt. “I would hope so!”

Jungwon and Yeri choose that moment to run back into the car, their hair drenched but their bodies properly dressed once again. Jungwoon looks at the two of you in the backseat and grimaces. “Not in my car, man!”

Despite the warnings from your parents and the wine moms, you and Jake had become inseparable within a month’s time. It took many late-night impromptu meetings and secret rendezvous to keep your relationship private, but you had succeeded thus far. And it only made the moments you both shared that much more special.

Riki had kept your secret, keeping his eyes out for any prying townsfolk and covering for his cousin and you if need be. Yeri and Jungwon also cheered you on from the shadows, hoping one day you could be public like they were without criticism.

Sitting in the field near the lake, a picnic blanket set across the grass, you have your head in Jake’s lap while he absentmindedly turns strands of your hair into miniature braids. It’s a beautiful Wednesday afternoon, the two of you occupying the resounding forest with no outside influences.

“Have I told you lately how beautiful your hair is?” Jake asks, kissing your forehead before he takes another batch of strands in his hand. If he has to pick one of your best attributes, in his words, he’d say it was a tie between your lips and your hair, the two of them constantly making his heart race. You called him a liar, but as time revealed, he was nothing but honest with you every day, and not just about what turns him on. 

Over time, you discovered his fears, his ticks, his aspirations past the small town you both found yourselves in. You admire his vulnerability, how open he is when sharing the thoughts that occupy his mind.

“At least three times already,” you tease, running your hand across his leg.

“It’s not bad to hear it a fourth time, right?” He plants another kiss to the crown of your head. He drops the braid he’s just made across your face, making you laugh.

“I’d rather hear how work went today,” you say, getting up to press your back to his chest, snuggling into him.

He shrugs, wrapping his arms around you tighter. “Not much to talk about. Working with roofs all day isn’t exactly exciting, angel.” 

You know Jake doesn’t want to work at his dad’s construction company for the rest of his life. However, it provides stability, and that matters a lot to him. He knows what it did to his aunt when Riki’s father walked out early on in his cousin’s life, and he wouldn’t wish that lack of support on anyone.

“At least you’re not running a tutoring center and a daycare in the same church,” you joke, your tone anything but humorous. The brood you dealt with every day was completely unlike Riki. They were kids that were carbon copies of their parents, children that would one day become exactly like their absentminded fathers and speculatory mothers. It put a taste in your mouth you couldn’t stomach.

You fall into steady silence, the uptick in both of your nerves ebbing away the longer you hold each other. Sure, Jake hates roofing as much as you hate disciplining whining toddlers and helping apathetic tweens with mathematics, but it doesn’t matter at this moment.

All that does is each other, enjoying the midweek sunset and the sounds of the birds flying overhead.

“What would you do if you were somewhere else?” Jake asks into the crook of your neck.

You grin, imagining a world of possibilities. The question never came up before, not from him or anyone else. It opens up a plethora of choices in your mind, but you narrow them down quickly, knowing what your heart truly desires.

“I’d like to teach,” you answer. “Really teach, maybe at a university. Something like poetry.” You turn to look at him, a newfound fire in your eyes. “Yeah.”

Jake smiles back at you, moving stray strands of hair from your shoulder to rest his head there. “I think you’d be great at that.”

“What would you do?”

Jake ponders the question, going over it in the same way you were moments before. You see realization wash over his features, and it makes you smile. “I think I’d write. Not literature or anything, but songs maybe? Teach music in the meantime. Still have to make money somehow, y’know.”

You giggle and push him down on the picnic blanket, running your fingers through his hair. “Sounds like a plan.”

He nods, sharing your happiness. “Maybe a kid and a dog can fit somewhere in that plan.”

Chuckling, you raise one eyebrow. “As long as I’m not having a baby out of wedlock, that sounds perfect to me.”

He turns you both over, covering your body with his and kissing you intensely. The passion runs from his body to yours, your heartbeats matching in their strong beats against your chests. “Perfect,” he whispers, his lips meeting yours once again.

It may be too soon to call it love, but you know you’re tiptoeing that line, and you wouldn’t mind falling headfirst on the other side of it as long as Jake’s there waiting for you.

“Are you sure they don’t know I’m here?” Jake asks, hesitant to walk up the stairs to your bedroom.

“It’s fine! They’re at a seminar all weekend with Reverend Park and his son, I promise.” You kiss his lips before running up to your room. Still on the fence, you hear his tentative footsteps trudging behind you.

Another few months rolled by, and your parents had softened to the idea of Jake being around more often. He showed up with his parents to church every Sunday, even if you both snuck off to make out in the backwoods when nobody was paying attention.

He’d stick around for the deacon’s sessions with Akemi, brightening her spirits with his guitar and a couple of songs to replace the ones she missed during normal processions. It helped that she seemed to be getting better, slowly but surely, with treatment and daily prayer.

When you heard your father call Jake a “nice kid,” you knew they were turning a corner in their relationship that you wished for since the night Jake kissed you in Jungwon’s car.

Now, that doesn’t mean they would be happy with finding him in your bed on a Friday night, but you’ve broken enough rules at this point. What’s one more?

“You’re trying to get me killed,” Jake jokes as you rip his shirt from his body, discarding the article of clothing on your bedroom floor. You sit on your bed and marvel at the muscles on his chest and stomach, all of it yours to caress and kiss at any time.

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll follow you to heaven,” you tease, pulling him closer to kiss his body. Each press of your lips to his skin makes him tremble, cursing quietly to himself at the feeling.

“With the way you’re touching me, I doubt either of us will make it there.”

You giggle and link his mouth to yours. You moan when his tongue hits the roof of your mouth.

The intentions you had for tonight definitely involved numerous bouts of kissing, but the way Jake’s making you feel will certainly end up with his face or fingers between your legs. And as good as that sounds, you don’t want him derailing you from completing your mission.

There had been so many moments of him giving you pleasure up to this point, you wondered how he had stayed so composed and content after without expecting anything in return.

So, tonight, you decided to give him a bit of satisfaction, even if you’re walking into such activities without any kind of road map. Yeri gave you a handful of tips, but doing it for real is another beast entirely.

“Jaeyun, wait,” you say, taking his face in between your hands.

He looks up at you with eager eyes, wondering why you pulled him away from your neck. “What is it?”

“I want to take care of you this time.” You say, hoping your expression gives off the confidence you’re trying to portray. “I’ve never done it before, but—“

“And you don’t have to, angel,” Jake says with a dopey, relaxed smile. What on Earth and heaven did you do to find a guy like him?

“Please,” you beg, scooting closer to the edge of the bed. “I want to try.”

Jake’s conflicting feelings are evident in his eyes. Surely any man wants his girlfriend to go down on him with the same eagerness that you're giving him right now, but he doesn’t want you to feel obligated. 

In his mind, pleasure isn’t about some sort of trade-off. He makes you feel good because he wants to, not because it’s some duty he has to fulfill and expects to be paid back for later.

But, you asked so nicely and your eyes shine up at him so beautifully. He feels his resolve crumble enough to concede and do what you want.

You begin to unbutton his pants, your fingers twitching not from fear but excitement. When you pull down his jeans fully and see the outline of his bulge in his briefs, your mouth falls open slightly at the size.

Could it fit in your mouth if it was that big?

Jake chuckles and takes your hand to press to the gaping material covering him. “It won’t bite.”

You look up at him and begin to stutter, unsure how to continue once you take off his underwear. “D-Do you want me to use my hands first?”

“Whatever feels right to you, angel. I trust you.” He rubs his thumb across your cheek, and it calms all the nerves that came to the surface.

It’s in those three words that you find the courage to pull the remaining article of clothing off of him, taking in the sight of his cock in all its glory.

You gulp hard, trailing your eyes from the tip to where it adjoins to the rest of him. You’ve never seen one up close before, and you feel like you’re invading his privacy as you stare at it for another long minute. But who can blame you?

“It’s all for you, baby,” Jake whispers. “Do whatever you want.”

You feel a sharp pang of heat at the center of your thighs, his words spurring you on. You spit into your hand, as Yeri instructed, and wrap your hand firmly around Jake’s cock. With an easy but deliberate pace, you look at Jake directly to see if you’re starting off on the right foot.

And boy were you.

Jake hisses at the feeling of your hand encasing him, loving the tightness of your fingers as they continue sliding up and down his dick. He had envisioned this many times in the solitude of his bedroom, images of you and your beautiful body writhing underneath him enough to get him off. But those nights were nothing compared to this.

“Are you ready for my mouth now?” You ask timidly. Jake wants to laugh at how innocent you sound, the words coming so naturally off of your tongue.

“Yes, angel, please,” he answers, wanting to caress you by the hair and guide you down to his awaiting, leaking cock.

You move closer until you're an inch away from his tip. Flattening your tongue to take it into your mouth, you keep watching Jake’s face for the right signals.

His mouth opens, a satisfied whine leaving his lips. You feel a wave of pride at the fact he’s enjoying it so much, egging you on further.

“Your mouth feels so perfect wrapped around me,” he confesses. He soaks in the sensation of your lips and teeth softly running over the veins of his cock, your head bobbing across his length skillfully. How can an innocent and dutiful daughter like you give such mind-blowing head?

He can’t ruminate on the answer long, releasing a guttural moan as he feels his tip hit the back of your throat, the gag that rumbles from you making his cock even more sensitive.

“Angel, I’m gonna come soon,” Jake warns. “If you don’t want me to come in your mouth, let me know now.”

You look up through your lashes at him as you continue sucking on him with fierce passion, swirling your tongue across his tip. 

His hand is wrapped firmly in your hair now, fucking your face as softly as he can without forcing anymore of himself down your throat. When you take a hand to cup his balls, softly kneading them between your fingers, he’s done for.

He whines pathetically as his seed shoots inside your mouth. The taste isn’t particularly pleasing, but you milk it for what it’s worth to watch him fall apart so perfectly under your attention.

The orgasm rocks through him with an unshakeable amount of pleasure, his body completely helpless as he continues to spurt into your mouth. He can only hiss and whine as you continue to touch him, letting him come down fully and taking all of him without complaint.

Jake breathes in deeply when he gains clarity again, taking you in his arms and shoving his tongue deep in your mouth. “That was probably the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten,” he states, running his fingers over your face with adoration.

You scoff and roll your eyes, his words making you shy. “I doubt it, seeing as that was my first one.”

“It was!” Jake puts a hand on his heart. “Swear to the savior himself.” Before you can rebut, Jake takes your legs in his hands and moves you to the edge of the bed.

You wake up to the hard knocks at your bedroom door, the morning sun peeking out of your window to prove the previous night has long gone.

“Honey? What did we say about locked doors in this house?”

Your father’s booming voice makes you jump up from bed, smacking Jake hard on the shoulder and chest to wake him up.

“We had an odd feeling at the hotel, so we came home early,” your mother says as you shake Jake from his sleep.

“Ow, what the fuck,” Jake grunts, his voice not quiet enough to go unnoticed. You curse yourself and the reality in front of what’s about to happen, knowing full well your parents heard him on the other side of the door.

“Sweetie, who’s in there with you?” Your mother’s shrill but concerned tone makes you cringe. Jake’s eyes bulge in response, quickly leaping from the mattress to pull on his clothes in haste.

Just when you throw your dress from last night over your head and Jake buttons up his pants, your father slams open the door with his shoulder. Your parents gasp and yell at the sight before them, the man they began to grow comfortable with in a compromising position with their only daughter and precious child.

“What in God’s name is he doing here?” Your father asks no-one in particular, stomping towards Jake’s shirtless figure and yanking him by the neck.

“Daddy, stop!” You plead, scratching and clawing at his frame to pull him off of your lover.

Your mother begins blubbering, teary-eyed before you. “Oh honey, what did he do to you?”

“Nothing,” you scream. “Please leave him alone and let us be.”

“I told you to stay away from him.” Your father stares you down, eyes blazing with fury. “Not only did you betray me, but you betrayed the sanctity of your purity. It’s a disgrace.”

Jake coughs, your father’s hands tightening around his neck. “The only disgrace is the two of you holding her back, like she’s some weak bird in a cage,” he croaks. “She can make her own decisions.”

“You stay silent, you insolent pest,” your father growls, yanking Jake out of your room and down the stairs. By the time you and your mother make it out to the bottom step, your father has thrown Jake out and onto the porch.

“Stay away from my daughter, or you’ll have another reason to pray you don’t end up burning in hell.”

“Stop it!” You step in between your father and Jake, the latter putting on what’s left of his clothes. People begin to hover too close to your family home, suddenly entrenched in the scene playing out before them.

Jake kisses your forehead and walks away in the direction of his parked bike, unsure what else he can do unless he wants to truly end up six feet under. 

 Your father grabs you by the upper arm and pulls you in the direction of your porch, but you resist with all your might. “You can’t make me go back in there.”

“I am your father and you will listen to me,” he grunts, holding on tight.

“Daddy, I love him!” You scream as you yank your arm away from your father, your inner strength giving way. “If you can’t accept that, I guess I’ll just have to burn hell with him. Better than wasting another second here.”

You run toward Jake’s bike and sit behind him, cinching your arms around his waist. He smiles to himself, feeling the press of your chest to his back as he puts his helmet over his head. “Are you sure about this, angel?”

You nod furiously, not bothering to look back at your red-faced family. “More than I’ve ever been.”

All you focus on is his motorcycle rumbling to life before you speed away. Your hair blows in the wind as you both escape the horrified stares of the local vipers.

You end up at a motel on the other side of town, far away from the scandal that’s surely rocking your small community by now. The deacon’s daughter running away with the bad boy next door? What a tragedy!

You run inside to miss the upcoming rain, both of you shivering from the barrage of pellets that did land on your skin. You settle onto the mattress as Jake drops the small amount of belongings he had in his possession on the dresser.

He turns to you with quiet concern, arms splayed out on the furniture as he looks at you, searching your face for any lingering doubt. “No regrets?”

You shake your head, exhausted but glad to be out of that house. “None at all.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief and sits down beside you on the bed, rubbing your thigh with his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Your brows knit together, confusion pouring over you. You take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers. “You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should be apologizing to you.”

 You feel tears build at your eye ducts, your voice suddenly growing thick when you recall the scene from an hour ago. “I’m sorry my father was so horrible to you.”

“Hush, it’s okay,” he puts his other hand on your face. He kisses your lips tenderly and gracefully. How did nobody else but you see he possessed the most kind nature of anyone you’ve ever known?

Jake moves his head, his lips curving into the smile that always takes your common sense away. “I love you too, by the way.”

Your confession from earlier hits you like a heavy rock, your eyes going wide and your face turning pale. “That wasn’t the way I wanted to say it.”

“Then say it now,” Jake urges, your face resting gently between his fingers.

There’s no fear or pressure when the three words leave your lips, only the feeling of a weight lifting off of your chest. “I love you, Sim Jaeyun. I love you with my whole heart.”

His face lights up, the words seeming to set aglow something deep within him. The only right reaction seems to be in the form of his lips attaching to yours in a passionate kiss, your shared love creating a beautiful path forward for the both of you.

He whispers his next words so lightly, you almost assume the statement is a figment of your imagination. “Marry me.”

You feel your face contort into a mixture of disbelief and elation, needing to hear him say it again for it to truly resonate. “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeats, his smile stretching across his face. “Marry me now, or in three months from now, or whenever you want. Just say you will.”

You exhale a breath of astonishment, unsure if he knows how much you want to say yes, to make this as real as it sounds on his lips. He leaves your side with a kiss to your temple to grab something from his jacket. 

He comes back in record time, standing in front of you and twiddling the black box in both of his hands with anxious fingers. “I brought it with me to your house last night, I just didn’t know how to ask then. But I do now.”

Like in all the stories you’ve read and movies you’ve seen in your lifetime, he sinks down onto one knee before you. You place a hand over your mouth as he opens the box, a ring with an opal-shaped diamond cushioned in the center.

“Would you please do me the honor of being my wife?” Those words on his lips, visibly shaken from his own question, make a thousand butterflies flutter inside your chest.

Months ago, if you knew then you would end up here, from the edge of the sidewalk to now, you would not change a single moment. The world had been so gray before, you didn’t know what it was like to step in the sun until he came into your life. What other answer is there?

“Yes, yes, yes,” you respond, tears flooding your eyes as he shakily places the ring on your finger. It fits just right, the stone at the center sparkling in the darkness of the motel room.

You kiss Jake’s lips with all the force your body possesses, certain there’s no better future than right beside him.

The feeling of the gold band around your finger makes Jake shudder as it touches his cock. Your body is nestled perfectly on top of his as you take what you can’t put in your mouth between your fingers.

He laps up your essence with his tongue, ecstatic to have his face covered in your juices and smothered if need be by your wet cunt. If people think wedding nights are magical, engagement nights have to be a step up.

“Fuck, Jaeyun, yes,” you roll your hips into his awaiting mouth, his tongue available for you to lay your slit onto. The expletive leaves your mouth like honey, the feeling fitting for such a dirty word.

He knows exactly how to make you fall apart and be put back together, and the thought of doing this for the rest of your life makes you want to cry again from the pure happiness inside your core.

Jake takes his lips off of your pussy and sits up. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he takes you into his lap on the bed and kisses you fiercely. You taste yourself on his tongue as he skillfully takes your breath away with his lips. When you part, he says, “Angel, I know we said we’d wait, but I don’t know how much longer I can handle not being inside of you.”

You whimper at his words and suddenly rock your center into the tip of his cock, making him groan in the process. “I mean—we’re just starting early, right?” 

Jake releases a joyous laugh and kisses you hungrily, his face in a constant state of ecstasy since you said “yes” hours ago. “Right.”

 The anticipation makes you even wetter, crawling to the head of the bed as Jake grabs a condom from the bedside table. If there was one thing he had promised, he swore he wouldn’t get you pregnant. Not yet, anyway.

He rolls the rubber over his cock before joining you on the bed, lining up perfectly with your center. He rubs his tip against your folds, biting his lip at how easily it gets coated in your essence. “Ready?”

You nod eagerly, a smirk filling the entire bottom half of your face.

He pushes the tip in, the pressure a foreign feeling you had never experienced before. It took time and practice to get used to the size of his fingers, but this is another level of fullness that takes your breath away.

Once Jake’s partially inside and gives you a moment to adjust, he asks, “Can I move?”

You nod your head, holding onto his shoulders for support as he begins to thrust inside of you. He loves to see his cock disappearing between your legs, your body eagerly taking him in and stretching itself out to accommodate him. He loves the way you whimper at the movement of his hips and the pleasure you’re receiving.

Better yet, he loves you. He loves all of you, from the nonsensical words you speak in your sleep to the wrinkle between your eyebrows when you get mad. You’re all his, and he’s grateful to be the only one you call yours.

“We may never leave this motel,” Jake says, his words breathy as he continues moving his hips. “I could stay inside of you for the rest of my life, angel.”

“I love you so much,” you say, inching your hand between your bodies to roll your clit between your fingers.

“I love you,” Jake says. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you like he wants to pour all of his emotions from his being into your soul, just so you know how deep his love for you goes.

It’s all so overwhelmingly beautiful, you feel the swell of your release cresting over you like a tidal wave. “Baby, I’m gonna come,” you whisper, your mouth open wide from the moans and cries you cannot suppress.

Jake groans and slams his hips into you harder, filling you to the hilt repeatedly. “Come, angel. Come for me.”

You cry out as the orgasm takes hold of your body, your fingers working on their own accord on your clit as you fall off the edge.

Jake stills not a second later, releasing into the condom and taking the last remnants of his energy to thrust inside of you a few more times.

He pulls out and throws the rubber in a nearby trash can. His sweaty body clings to yours, hands rubbing up and down your arm tenderly as he kisses the curve of your shoulder.

You see the flash of your ring in the glow of the motel’s neon sign, and you think about how the night could not have gone any better.

Jake may be a bit reckless and not what you initially imagined for your future, but now that you have him, you wouldn’t give him up for anything. All the parts of you that stayed buried for so long have resurfaced because of him, and you could not be more grateful.

With your left hand a touch heavier than it was some hours ago, you fall asleep to the sound of the rain hitting the window and Jake’s rising and falling chest.

You walk out of your mother’s house, happy to have made a visit with her before she ran off to do her morning errands.

What you’re not pleased to encounter is the same crowd of women huddled with their homemade fans and cups of lemonade. They weren’t there when you arrived a few hours ago.  Of course they show up when you have no chance of escaping them, like the vultures they are.

“Mrs. Sim,” Mrs. Choi says, her tone entirely made of stone with little warmth. “Pleasure to see you.”

Your new surname gives you indescribable amounts of happiness. It took your parents some time to get used to, but eventually, they realized you put your heart in the right place. Your father took his sweet time getting there, begrudgingly admitting a short time ago Jake is a very acceptable son-in-law, the turnaround of his perception of your husband complete.

You give the crotchety ringleader a fake smile and attempt to walk away, but Mrs. Lee interjects. “How’s your mister doing working at the church now?”

“Great,” you say, genuinely happy to talk about a topic you care for. “Jaeyun loves the kids. Little Yuna might actually be a guitar prodigy from what he’s told me.”

They all coo, practically synchronized in their sips of lemonade and fan flurries.

“Soon enough you’ll have one of your own, I’m sure,” Mrs. Choi remarks with sarcasm, her red-lipstick-stained front teeth on full display.

“Not too soon now,” Jake suddenly says, walking up the pathway to your mother’s house and taking you in by the waist. “My wife has to finish her Masters first. How else is she gonna start teaching at the community college?”

My wife. No matter how long it’s been since you officially got married in your church, that day a year ago forever ingrained in your memory, it still warms you to the bones hearing those words leave Jake’s lips.

The women all express signs of agreement, some nodding while others hum.

“We better get back home now, but you ladies have a nice day!” Jake bids them goodbye and walks you both down the stairs with his hand on the small of your back. Even if he were to be more than the perfect gentleman in front of them, they would still linger around with pesky eyes and constantly moving lips.

“They’re still betting we’re gonna crash and burn, aren’t they?” Jake whispers, teasing you with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You shake your head. You fall more in love with him every day that passes, no matter what the people around you do or don’t see. They may have their opinions, but it won’t shake the foundation you’ve built. “Well, they’re sure to be disappointed if I have anything to say about it.”

Jake’s eyes widen, his expression humorous yet surprised. “Easy, angel. Don’t want to have to tear my wife off of a nosy wine mom.”

Your heart aches at his words, him fully aware of what two of them in particular do to you. “I love you.”

Jake grins, inching his face closer to yours. “I’d love nothing more than to kiss you right now, but what would everyone say?” He asks with a mock face of horror.

You shrug without much care, grinning. “Someone once told me ‘fuck everyone else.’ And right now I couldn’t agree more.”

Jake laughs before he places a gentle kiss to your lips, the sun radiating off of him in waves as he pulls you closer.

No matter what anyone in your small town has to say, your choices are yours; you’re perfectly happy with how your life has turned out whether they think so too or not. And you will always choose Sim Jaeyun, now and forever.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[gilbertscurls]

Sucker (pt. 2) ➵ Matt Sturniolo

summary: matt, your biggest fan, finally scores a date with you.

Matt sat in his car outside your place, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. His heart was pounding in his chest, his palms were already sweaty, and he hadn’t even knocked on your door yet. He glanced at the dashboard clock—7:28. Two minutes early. That was good, right? Not too eager, but not late either.

Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hands on his jeans, gave himself one last look in the rearview mirror, and tried to calm his nerves. It’s just a date, he kept repeating in his head. Just a date. Except it wasn’t just a date. This was you, the girl he’d admired for what felt like forever. The girl whose songs had been the soundtrack to his life for the past few years, whose interviews he’d watched and whose laugh he couldn’t get out of his head. And now, here he was, about to take you on a date.

He finally forced himself to get out of the car, each step feeling heavier than the last as he approached your front door. His heart felt like it was lodged somewhere in his throat, and he could feel a nervous tingle in his fingertips. Before he could think too much about it, he knocked.

A moment later, the door swung open, and there you were, standing in front of him with that warm smile that made his knees feel weak. You looked absolutely stunning, more so than usual, and Matt had to remind himself to breathe.

“Hey, Matt,” you said, your voice light and easy, like this was no big deal.

But it was everything to him.

“H-hey,” he stammered, trying to keep it together, but already feeling like he was on the verge of losing it. “You look… I mean, you always look good, but tonight, you’re just… wow.”

You giggled softly, your cheeks flushing a little at his compliment. “Thank you. You look great, too.”

Matt felt his face heat up, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Thanks,” he muttered, desperately trying to think of something cool to say but coming up blank. “Uh, should we… get going?”

You nodded, grabbing your bag and stepping out, closing the door behind you. Matt opened the car door for you, feeling like it was the least he could do to prove he wasn’t a complete nervous wreck.

As you slid into the passenger seat, he shut the door, took a deep breath, and walked around to the driver’s side, trying to convince himself to relax. It’s fine. You’re fine. She likes you. But as soon as he sat down next to you, the nerves came flooding back.

The drive to the restaurant was filled with small talk—about your week, his latest video shoot, the traffic. But no matter how hard Matt tried to focus, all he could think about was you sitting next to him, just inches away. His heart was racing, and every time you laughed or smiled at something he said, it only made things worse.

“Are you okay?” you asked at one point, glancing at him with a curious smile.

Matt’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Oh no, she can tell I’m freaking out. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m great,” he blurted, his voice way too high-pitched. He cringed at himself. “I mean, I’m good. Just, you know… excited.”

You chuckled softly, clearly amused by his nerves. “I’m glad. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Matt’s heart skipped a beat. She’s been looking forward to this. That thought both calmed him and sent a fresh wave of panic through his system. He focused on the road, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Matt hurried out of the car to open your door again, grateful to have something to do with his hands. You smiled as you stepped out, and he could’ve sworn his heart skipped another beat.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly as you walked inside together.

The restaurant was cozy and intimate, the lighting soft and warm. As you sat down across from each other, Matt felt the nervous tension in his body slowly start to ease. You were here, you were smiling, and you seemed happy to be with him. He could do this.

Once the food came, the conversation flowed more naturally. You talked about everything—your favorite concerts, funny behind-the-scenes moments in your videos, the ridiculous amount of times Matt had played your songs in the car. Every time you laughed at one of his jokes, he felt a little less like he was going to combust from nervousness.

But even as things got easier, there were still moments when his nerves came rushing back—like when your hand brushed against his across the table, or when your eyes lingered on him a little longer than usual. His heart would race, his palms would start sweating again, and he’d feel like he was right back to square one.

“So,” you said, leaning in slightly, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. “How many times have your brothers teased you about this date?”

Matt chuckled nervously, his face heating up. “Oh, you have no idea. They’ve been giving me a hard time all week. I’m pretty sure Nick was still laughing when I left to pick you up.”

You giggled, and Matt’s heart flipped. “That sounds about right. Well, I���m honored to be their favorite topic.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “Honestly, I don’t blame them. They know how much I like you. And… well, I’ve talked about you a lot.” His voice trailed off, suddenly realizing how much he was admitting. God, could I sound any more uncool?

But you just smiled, your eyes softening. “I think it’s sweet. You’ve talked about me, huh?”

Matt’s face flushed again, and he quickly nodded. “Uh, yeah. Maybe a little too much.”

You laughed, and the sound made every nerve in his body calm down, even if just for a moment. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve watched your videos, too. You and your brothers are hilarious. And your fans are adorable when they tease you about me.”

Matt blinked, his heart skipping another beat. “You’ve watched our videos?”

You nodded, looking completely casual about it. “Yeah, of course. I love how genuine you are. It’s refreshing.”

Matt stared at you, completely stunned. You had watched his videos? And you thought he was genuine? He felt like he was floating.

After dinner, the two of you decided to take a walk in a nearby park. The night air was cool, and the stars overhead twinkled against the dark sky. You walked side by side, the sound of your laughter filling the quiet night. Every now and then, your arm would brush against his, and Matt’s heart would skip a beat all over again.

After what felt like an eternity of debating with himself, Matt finally reached for your hand. His pulse was racing, his mind filled with doubts—What if she pulls away? What if it’s too soon? But then your fingers intertwined with his, and he let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.

You glanced over at him with a smile. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Matt whispered, his heart racing as he held your hand. “It is.”

When he finally drove you back to your place, the nervous energy returned full force. What if she didn’t have as good a time as I thought? What if she was just being nice? His mind was racing as he walked you to your door, struggling to keep his cool.

But when you turned to face him, your smile was soft and warm, and all of his doubts melted away. “Thank you for tonight, Matt,” you said softly, your voice sweet. “I had an amazing time.”

Before he could respond, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, sending a jolt of electricity through his entire body.

Matt stood there, frozen, his mind completely blank as you stepped back with a smile. “Goodnight.”

“G-goodnight,” he stammered, still too stunned to move as you disappeared inside.

As he finally turned and walked back to his car, Matt’s hand touched his cheek where you had kissed him, a huge grin spreading across his face. His nerves were gone now, replaced by pure happiness.

He had done it. The date had gone perfectly—better than he could’ve ever imagined. And as he drove home, all he could think about was when he’d see you again.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @wh0remikasas

[zepskies]

Every Second Counts - Part 3

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: *Deep breaths* Are you ready? 😉

Word Count: 4.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, protective Russell, perilous situations, violence, character death, and another (literal) cliffhanger…

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 3: "Timer Starts Now"

As he drove away from the museum, Colter could see it even more clearly. 

“You like her,” he said, giving his older brother a smile. 

Russell glanced at him, then rolled his eyes. 

“Focus on the road,” he said. 

“Just admit it. You like her,” Colter smirked. “And the fact that she called you for help isn’t a coincidence.”

Russell made a sound of annoyance and shook his head. At this point, he knew Colter wasn’t going to drop the subject.

“All right, we went out on one date,” Russell held up a finger. “It was fun, but we agreed that I’m just not relationship material.”

Colter sobered at that, at the wry tone of his voice. It sounded like Russell liked you even more than he was willing to admit.

“Do you have a timeline on that brewery?” Colter asked.

Russell chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, I’m just a few dollars short on that one.”

He stared out the window for a while, but he eventually turned back to his brother.

“She called me because her brother’s a vet. Because I know what it’s like to deal with the assimilation process, coming back to civilian life. Trying to figure out where you belong, you know?” he said.

“You think you’ve assimilated?” Colter asked.

Russell shrugged. “Best I know how, anyway.”

“You can’t really call yourself a civilian though, can you?” Colter pointed out. 

Russell shot him a look. “Yeah well, neither can you, Colt.”

That created a kind of tension in the car. A call from Bobby, Colter’s analyst, mercifully broke the silence. He’d gotten some useful information on Eddie Mendez, the man Charlie was supposedly working with, or for.

“Well, he’s not the most upstanding citizen,” Bobby said. “He’s a cocaine dealer by trade. Other fun items on his rap sheet include illegal gun possession, theft, and domestic violence.”

“All right, thanks, Bobby,” Colter said.

Great, Russell shook his head. Just what had your brother gotten himself into?

They were getting closer to the bar, and it mentally brought him back to his date with you.

Okay, maybe he did like you. But he also respected and understood your reasons for cutting things short that night. Usually, he was okay with being in a new town every other week, the occasional one-night stands, the skeevy motel rooms and the fast food. It was all with a goal in mind, and that made the hustle easier.

He’d started to wonder though, what it would be like to set down roots somewhere. Doug made it work with his wife and still did his contract work, even if there were some major pros and cons to that too…

Russell was only broken out of his thoughts when he got a call himself, from Dory. He answered it and held the phone to his ear.

“Hey, D. What’s up?” he asked.

“Russell, something’s wrong,” she said. Her voice was panicked.

He frowned, his brows furrowing. “What? What happened?”

The more he listened, the more his eyes widened in shock. He looked to his brother.

“Colter, turn around. Now.”

Russell and Colter arrived back at your house, where Dory was parked out front. She came out of the safety of her car when she saw them. Russell got to her first. He laid a hand on her shoulder in the driveway.

“What happened?” he asked. 

She tearfully explained that she found your purse in the bushes, but your phone was missing. She had just picked up your call when it suddenly cut off. 

“But I heard her scream,” Dory said, with a stifled breath.

Russell’s mood darkened in response, and the longer he took in the scene. He looked over at Colter, who also wore a frown. 

The tracker examined your car and driveway first. Already he found signs of struggle. He noticed a couple pieces of dark glass on the pavement, and when he scrutinized his surroundings further, he picked your broken phone out of the grass. The screen was cracked beyond repair.

Next, he climbed the three short steps of the porch, up to the front door of the house. There were marks on the doorknob, likely scratched by a key. He spotted the Ring Camera next.

Good. He took it right off the wall.  

“Do you have her keys there?” he asked his sister. Dory handed them to him and he let himself in. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

The three of them entered your house and found it dark and empty. Colter switched the lights on and got to work, after going back to grab his laptop from the car.

Russell stayed with his sister on the couch, a supportive hand on her back. He tried to shove his anger and upset deeper below the surface.

Meanwhile, Colter had Bobby retrieve the data from the camera. Within a few minutes, he sent Colter a video file, which Colter then played on his laptop. The three of them watched you approach the door.

Someone with a man’s build grabbed you from behind, wearing dark clothes and a mask that obscured his face. You screamed and tried to fight, but the man dragged you away as you struggled.

Russell’s frown deepened as his body tensed with anger again, his jaw ticking as it clenched. And then came the self-loathing.

Rookie fucking move. Should’ve made sure she got home safe, he thought. Better yet, should’ve kept her with me.

Dory covered her trembling mouth and dissolved into tears. Russell tucked her against his side, rubbing her arm. Colter laid a hand on her shoulder as well, but he continued to analyze the footage. He couldn’t make out the attacker’s face with the mask he was wearing, but Colter saw a blue sedan in the background. It peeled off after you were hauled off-screen.  

“Why would they take her? What the hell is Charlie into?” Dory said. She sniffled and wiped at her face.

“To keep her quiet after she started digging into his disappearance, possibly. Or for leverage against him,” Colter said, leveling her with honesty. “Someone doesn’t want us to find Charlie. I’m betting it’s whoever he’s working for.”

He thought it was safer if he didn’t tell his sister exactly who Charlie’s employer was.  

Dory shook her head in worry. “We need to call the police.”

Colter shared a grim look with his brother. He knew Russell understood the score here. 

“If we get the police involved, it’s at least a 50% chance that whoever has her and Charlie…will kill both of them,” Colter said. Dory sucked in a trembling breath. 

“Our best bet is to keep digging,” Colter said.

“Let’s go,” Russell said, nodding at him. He stood, parting from his sister with a hand squeezing her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Dory asked. She got up to her feet along with her brothers.

“Howley’s. It’s our only lead on Charlie’s employer,” Colter replied. 

“Okay, but wait—” Dory reached out for Russell’s arm. It was a reflex as she tried to wrap her mind around all of this. 

Russell grasped her shoulders gently enough, but he made sure she saw the sense of urgency in his eyes.

“We don’t have time,” he said. “From here on out, every second counts.” 

After a beat, Dory nodded in acceptance. She let go of his jacket. 

“Okay, keep me updated.”

“Will do,” he said, and he swiftly followed Colter out the door.

The brothers drove in silence to the bar. Colter noted his brother’s tension, and the grim set to his jaw. 

“Hey,” Colter said, earning Russell’s attention. Colter gave him a reassuring look. “We’re gonna find her. We’ll find both of them.”

Russell exhaled. “Yeah.”  

Oh, he knew he’d find you eventually, and your brother. He just didn’t want to think about how he might find you.

Once they got back to Howley’s, they started by questioning the bartender about Eddie Mendez. 

“He’s not here. But that’s a couple of his friends over there,” the bartender said. He pointed them in the direction of a couple of guys drinking near the back. Three of them were sitting at a table playing cards. 

Russell recognized two of them. One was the same guy who made the mistake of hassling you by the pool table. He’d gotten a bloody nose for his trouble. Russell smirked at the memory. 

“Pete, make a fucking move already,” said one of the guy’s buddies.

Russell caught it as he and Colter approached them. This time, Pete seemed at least somewhat sober, even with his second beer in hand. Another bottle sat empty beside his arm.

“Hey, fellas,” Russell greeted the table. “Little Blackjack, little booze. Looks like a good night you’re having.”

“Do I know you?” Pete asked. His face showed a spark of recognition when he took in Russell. 

“Well, you’re about to. We’re looking for one of your friends, Eddie,” he replied. 

Pete set his beer down on the table. Predictably, he crossed his arms and closed up.

“I don’t know no Eddie.”

Russell resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I realize it’s hard for you, but don’t be dumb. Eddie Mendez,” he pressed. 

Pete glanced at his friends, then he stood from the table, drawing himself to his full height. He was a bit bigger than Russell, but a beer gut wasn’t everything.  

Russell seized up the man in front of him with an almost lazy grin. By contrast, his eyes were sharp, betraying his true thoughts. 

“Now remember. Whatever you start, I’m gonna damn well finish,” he said. 

That sure ignited Pete’s memory. He seemed to be remembering your smaller fist nearly breaking his nose. His face fell with an angry frown. Russell smirked.

Colter laid a warning hand on his brother’s arm.

“We’re not looking for trouble. We’re just trying to find someone Eddie might know. Charlie,” Colter said. “Do you know him?”

“No, I don’t,” Pete claimed.  

“Like you didn’t know Eddie?” Colter replied, raising a brow. “Where can we find him?”

“Now you are looking for trouble,” Pete spat. “Fuck off, Timberlake.”

Just then, Colter’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and saw a text from Dory, asking for an update. He ignored the message for now and put his phone away.

Hearing a commotion, he quickly looked up in time to realize that Russell had wrangled Pete into a stronghold with his arm behind his back and had slammed him onto the table. Drinks and bottles rattled and spilled; playing cards fell to the floor. Pete’s friends got up with angry, threatening gaits.

“I think you can point us in the right direction before I break this meaty arm of yours. How about that?” Russell said. 

“Hey! No fighting!” the bartender called from the front. “Take that shit outside.”

Colter internally sighed, but he’d have to roll with this, even though this wasn’t how he’d wanted to play it. 

“I wouldn’t test him,” Colter advised. “That’s gonna be a bad break. You got good health insurance, Pete? You’ll probably need surgery, expensive bills, a little physical therapy, a few months of recovery time.”

Pete seemed to weigh Colter’s logic, albeit with an angry huff. He waved off his friends and caught his breath while pinned against the table. 

“I can’t talk to you,” he said. “I’ll get myself killed.”

“I’d worry more about your odds right now, Pete,” Russell said. He tightened his twisted hold on the man’s arm, earning a strangled sound of pain. 

Colter weighed the options here in record time, and he came to a decision. He grasped Russell’s arm firmly.

“Let him go,” he said.  

Russell gave him a look of disbelief. “Colt?”

Colter implored him with his eyes. Trust me.

After a few more seconds, Russell’s lips pursed, but he let the guy go. 

“Ah, fuck,” Pete muttered. After he was able to straighten up, he rubbed his aching arm and shot them both a red-faced glare. 

Colter steered his brother out of the bar before a real fight could break out. He knew it’d become a bloody mess, and they didn’t have time for a night stay in a county jail cell this time.  

“You better have a damn plan,” Russell whispered, as they neared the front doors of the bar.

“You know I do,” Colter replied.

They later sat in his truck while it was still turned off. Just waiting in silence.

A few minutes went by before the back doors of the bar opened to Pete and his gaggle of delinquent friends. As Colter suspected, one of them made a call. It lasted no more than a couple of minutes. Then, they piled into Pete’s car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Colter started up his own car, and he followed them.

You were led into what sounded like a warehouse. You couldn’t know for sure with this musty bag over your head and your wrists bound together with zip ties, but you clenched your teeth and tried to stop sniffling. Your fear made your heart pump fast and loud in your ears.

Voices echoed around you, arguing, yelling about shipments. You were shoved hard to the ground, and you gasped, instinctively throwing your hands out when your knees hit the hard cement. 

“No…” 

That voice was all too familiar. 

The bag was finally ripped off your head, the edge of it catching in your frizzy hair. You blinked wearily at the florescent lights above, and you wiped at your tears and smudged mascara. Your breath left your lungs when you saw your brother, Charlie. 

He was tied to a chair, shirtless and shoeless, beaten and bloody. Some parts of his skin even looked burned. His jeans remained, at least. But his face was hard to look at. His left eye was swollen, his lip split, his cheek cut and bloody. Both his eyes were red-rimmed, and he was sweaty and dirty, as if they’d been keeping him down here like an animal. He looked thinner too.

He stared back at you in dismay, your name falling from his lips.

You tried to scramble over to him, but someone grabbed you by the hair and yanked you back. You cried out in pain.

“Eddie stop! Don’t hurt her!” he shouted. He drew enough strength to pull at his restraints. Your hands reached back on reflex to grasp at the hand holding your hair. 

“No, you did this,” Eddie said. He clicked the safety off his handgun and pointed the barrel at your head, right between the eyes. You gasped and froze where you sat. 

“You couldn’t make it easy, huh? Well now, I’m making it real simple for you,” he continued. “Even more simple, now that we cut out the middleman.”

Eddie gestured to what looked like a woven potato sack laid behind Charlie’s chair, but really, that was just part of it. As your eyes scanned over, you saw the narrow shoulders of a man with a familiar dark blue blazer. It was stained red with a bloody hole carved through the back. Your breath stilled in your lungs.

Eddie glanced over at you, his lips curving. He walked over to the dead body, turned it over with his boot, and dragged off the potato sack to reveal the lifeless blue eyes of Dr. Feinman.

Your eyes widened.

You let out a blood-curdling scream that startled a pigeon out of the warehouse, from where it had been perching on a high support ledge. You leaned back on your bound hands, but you could go no further as one of Eddie’s men grabbed your shoulder, pinning you on the ground. His annoyed face told you to shut the fuck up.

Charlie grimaced and turned his face from the sight of the body. Both shame and hate filled his eyes when Eddie bent down to face him.

“Tell me where you hid the goddamn weapons,” he demanded.

Your lips trembled as new tears brimmed over and streamed down your cheeks. You’d suspected the truth, but it was different from being faced with the reality. Charlie was the one who stole from the museum. He’d likely been doing a lot worse for the past few months. And somehow, Feinman had gotten in between. He’d also paid the price.

Your brother saw your disappointment, and he accepted it. But lacking an answer, Eddie pistol whipped you in the face, earning a pained cry from you as you fell back onto the ground. You had to blink the stars out of your eyes.

After his shock wore off, Charlie’s face hardened with fury.

“Oh, don’t give me that fucking face,” Eddie said. He grabbed you by the back of the neck, startling another sharp breath from you. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, what I did to you’ll be child’s play, compared to what I’m gonna do to her. And you’re going to watch.”

Against your will, tears filled your eyes while you stared at your brother. You were terrified, and Charlie knew it. He was scared too, but he also knew then what he had to do.

“I buried them,” he admitted. 

“You buried them?” Eddie repeated. He brushed back his dark hair with the same hand that held his gun. “Ain’t that ironic. All right, where did you bury them?”

“In the national forest, less than an hour out,” Charlie replied. “But you won’t find it without me.” 

Eddie shook his head on a sigh. “Of fucking course.”

He gestured to his men waiting nearby. He wordlessly gave them the order to untie your brother. 

“All right, Charlie. Let’s go for a drive,” he said, and gave you a sleazy smile. “You too, sweetheart.”

He hauled you up onto your feet and kept you close to him, with a hand like a vice around your arm. God, you hated a sweethearting man.

You held your breath. You could only pray that Dory had noticed you were missing…and that Russell and Colter could find you before it was too late.

Please…

It was still dark out, but the sky was beginning to lighten when Colter pulled to the side of the road. The car they followed had stopped in front of a warehouse near an industrial downtown area. Colter spotted the blue sedan from the Ring Camera footage. It was parked out front. 

With a shared nod of understanding, Colter and Russell climbed out of the truck and took the time to arm themselves properly before scoping out the warehouse.

“What does a drug cartel want with museum artifacts?” Russell remarked as they were gearing up. “That’s still not adding up for me.”

“It is odd, but maybe the idea came from Charlie,” Colter said. “He had access. Maybe he saw it as a way to buy their trust.”

“Okay, then what went wrong? Why’d they take her?” Russell replied. “I don’t know, man. Something feels off here.”

Colter nodded in agreement. “We don’t have all the pieces yet.”

But they were about to get them. They moved closer to the warehouse, with Russell heading towards a side door and Colter going around the back. They saw a few men crowded around a TV in the corner of the warehouse. Behind them were crates upon crates of what surely was product. Probably tens of thousands worth of coke.

Jesus, Russell thought. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, but still. This was a serious operation.

Colter caught sight of a lone chair under a bright corner of the room. It was stained with sweat and blood, and some cut ropes hung from the seat. He alerted Russell to the scene with a subtle gesture of his raised gun. Russell’s face turned grim. He nodded minimally, then pointed with his eyes at the group of unsuspecting men. The brothers drew in closer.

Russell fired a shot directly into the TV screen, making it crash onto the ground. The men startled like rats, but they soon faced Russell and Colter’s guns. When one of them reached for the gun tucked in their pants, Colter aimed directly at him.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Colter warned. 

“Where’s Charlie?” Russell demanded. “And his sister.”

He aimed his .45 caliber M1911 at their friend Pete, who had Cheeto stains on his shirt. 

“How about you, Pete. You finally wanna share with the class, before I blow your fucking face off?!” Russell shouted. 

The depths of his voice reverberated widely in the warehouse. It set the tone for things to come, if he didn’t get some cooperation.

Pete shifted on his feet, betraying his nerves. His forehead was starting to sweat too. 

“They’re not here,” he admitted. “They left a while ago.”

Russell flexed his finger over the trigger of his gun. 

“Tell me where,” he said.

Eddie wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy kind of guy. He kicked his boot against a tree while leaning against it.

“Fucking rock in my shoe,” he muttered angrily.

He was getting more and more frustrated with the uneven terrain (and the mosquitos) the longer the five of you trekked onwards: including you, Charlie, Eddie, and two of his men, Rick and Kevin. Both of them had guns trained on your back and Charlie’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said quietly to you.

You shook your head. Disappointment didn’t even begin to cover what you were feeling as you looked at him, but at least they’d given him a shirt to cover his beaten torso. His face wasn't so lucky.

He righted you when you struggled on the gravel and loose dirt in your ankle boots. Your hands were still tied together too.

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked, as you caught your breath. 

“I needed the money,” he said, though he knew it wasn’t an excuse. “I was his bodyguard.”

“He’s a drug dealer,” you snapped. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“He was my dealer,” he admitted, though his gaze was heavy. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, but…a few weeks after I left rehab, I slipped. I never really did quit. Just got better at hiding it.” 

You let out a sharp breath, and tried to blink past your tears. Another disappointment, another heartbreak for the books.

“But when he offered me a job to pay off what I owed, he wanted insurance that I’d stick around. To prove myself,” Charlie explained. “He came up with the idea to rob the museum.”

“Why was Dr. Feinman involved? Did he find out?” you asked.

Charlie nodded with a sigh. “He caught me the first time I tried to steal the artifacts. I…I lied. Told him we planned to sell them. So instead of turning me in, he wanted to be cut into the deal.”

“What? Why?” you said. Your former boss was many things—a stuffy, self-important man chief among them—but you’d never taken him for a thief.

Charlie gave you a wry look. “Owed his second wife up to his eyeballs. Alimony’s a real bitch.”

You shook your head. That explained why Charlie hadn’t yet been a suspect in the theft. Feinman had probably helped cover Charlie’s tracks. But whatever shortcomings Feinman had, he hadn’t deserved to die like that. A shudder went through your body, remembering his lifeless eyes. You breathed out slowly and tried to rid yourself of the nightmarish image. You managed to push past that to ask your next question.

“And who chose the Native American weapons?”

Charlie’s lips pursed. He glanced over his shoulder. “He did. Thought they looked cool.”

Eddie smirked and waved his gun at him, spurring you both onward. Charlie kept walking and turned his attention back to you. 

“The way I figured it, the museum shouldn’t have them anyway.” 

Your lips pursed at that. You sort of saw his point there, however convoluted his justification, but putting those artifacts in the hands of a drug dealer was even worse.

“And this is so much better for them,” you said pointedly. 

“That’s why I couldn’t go through with it. Tried to get out of the whole damn mess,” he said. “I know what you would’ve said to me. And I knew if I ever saw you again, I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes.”

Your tears welled up again, when you saw the sincerity of his gaze.

“Okay, this touching little scene is making my balls itch,” Eddie said. He grabbed Charlie’s shoulder and turned him around. “Where the fuck are we going? If you’re trying to pull something smart here, Charlie, I promise you, you’re gonna regret it.”

He cocked the safety back on his gun and pointed it at Charlie’s chest. Charlie raised slow, placating hands.

“It’s just a little further,” he promised. 

“If you’re giving me the runaround—” Eddie started.

“Then what? Without me, you’ll never find it,” Charlie barked back. 

Eddie’s face tightened, and he pointed the gun at you instead. You sucked in a breath.

Charlie quickly held up his bound hands again in surrender. After a beat of tension, he pointed up when he heard rushing water. 

“Hear that?” he said. “I buried it on a cliff near a waterfall. We’re getting close.”

Another stretch of silence filled the clearing. 

Eddie weighed Charlie’s words. When he was mollified enough, he lowered his gun away from you. At his command, Rick and Kevin kept you and your brother moving. 

Charlie glanced to his right side. He realized that you all were walking near the edge of a steep hill that careened downward. Taking in a breath to center himself, he turned to you.

“I love you, you know that?” he whispered.

Your brows furrowed. You opened your mouth to reply, but you found the look in his eyes suspicious. Like he was saying goodbye. 

That was when he swiftly turned. He snapped the heel of his hand into Kevin's throat and grabbed his gun while he was choking. Charlie shot him in the chest, then he clipped Rick in the shoulder. 

Just as Eddie began to raise his own weapon, Charlie met your look of shock with his own determination. 

He pushed you down the hill.

AN: I know, I know. Two cliffhangers in a row is cruel, but I promise we're getting to even more fun action and cathartic moments in Part 4! 😘

Next Time:

Russell called your name as he searched through the dense trees. Sunlight was beginning to filter through their leaves in dappled color on the trail. It gave him a better view ahead.

He stopped short when he saw a splatter of blood on the ground, painting the dirt and some dead leaves. A well of unease rose in his gut.

He headed toward the sound of running water, and he soon found another cliff. Just beyond it was a waterfall, and river below. Seeing no signs of life, he pulled back and continued to call your name, and all the while, pushing down his worry.

“Russell?!”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 4

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[diazsdimples]

Falling asleep on each other + Buddie

Hi and I'm so sorry this took many months to respond to I'm finally looking at these again sfkjhf

Inviting Eddie over for a movie night after one of the busiest shifts all year had been a bit of a mistake, in hindsight.

Buck had set out a vast array of snacks - from popcorn to some weird trail mix he'd never seen before - and had ordered takeout from Eddie's favourite Mexican joint up the road. He still had that inflatable mattress that Chimney had slept on during the lockdown, so he'd blown that up too and placed it at the foot of the couch, giving him and Eddie ample room to spread themselves out.

While he'd done this, Eddie had showered and changed into a pair of Buck's sweatpants and a hoodie. Something had clenched deep in Buck's chest at the sight of Eddie descending the stairs from the loft, hair damp and tousled, with Buck's favourite grey hoodie hanging loosely over his torso. He looked loose and relaxed, like the water had washed away all the tensions of the day, leaving behind nothing but warm, rosy skin and the smell of Buck's orange and vanilla body wash.

They'd only been dating a few weeks but it stoked a possessive fire deep in the pit of Buck's to see his boyfriend dressed in his clothing, smelling of his bodywash.

It was almost as if Eddie had been claimed as his.

Eddie crossed the kitchen and flopped himself onto the half-bed, half- couch (bouch?) and patted the empty space beside him.

"C'mere. I'm cold and I plan to use you as my own personal heater for the rest of the evening."

With a fond chuckle, Buck grabbed a bowl of popcorn and joined Eddie on the couch. He tucked a soft, minky blanket around Eddie, pulling it up over his chest and tucking it under his chin. He planted a kiss to Eddie's forehead and pulled back with a grin.

"Snug as a bug in a rug."

"That's such a weird saying," Eddie pointed out as he extracted his arms from beneath the blanket. He swiped a couple of pieces of popcorn and popped them in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "When are bugs ever in rugs?"

Buck shrugged. "When they're not vacuumed efficiently? It's just a saying."

"You're cute." Eddie tapped Buck's cheek. "What are we going to watch?"

After much deliberation, they settled on Deadpool. Christopher had mentioned wanting to see the newest film with some of his friends, and Eddie had agreed on the provision that he watched the film first and made sure it was appropriate.

"Holy shit, there is absolutely no way I'm letting Christopher watch that," Eddie said 2 hours later, completely gobsmacked.

Buck was beside himself with glee. "That was one of the best movies I've ever seen!" He grinned. "You're not gonna let Chris watch that?"

Somewhere along the lines, Eddie had listed over and was settled heavily against Buck's side. He shook his head in response, his nose brushing against the hollow of Buck's throat.

"Absolutely not. I've got half a mind to ask him why he thought he'd get away with it."

Buck pressed a kiss to Eddie's temple.

"He's a teenager, he's just testing the waters. We all did it."

They're silent for a moment. Buck's fingers carded gently through Eddie's hair, stroking soothingly.

"We could watch the sequel? I know it's on Disney+ somewhere"

Eddie hummed softly and shifted in Buck's arms, resting his head against Buck's chest. His eyes were drooping sleepily, his face slack with relaxation.

"Not sure I can keep my eyes open long enough," he admitted.

Buck smiled down at him fondly. He'd known from the moment Eddie had climbed down the stairs, freshly showered and dressed, that he wouldn't make it through the evening without falling asleep. Showers and fresh clothes were Eddie's kryptonite, much like a baby with their favourite blanket. Buck was honestly surprised he'd made it through the movie without falling asleep - though that would have been an impressive feat considering how action filled the film was. And Ryan Reynolds was too hot to miss a second of.

"That's okay, baby," he reassured, still stroking Eddie's hair. "We can just stay here and rest for a minute."

Eddie nuzzled further into Buck's chest and let out a small noise of contentment.

"Resting sounds good," he slurred sleepily, a gigantic yawn splitting his face in two. He smacked his lips and curled the blanket in his fist, both hands tucked under his chin now. Sleepy, squishy, snuggly Eddie was Buck's absolute favourite and he wanted nothing more than curl around him and snarl at anything that tried to touch him.

Buck gently shifted them down the couch so they were stretched out, half on the couch and half on the blowup mattress. He adjusted the blanket so it was laying over top of both of them and went back to his ministrations, stroking Eddie's hair with one hand and tracing feather-light touches over his back with the other.

Slowly but surely, Eddie's breathing began to deepen and even out. His jaw slackened and Buck slowly began to notice a warm, damp patch blooming across his shirt. Despite his vehement denial, Eddie was a drooler.

"Sleep well, sweetheart," Buck whispered into Eddie's hair. He wasn't sure if his boyfriend was awake enough to hear it, but he didn't mind.

Buck felt himself begin to sink further into the cushions as Eddie's breathing lulled him into a state of deep relaxation. He hadn't ever been able to fall asleep easily with other people but there was something about Eddie that made him feel instantly at peace.

Maybe it was the way they'd known each other for years, or the way Eddie's presence was like a balm over any of Buck's problems, making them melt into the background at the mere glimpse of his smile.

Eddie was safety, and Buck's body knew that as he slowly began to drift off himself, soothed by his boyfriend's soft breaths.

[cal-writes]

life is currently dragging me across the road and keeping me from my hobbies but ive been feeling a little inspired for the zolu conflict story. i might slowly be figuring out an actual plot. who knows when it'll surface but i need to serotonin so :P enjoy

-

"Zoro-ya." Law sounds maginally surprised, a little hitched breath as he says it and Nami rolls her eyes at his poor attempt to seem nonchalant. "Bartolomeo said you weren't avaliable. I figured only injury would keep you from your duties." He asks without posing a question. Nami tenses on reflext and Chopper next to her starts to nervously shift his weight from one foot to the other.

Zoro's spine is rod straight with tension since they arrived at the meeting. His arms flex briefly, crossed over his chest as they are. "Not my duties anymore." He says simply. "Excuse me." With a look off into the crowd and a nod he leaves them standing alone with Law.

Law looks after him with a deep frown before he turns back towards Nami and Chopper. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asks with an undertone she doesn't appreciate in the slightest. She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

Before she can tell him off, Chopper starts wailing. "It's so horrible Traffy." He says, clutching the man's knees with teary eyes before Nami can stop him. "Luffy said Zoro's not the first mate." Law looks down at him, eyes covered by the brim of his hat. "It's been horrible."

"Chopper." Nami hisses at him, grabbing him by the back of his shirt. "This is crew only business." She tells him, all too aware of Law's attention. Chopper clamps his hands over his mouth with an apologetic noise and Nami sighs.

"What happened?" Law asks casually, watching them idly with his hands in the pockets of his hideous jeans.

Nami flicks a strand of her fringe to the side, letting go of Chopper and glancing around. The crowd around them is rowdy as to be expected. She hears Luffy somewhere in the distance shouting something about food, Kidd screams back at him. Franky and the rest of their crew have scattered quickly, mingling with the other crews. Somewhere behind Law she sees Cavendish kiss Robin's knuckles and Sanji getting annoyed about it. Zoro has disappeared among the chaos already. Nobody around them seems to pay close attention to their conversation or have heard Choppers outburst, which she is glad for. It could be fatal for them to appear weak in front of the alliance.

Law lifts an eyebrow when she takes to long to answer so she puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head. "They just had an argument and are being stupid. Nothing to be concerned about." She tells him exasperatedly.

"I've never seen them argue like this." Chopper says meakly, tugging at her pant leg and Nami resists the urge to groan.

She plasters on a smile. "I have. Don't worry. They'll punch each other about it and go back to normal like nothing ever happened before you know it." She says, putting her hand on Chopper's head. He doesn't look terribly convinced.

"How long has this argument been going on?" Law asks Chopper pointedly.

"Over a month!" Chopper tells him and Nami leans down towards him.

She points towards Robin. "I think Robin asked for you." She says, catching Robin's eye as she points at her. There is a brief miniscule frown on her brow before she schools her expression and waves at them.

"Oh, I didn't hear. Be right there! See you later, Traffy." Chopper says quickly, dashing off.

When Nami straightens up again, Law is looking at her thoughtfully. She glares at him. "What?"

Law shrugs, feigning innocence. "Just curious. Can't I inquire about my allies?" He says and her glare intensifies.

"If you try to use this in any way I will make you regret it." She promises.

Law appears unfazed. "I would never." He tells her unconvincingly.

[paddymoonstruck]

DEAR READER | C.L 16 (FOUR)

Pairings: Charles Leclerc X Intern!OC

Warnings: Google translated French, degrading headline, people who don’t mind their own business

Note: There’s a reason I’m dragging the fuck out of this story. It’s gonna be worth it, I promise !!!!

❝Dear reader,

If it feels like a trap, you’re

already in one ❞

THE BRILLIANT ILLUMINATED ELEVATOR cradled through the rapidly infectious tension in Natalia’s bloodstream. The gap between her and the equally as anxious Monegasque caused the ongoing brawl in their heads to amplify. She glanced down at the carpeted flooring, casually shifting her gaze to the shuffling feet of her company.

She let her thoughts wonder somewhere else, opting to think about the disastrous path they had to conquer in order to acquire the tranquility they have at the moment. Although, her trembling hands and the intensive battering of her chest generated the thought that perhaps road raging in Charles’ Ferrari to avoid the prying eyes of the general public provided a greater deal of enjoyment than this.

“I was thinking,” Charles spoke, moistening his drought lips. “Since it’s your first time here in Netherlands, I’d like you to try authentic Dutch dishes from the restaurant the team took me to last year.”

Natalia nodded, half of her mind floating into a dreamless space. “That sound great,” She faced him, hoping to defy the rising tide of her anxiety. “I honestly didn’t know anything about Dutch culture until I did a quick research about their food.”

Charles didn’t contain his smile, finally looking at the brunette. His gaze journeyed to her luscious naturally straight chestnut locks, previously tied into a neat ponytail but was now released from the gathered style, falling graciously passed her shoulders.

He snapped back into his regular self as he reached the line of her eyes. Immediately saving himself as he followed up on her statement. “Oh? And what did you find?”

Charles despised the way she’d tuck her bottom lip in her every time she needed a second to gather her thoughts. Couldn’t she just think like a normal person?

“Apparently, there’s this food called Profferjes?” She struggled pronouncing the supposed name given to the delicacy she was referring to.

Charles’ face brightened in amusement at her confused appearance but he nevertheless, nodded, having an idea of what she was talking about.

“The mini pancakes?”

Rhapsody laved across her once perplexed expression, pointing a finger at his direction before confirming his guess.

“Yes! That one— but I think they only serve them in the morning,” She sighed, eyes lingering at Charles. A sudden concept bubbled in her mind, showing in her face as a small simper.

The judgement was also beginning to bloom on Charles’ face as he took note of the naught sparkle in Natalia’s orbs.

“Unless— you know—” She drawled her words, making the smile on the receiver of her antics widen. “Charles Leclerc were to call in—”

He disintegrated into a pile of frenzy at that. Clutching his stomach as his laughter, joined in by Natalia’s own, bounced uncontrollably against the four walls of the enclosed space.

“I’m not sure they’d do their beloved Max Verstappen’s rival a favor.” He acknowledged.

“Oh—right.” Natalia had completely forgotten that Max was Dutch. She knew Charles meant it as a joke but the harsh reality seemed to have overtaken its intended merits.

Then again, she was quick to dispel the impending depressive state. “You know, according to my research, Dutch people are very friendly even if they like speak their mind . . .”

An appreciative hum sounded at the back of Charles’ throat, thankful for her efforts of comfort and the ding of the elevator that indicated their arrival to his floor.

In an unconscious move, he reached for Natalia’s hand, grasping it gently in his. To which the latter responded by gawking at him while they both stalked through the nicely lit corridor.

Charles’ room was two doors away from the very last one, and when they arrived, he tapped in his key card, never seeming to have the intention of releasing the chilling palm that rested in his hold.

As the door opened, along with the grating creak of the door was the heightening of Natalia’s senses. The fresh scent of lavender infiltrated the previous musing scouring at her wits.

She inhaled the saving grace of her sanity, finding the soothing aroma also matched the overall aesthetic of his room.

The fuzzy brown carpet at the center of the room adorned the flooring, to which an oval glass coffee table was placed

“Sit wherever you want,” He said, freeing her hand. “Make yourself feel comfortable.”

As he started to walk away, Natalia bent down balancing her weight with her hand on the doorframe as she untied the laces of her boots.

Charles turned to her, hearing the sudden rustling. “You don’t have to take your shoes off,”

She immediately halted her actions, eyebrows wrinkled at the absurdity of all that. “There’s no way I’m stepping my shoes on a carpet,”

The crease in her eyebrows worsen at that thought of her mother. She could almost see the utter disgust on her face when she finds out Europeans don’t particularly care for what she called “unknown bacteria” spreading through their home.

She set her boots aside, plopping on the pearl colored seating. “My mom would’ve strangled you if she heard you say that,”

Her remark made Charles chuckle, shaking his head on his way to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Depends.” She thought, reaching for a magazine on the coffee table. “What are you having?”

Natalia heard a series of cabinet creaking followed by clinks of what she assumed was glass.

“Well, of you’re craving something sweet, I have orange juice and iced tea,” He replied, peaking his head on the doorframe.

Charles took in the sight of Natalia’s wandering eyes on his apartment, ignoring the sudden pang of nervousness creeping up on him.

The curious girl whipped her head towards his waiting figure, lips pursing with a uncaring shrug. “I’m good with that. But if you want to drink something. . . stronger, I wouldn’t judge.”

She watched the chuckle bloom out of Charles’ relaxed features, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

While he was arranging beverages, Natalia reviewed what he had observed from his apartment.

Firstly, she found it surprising that he owned a living space in this country. Him always hopping on a jet to different countries every week, defeats the purpose of buying one. It didn’t look like he used it often either.

It had one of those minimal modern designs. Like the ones she’d see whenever she was at Summit Furniture, a furniture store she frequented at in Monaco. She currently sat on a white polyester loveseat with tapered rosewood legs that angled outwards. It all seemed like they’ve just been bought yesterday. No scratches on the wooden legs nor flaws in the fabric seating. Same goes for the rest of his furniture that she had seen so far.

The television looked like it had yet to serve its purpose and the tables be marked with any stain or evidences of usage.

Her deep observation caused a barricading and tension within her sense. The unbelievable tidiness and perfection of her surroundings made her more conscious of her actions.

“Here we are!” Charles’ unforeseen appearance rattled her core, prompting her to sit up straighter. He had brought a tray of various drinks.

Natalia eyed the colorful liquids in different types of glasses. Some in one in a high ball, champagne and cocktail glass. Beside those were a bottle of Heineken and Jenever.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trapping the laughter threatening to pull through, settling for a supportive nod.

“I’m guessing this is the orange juice?” She plucked the high ball glass from the tray, a teasing smile adorning her face.

“Yes, it is,” Charles took out his phone, the unwavering nerves still present in his veins. “I know I said I’ll order for you, but here’s the menu, you might see something you like—”

She raised his hands, shaking her head. “Trust me, the only food I’m sure are gonna be are Stroopwafel and those ball shaped snack I ate at the paddock. Besides, I’m not picky with food, I’ll swallow anything you give me.”

Charles’ thumbs stopped their typing, his lips thinning at the intrusive thought in his head.

Anything, huh?

“You’re disgusting—”

“I didn’t say—”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to! It’s written all over your face!” Natalia growled, motioning to the idiotic smirk hanging of his face across her.

“Think what you want,” Charles chimed, resuming his attention to his device. “That’s what I’m doing anyway hmpf—”

A soft object suddenly collided at his face, laughing as he realized that Natalia had thrown a pillow at him.

He removes it from obstructing his view, glancing up at the glowering figure in front of him, now bringing her lips close to the tall glass of juice.

“Give the phone. . .” She said, extending her arm forwards for Charles to pass her the device.

He hands it to her, inclining his body towards her. “I personally love Hachee, it’s meat with mash potatoes and gravy—”

“Frog legs!”

Charles stopped talking, staring stupidly at her exclamation. A wide smile plastered on her face as she turned the phone towards him and pointed to the certain dish.

“You eat frogs?” Charles didn’t mean for it to sound condescending, but the overpowering shock at this discovery halted all sense of thinking.

“Yeah? And?” At her defensive tone, Charles quickly held his hands up, waving them at her.

“No! That’s not what I mean!” He scratched the back of his head, hoping to ward away the embarrassment of his mistake. “I-I just mean, you’re the first girl I’ve met who’s actually excited to eating frogs,”

Natalia raised an eyebrow at Charles. “That can’t be true, frogs are eaten a lot in Manaco,”

“Doesn’t mean everybody likes them,” Charles remarked, taking the bottle opener from the table before twisting it on a Heineken beer.

Natalia watched him take a sip, crossing her arms at his statement. “You mean to say— of all the Monegasque girls you’ve dated— not a single one ate frogs?”

Charles felt amusement trickling at his through as he spotted the doubt on her face. “Well, I did let them try it.” He restored. “But they either pretended to like it or just straight up told me, quite frankly that they’d rather eat dirt.”

Natalia lights up at that, bringing her hands together in an mirthful clap. “At least some were honest about it,”

Charles nodded, glancing up at her as he began to wonder wether or not he should consume more alcohol to gain the courage to ask her questions that may be deemed too personal. Threading lightly on the subject, he reached for the Daquiri, giving in to its undeniable seductive calling.

“Is it a common food in the Philippines?” He asked, eyes traveling to the curvature of her expression.

Natalia’s lips disconnected from the cold glass rim, licking away the numbness spreading through her mouth. “Not exactly all over the country, but in my province, we do eat it a lot,” A mirror of nostalgia passes by her eyes, slotting in the depths of her memories.

Charles observed as she spaced out, blankly staring at the wooden coffee table. Instead of snapping her out of her trans, he waited patiently for her to regain her train of thought.

Blinking rapidly, the fog of her brain slowly disappeared, a large intake of breath released from her lungs before she cleared her throat.

As she craned her neck back to the person she was talking to, her heart lurched at her throat at the intensity of his stare. His eyes were drowned in unbelievable intent, as if she’d disappear if he was to look away.

“Let’s play that game again,” He said, softly.

“What?”

“That game in the car. 20 questions,” He clarified, tilting his head at her, “I want to play it again.”

Dread filled her mind, mouth beginning to ache, along with the slight tremble of her voice. “Why?”

“We’re going to spend a lot of time together,” He pointed out. “I’ve know you for quite a while but I don’t know anything about you. . .”

“There’s nothing to know,” She huffed, eyebrows coming together in a pinch. “My life isn’t interesting in the slightest.”

Charles narrowed his eyes at her, careful not to overstep. “I’ll ask basic questions then,”

She scrunched her face up at him. “Like what?”

With his eyes on her, he shrugged. “How did you end up in Monaco?”

“That’s not—” She sighed, pulsing her palms into an alternating clench. Her hands came up to snatch the beer off the table, taking a large gulp of it.

This was not a good idea from the start but then again, she made no complaints about it either.

Setting the bottle down with a loud clank, she tuts at his waiting figure. “I applied for the scholarship grant, almost failed the final interview, found out I didn’t, and— lo and behold, I’m here.”

The vagueness of her answer made Charles roll his eyes. “You almost failed? Why?” He questioned.

Natalia frowned at him, wagging her finger up at his line of vision. “No—no, it’s my turn,”

Charles sighed, defeated, downing a shot of tequila as the former thought of her first question. “Who’s your favorite sibling?”

Taken aback, he smiled at her random choice of words. “I don’t have one,”

His answer was met by a judgmental glance. “Boo! Everybody has one. Come on!”

Hesitation reeled him in with the desire to end thos query immediately. So, with all the shame warped into a giant ball in his heart. Je all but murmured a name.

“Sorry, say that again?” He could practically feel the teasing smirk on her face as she neared her ear on his mouth.

His eyes fluttered close, amusement and annoyance dancing at his veins. “I said, Arthur—”

She laughed, finding his imminent torture to have soothe her pounding heart. “Don’t feel bad, it’s pretty obvious anyway,”

At that, Charles didn’t indulge in her usual provocative style. Instead, thwacking her back with another personal question.

“What do your parents to for a living?”

She coughed, the sharp taste of alcohol pricking at her throat as it violently drew back to her nose.

“Are you okay?” The concern etched visible at the lines of Charles’ face as he stood up to hand her a tissue. He sat next to her, plucking more out of the box as she attempted to stop the liquid pouring out from her nostrils.

She gratefully took the tissue from him, blowing her nose into it. She would’ve found it embarrassing as she heard the disgusting noise it made as she emptied her now stinging nose of the culprit if it weren’t for her spinning mind.

She wiped her jeans, trying to play it cool as she responded. “My parents— My mom was an accountant and my dad— he. . . used to trade oil.”

Charles peaked onto her face, wiping of the remnants of beer on her cheek. “What’s wrong with that?”

Natalia swallowed the painful block of her throat, hand coming up to where he had his on her face. “Nothing. . . I-it’s not their jobs. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask about my parents.”

“We—”

The loud ringing of a phone interrupted their conversation. Natalia felt the vibration in her bag before she realized it was hers.

This dispelled the heavy ambiance of the atmosphere, waking the occupants from their trance.

Oh shit, Natalia thought as she saw the caller’s name flash on her phone.

Nicolas Todt

As soon as she pressed the green button signifying her death, the device was gone, only to be taken by the tutting Monegasque beside her.

She immediate shuffled up, desperately trying to get the phone out of his grip. It was too late, however, as he stood up at the sound of his manager’s voice.

Deflating in defeat, Natalia hopelessly smothered her head on the soft cushion’s of the couch.

“Hello?”

“What are yo— Hello? Charles? Is that you?”

Natalia winced at the pure hostility in Nicolas’ tone. Even after figuring out that the taker of the call was indeed his well-loved client, it didn’t quell the scorching heat of his flaming outrage.

“Oui c'est moi. Quoi de neuf?” Yes, it’s me. What’s up?

In contrast to Charles’ collected attitude, Natalia could feel her insides churning slowly into a blob of mush. Her only wish was for Charles not to ruin this job for her was beggining to whither away with the his careless actions.

“Quoi de neuf?” What’s up? Nicolas echoed, his sharp scoff going through the phone’s speaker and stabbing Natalia directly in the deepest part of her chest.

“Vous n'avez pas vérifié votre téléphone?” He spat, as it were acid poured on his tongue.

At the word phone, Natalia’s head shot up from the condoling compressor of her resting place, panicking as she searched for her phone.

The cumulus fog accumulating her head, clouded the clarity of her thinking, making her forget that someone else had possessed the thing she was looking for.

Charles nodded along to the string of profanities Nicolas kept rambling through his ear, shifting her attention to the frightened girl on his couch. Her heightened vigilance evident as trembling her hands patted wildly along his furniture.

He aided her frantic movements with a soft brush of his hand on her cheek, tapping his thumb on her paled skin.

Natalia whipped her head around to face him, breathing out of sigh of relief as she followed his finger pointing to his phone.

Wasting no time, she snagged it off the table, nearly shoving it on Charles’ face when it demanded a passcode after failing the face recognition system.

Charles careened his head backwards to avoid the object barreling into his face.

Natalia waited, anxiously fiddling with the stitchings of her clothing, as the daunting atmosphere worsened every second that passed by.

She almost tore Charles’ entire arm from his body by the vast amount of force she exerted at him. Quickly tapping on Google app, her hands shook as they hovered over the keys, thoughts failing to conjure words she needed.

“Charles Leclerc girlfriend. . .” A whisper came next to her.

She gritted her teeth at the awful joke. Perhaps as knew it wasn’t an impossible headline. It dawned to her the severity of their offense as she typed his name on the search bar.

It appears that her groan of indignation was loud enough for Nicolas’ ears as Natalia heard his mocked version of it despite being on Charles’ space.

“Did you see it?” Nicolas queried, his tone unreadable.

Natalia turned the screen to Charles’ vision. And the idiot had the audacity to laugh.

Merely hacking into his balled fist, the presence of his teeth behind his lips irritated both Nicolas and Natalia.

In disgustingly big letters, the headline read:

Natalia swiped at the screen, ticking her brow in victory as the smile drained visibly off his face at what she had shown.

“Now, that’s not funny. . .”

You don’t say. . .” She gritted, padding a hand on her chest to feign shock.

Charles offered her an apologetic pat on the head of the sneering girl. The latter slapped his hand away, force firm but not enough to do any harm.

Natalia could hear the faint murmurs of Nicolas before his voice was amplified by Charles’ simple tap of the speaker phone.

“Listen, both of you,” He commended. “Gossip magazines aren’t exactly fond of what ever it is you’re doing.”

“I am so sorry—”

“You are not.” The dripping venom in his tone made Natalia flinch back, leaning away from the source of his voice as if he were to pop out of the screen. “I don’t know what you were both thinking but luckily social media loved your little rendezvous.”

Silence fell between the scolded individuals, eyes creeping up to see the other’s reaction. Like staring directly at a mirror, they alined body language that could only be read as confusion.

“So. . . That means?” Natalia trailed, leveling her vocals in light of steering clear of another possible volcanic eruption from Nicolas.

“It means. . .” Nicolas pressed, annoyance still present. “You have to continue your. . . what you call it?”

Natalia listen intently as Nicolas asked someone for the word he was searching for. “The what? Oh— yes that. . . Your situationship.”

“Ew no!” Natalia’s extreme protest was met with sheer bewilderment on Charles’ part, struggling to process the meaning of the foreign term.

“What is that? What’s a situationship?”

At his question, Natalia stirred back to him, giving him a look of disbelief. Nicolas on the other hand simply clicked his tongue, sighing brfore supplying the answer to his client.

“They’re two people who have no sense of direction regarding their relationship.” He explained, and though he cannot see the expression on Charles’ face, he knew very well what it was.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Natalia’s jaw slackened, palm slapping on his forehead. And although she knew Nicolas’ explanation of situationship was a fairly watered down version of the real deal, she didn’t have the strength to further Charles’ knowledge on the subject.

Nicolas ignored his question. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. I advise you to not step out of that building until daylight.”

Natalia’s eyes widened at that. “What? You want me to stay here?”

“Certainly.” He concluded.

Sensation drained completely from her body. The electric feeling of lacking blood, slowly spread in an infectious manner. With it, the chill of reality came to set in.

“I’ve already informed Toto of the situation.”

As if it wasn’t enough, after hearing that, the lavender scent of the atmosphere that was thought to have the a calming effect seemed impotent, in comparison to the vigorous hold this ghastly chain of anxiety had on her.

Of all the things she feared, the idea of disappointing Toto Wolff and Susie Wolff was an absolute nightmare. How could she face the people who gave her the opportunity of a life time if she were to do dim-witted things like this?

In the midst of her internal battle, her head stirred to the cause of her misbehavior. He just so happened to be looking at her as well.

Unlike the pointed glare she blatantly jabbed into his face, Charles offered her a worried glance that could bloom flowers on his pretty little head.

Despite her scornful demeanor, she couldn’t shake away the guilt of being in this position. She was aware that it wasn’t Charles’ fault alone but perhaps putting all the blame in him would ease her desire to simply jump on a boat and abandon everything she ever dreamed in her life.

Natalia recoiled at the sudden warmth on her arm. Look towards the source, she relaxed at the sight of Charles’ hand on her skin.

He had ended the call, sitting back down on his previous place. “How do you want to do this?”

Natalia heaved a heavy sigh, afraid that the force might collapse her lungs. “I honestly can’t think of anything else but being fired. . .”

Charles took her hand in a grip that he could only hope held the comfort he was trying to induce. “You won’t. I’m the reason you’re here. I’ll talk to them.”

“You better. . .” She huffed, shoving a strong palm at his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look my classmates in the eye when I have to go back to University, though.”

“When do you have to go back?” He asked.

“In three days. We have to submit a report every two weeks regarding our performance.” She expounded, thinking about the sour look on her headmaster’s face at the sight of his achingly popular student walking in her office.

“Well, in that case, you can say that you helped me increase my fanbase by 2% in just three weeks.” Charles tried to provide a consolation.

Natalia hummed, lips curling as she was reminded of that information. “You make it sound like I’m a one-man team. . .” She shook her head.

She was sure that Charles’ PR team wouldn’t appreciate her taking all the credit for the improvements in the Ferrari driver’s personal accounts.

“Probably not. But most of it was your idea.”

It was intended to aid the boisterous voices crowding the little space left in her brain that wasn’t consumed by the nauseating noise of failure but alas proved to be ineffective as she abruptly stood up and took her phone from Charles’ lap.

Tapping the number she knew would cover the gaping hole of fear continuously scraping at her brain.

She watched as her phone started ringing, the name of her partner in crime flashing on the screen.

Lissie

[zmediaoutlet]

Sam wants to read but can't concentrate. He tries to eat but his stomach's a shriveled ball and it's pointless. He thinks about the decanter in the library but—that's not fair, and wouldn't work, and would just cause more problems besides.

He goes for a run. A short one, four miles. He concentrates on the rhythmic thud of his sneakers on the dirt roads out here among the farms and watches the bob of the pocket flashlight carving a pool out of the night. Thinks about that slice of light, curving strange midair and allowing one universe to glance sidelong into another, and in that other universe of dust and piled bone and fallen angels there might be—there's a chance at least that the inevitable wasn't inevitable after all—and if there's a chance, shouldn't they—?

Not tired exactly after but his mood's different, at least. After midnight; he dims the kitchen and library and main corridor lights. Presses open the door to Jack's room, quiet as he can, and the kid's curled on his side under the blankets. Hopefully sleeping. Hopefully didn't hear any of the argument, earlier.

He spends some time under the shower. Soaks the back of his neck and shoulders, tries to get tension to bleed out. Even the firehose pressure in here can't quite manage that but at least it's—better. He dries off and wraps a towel around his hips and goes through the dark corridors to his room, and—Dean's there, standing at the sink, brushing his teeth. Sam stands with his hand on the doorknob and is, for a second, entirely surprised.

"You gonna come in, or not," Dean says, garbled through foam. Sam rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind himself. A lamp on by the bed. At some point since they argued Dean's lost his jacket and boots; his gun's laid on Sam's desk, and one of their silver knives, and a scrap of paper. Sam picks it up while Dean's rinsing his mouth. James Turner, it says, and a phone number. "Missouri's son," Dean says, leaning on his elbows on the sink. He spits. "Patience's dad. Disowned her, I guess, but I figure—"

He shakes his head, shrugs. Runs more water, splashing his face, and then hangs there dripping. His back's a low curve, his head hanging heavy. Sam watches him drip. The shape of his shoulders. Sam wants to touch the small of his back and instead he turns and goes to his chest of drawers, finds pajama pants, a washed-to-softness shirt. "Jody said Patience is a good kid," Sam says. "She'll be all right."

"Save us from good kids," Dean mutters.

Sam shoves his hair back from his face, says, "Dean—" but when he turns Dean's already shaking his head, eyes closed, and Dean says, "I didn't—"

Didn't what? Dean licks his lips and then bites them very tightly between his teeth. There are a few things Sam could think to say but he waits, hands on his hips. A deep breath, so slow and deliberate it might have cost an organ or two, and Dean drags his hand over his face, folds his arms over his chest. Opens his eyes finally and looks somewhere not at Sam but through his torso, maybe.

"I don't got the juice for a knock-down drag-out," he says. "It's been a long…" He shakes his head, swallows. The hollows of him dark-pooled and his lips tight over something miserable and his eyes, when he finally does glance up and meet Sam's, this raw long shadow of grief that stretches back past today and back to that carved slice of impossible light, and maybe back past that to—any number of things, really. Take your pick. "I wanna go to sleep."

It's not an apology, nor a concession. Just as well—Sam's not ready for either. But he knows that exhaustion that starts somewhere in the marrow and spreads through the whole body. Anger the only thing that pushes it back and when the anger's done it just seeps through, insidious, faster. He bites the inside of his cheek and lifts a shoulder. "So sleep," he says.

He brushes his teeth, too. Drinks a glass of water. In the mirror he watches Dean strip mechanically out of his overshirt and unbuckle his belt and peel out of his jeans. He sits on the edge of the bed and rubs his hands over his face again, long repetitive strokes like maybe he'd open his eyes after and find the world different. If only.

Sam tugs back the blanket on his side and says, hey, and Dean sniffs and lifts up enough that the covers can get pulled down. Then Sam gets into the bed, and says, "If you're gonna stay, stay," and it comes out harsher than he meant it to but it gets Dean to lie down at least, on his side with his back to the lamp. His head on the other pillow and his shoulders pulled high.

Sam sighs. Twists to turn off the lamp. In the dark he pulls the blanket up over both of them and lies on his side, too, a few inches between their bodies but not enough space that he can't feel Dean's heat. They haven't slept in the same bed since Jack—just, since Jack. He reaches out and touches the middle of Dean's back. Warm, and solid. Dean's ribs expanding on his breath. Sam curls an arm under his head, under his pillow. Dean's shirt smells like burnt things. Annoying how comforting that is. His hand on Dean's back curls into a fist, knuckles pressing into Dean's spine, and Dean makes this soft noise, and Sam's going to sleep better than he's slept in weeks. That's annoying, too. He closes his eyes and sinks into it, listening as his brother does the same.

[dollfaceksj]

GIRL THE WAY ID BE THROWING UP IF I GOT THAT MESSAGE 😭😭 LIKE WDYM "COME OUT"?? no hello how are you jus straight to the point

well let’s see what tae has to say!

i’ve been brainstorming this lore since like the 2nd or 3rd drabble. it’s rlly sad guys. i just love angst too much. you have been WARNED. i took out some of it bc to me it was a little too much lmao. a little too dark. the too dark stuff might come back later. its just details. so yeah. i took out a bit of the sadness but its still sad. uve been warned.

going to sleep right after this so scream at me all u want. 😘

taste of a poison paradise | jjk (m) #18

masterlist

<- previous ; next ->

‘Come out’

COME OUT

worry is already bubbling up the back of your throat

you turn to jungkook. “what the fuck do i do?”

“calm down,” he whispers, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “pretend you’re asleep.”

you shake your head. “that’s gonna make it more obvious. what if he comes all the way here and continues to try and wake us up and then he’ll see the state of this damn tent when we open up?” you say while sliding on your shoes

jungkook clicks his tongue as he contemplates. “alright, whatever you do, just don’t admit, alright? we’re not exactly in an area where we have hospitals and stuff.”

you nod to what he’s saying but his last words snap you out of it

???

your heart is already starting to beat quicker than it should

“hospital??? why a hospital??? you think he’s gonna get violent?”

he shakes his head. “i’m not explicitly saying that, i’m just saying someone could get hurt whether that’s through a fight or by accident. like he could get angry and trip or hit something with his fist. we don’t exactly have anything here to take care of him.”

you blink at him for a few moments as you start tugging your pants back up and try to fix your hair

he’s so?? calm about that

he knows tae would be angry and try to fight him but he’s calm to keep you calm

:(

he adds, “just calm down, okay? i’ll be near if you need me.”

you shake your head. “no, you need to stay far away from me when i’m talking to taehyung.” you start to unzip the tent and glance back at him

just in time to watch him yank his condom off

ugh gross

you groan, “what are you going to do with that thing!!!”

“i don’t know!!! what am i supposed to do????”

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

at least he’s funny 😭😭

“y/n,” he calls out to you before you exit the tent

you turn to look at him over your shoulder

“just breathe.”

the words are so insignificant

but in this moment

they mean so much

you nod your head. you slowly crawl out and look around, the only thing that has some light is the campfire but if you squint

you see tae’s silhouette by the campfire

you take a deep breath

you can do this

you can do this.

you slowly walk up to him, watching as his figure becomes bigger and bigger until he looks up at you

“hey,” you quietly say

your hands are sweating like fucking crazy

“hey.” he rises to his feet. “come,” he says as he starts walking away from the campfire

and

away from civilians…..

where is he taking you??

why are you so nervous

just calm down

don’t get it wrong though

you’re not scared of tae, never will be

on the contrary actually he’s your home

but the tension is weird.

you quietly follow him

“where are we going?” you quietly ask

the crunching of the branches underneath your feet and the sounds of beetles making noise fill up your ears

he replies, “somewhere private, obviously.”

what the hell

what the HELL?

what’s up with him

WHAT IS GOING ON

everyone’s asleep? why would u need privacy

now you’re starting to get scared

not of him but of what he has to say

fuck

your heart is beating out of control

just breathe. breathe. jungkook said to breathe.

tae stops near the open road, leaning against a tree

you look at him confused

you start, “sooo… what did you want to talk about?”

he crosses his arms.

as if you’re supposed to know

you frown

huh???

what is going on?

fuck

have you and jungkook been too obvious after all?

you manage to collect yourself and ask, “what?”

he pinches his brows together. “jungkook.”

heart

freefalls to your feet

oh shit

oh no

oh no

“what about him?” you try to sound casual

he tilts his head to the side. “did you forget? i was going to tell you about him.”

?

wait

oh shit

oh he’s talking about

jungkook being sensitive???? going through a lot??

OH PHEWWWWW

Holy shit

thought it was about to be your last day on earth

“oh. oh!” you snap out of your thoughts. “yeah, right. right. what’s going on?”

taehyung takes a deep breath as he starts talking about jungkook

“listen. jungkook has a lot of issues and emotional baggage that you need to take into consideration when you say certain stuff to him.”

hm?

what…

this sounds..

pretty dark?

“what do you mean?”

he sighs and rubs his eyes. “i mean that you’re a bit harsh on him sometimes. jungkook grew up in a messy household. shitty dad. busy mom.”

oh right

his mother is a sensitive topic

you say, “okay, that’s sad but a lot of people grow up in broken homes.”

he nods. “you’re right but a lot of people react differently to trauma.”

ohhh kay

we getting into trauma territory ???

“and how does he react?”

“after witnessing his parents arguing and in physical altercations, jungkook decided that romance was nothing for him because he associates marriage and love with what he saw growing up.”

you blink at him.

oh

that’s actually kinda sad

you wonder how young jk was during these things :(

poor guy

“so, how’s his relationship with his parents now? does he still talk to his mom?”

he shakes his head. “his mother passed away. dad didn’t even show up to the funeral. made 15 year old jungkook go through it all on his own.”

(backstory for that is even sadder so i took it out.. might come later)

if you’ve ever felt like your heart imploded within your ribs

it was in this exact moment

the birthflower tattoo :(

you glance at the ground. “what about his dad?”

“his piece of shit dad only throws money at him. he’s rich so he thinks pumping jungkook’s bank account full of money is a good way of raising him.”

oh

that’s why

“oh. that’s why he always seems to have money but is never working a job…” you think out loud

taehyung nods his head at your epiphany

you continue, “and always wearing seemingly expensive clothes. his sneakers, the calvin klein boxers… hm.” you nod your head

he nods again but slowly stops. “what?”

???

“what?” you echo

“how do you know what kind of boxers he wears?”

fuck

oh no

you blink quickly. “what?”

he stares you down head-on. “you just said he wears calvin klein. how do you know that? what situation would you need to be in in order to know that?”

fuck

oh god

just calm down

jungkook said to stay calm and breathe

don’t admit

“tae, i share a tent with him. you think he shyly hides his shit away from me when he takes clothes out of his bag? he doesn’t really care.”

wow

you really just talked shit and it worked

cause tae’s frown subsides

“oh okay.” he rubs his chin. “well, now you know why jungkook is looking for affection anywhere he can get it because he doesn’t really care for romance.”

“oh,” you manage to say, a bit choked up. because that’s. really sad.

ugh

“he was once head over heels for a girl. it’s like she made him forget about everything.”

oh

made him forget about everything

“he swears she cheated on him but she’s adamant on the fact that they were never really together. it also added onto why jungkook doesn’t get romantically involved with people. he genuinely thinks it’s nothing for him.”

so jungkook is convinced that love just isn’t for him

:(

but then he goes out and disguises his need for love and affection as sex and quick fucks

man

:(

you do actually feel guilty about calling him a fuckboy now

like

he’s still a fuckboy

but :( u should stop saying it to his face :(

and now knowing about his mom :(

you wonder what happened…

like you really don’t need to know that

knowing she’s dead is enough

but knowing how she died makes it easier for you to talk about certain topics around jungkook

but

that’s too dark for now

however

thinking about young jungkook

associating something as beautiful as love

with something as horrible as a broken home

hm

hm?

what’s that?

oh

you’re melting

your hard shell is cracking

you just

want to hold him now :(

give him the affection he so desperately desires :(

but should you feed into it?

clearly it’s not healthy for him

you know if you’ll keep sneaking around with jungkook

he might get attached

and you don’t like jungkook like that

so you’d have to break his heart

again

:(

this is so messy

you need to call it quits with jungkook while you still can

“so just,” he sighs quietly, “i know he’s a bit of a player but he just craves affection. and seeing you two constantly bickering and being mean to each other, i just want y’all to get along. maybe even form the same type of bond you and i have. he should get affection in other ways, not just through sex, you know? you could be like,” he says as he thinks for a moment, “his big sister.”

oh for fucks sake.

this just

you’d rather tae find out about you and jungkook than assume y’all have a sibling-like bond 😭😭😭

like yeah

you and tae are very sibling like

because of tae’s responsibility to you

but if he starts thinking you and jungkook are just *gag* SIBLINGS *gag*

oh this is sickening

you slowly nod your head to what he’s saying but you wish you never heard any of it

you mumble, “let’s go back, we have to get up early.”

“okay. anything else you wanna tell me now that we have all the privacy in the world?” he says in a joking tone

you shake your head. “no, not really.”

he pauses. “really?”

???

“what?” you say

he frowns at you. “i give you the opportunity to come clean right now and you don’t?”

holy shit

what the fuck

oh shit

does he know??? he knows??????

oh no

does he actually think something is going on between you and jungkook?

fuck FUCK

he crosses his arms as he sternly stares you down.

don’t admit

you finally say, “what are you talking about?”

“i’m talking about you and yoongi.”

oh

oh right

oh yoongi…

yeah…. yoongi

you quietly sigh. “i was planning on telling you, i really was. but i don’t know, stuff just kept getting in the way.”

he nods in understanding and pulls you in for a big hug. “it’s okay. i know you’re in good hands.”

you huff. “it’s nothing serious, tae.”

he looks down at you in his arms. “i don’t like that.”

“taehyung, i’m a grown woman,” you say as you roll your eyes

“i know but i don’t wanna be the bearer of bad news back home, okay? just be careful.”

more tae & reader lore coming soon

what is he even saying…

bad news

a broken heart?

a pregnant belly?

a bad academic year?

none of those things are going to happen. trust

you roll your eyes. “nothing bad is going to happen.”

“anything could happen, y/n.” he presses a kiss to the top of your head before releasing you. “now, let’s go back.”

“okay.”

he leads you back to the camping site and walks you to your tent. “goodnight.” he rubs your shoulder before heading back to his tent

and now

you have

to face

him.

you take a deep breath as you crawl back into the tent, jungkook’s back is turned to you

is he asleep?

you’re not sure

you slowly crawl back to your space after zipping the tent back up

“what did he want to talk about?”

jungkook’s voice makes you flinch

he’s awake

“oh,” you blink at his back. “yoongi. he wanted to talk about yoongi.”

lie after lie after lie after lie after lie

he turns onto his back and glances at you, neither of you can see much anyway

“do you want to continue?”

you shake your head. “no, not really. it kind of,” you say as you recall everything taehyung just told you. “ruined my mood.”

“okay.” he slowly crawls over your body and out the tent

“what are you doin–”

“getting rid of the evidence, duh.”

evidence????

oh

the damn condom😭😭😭😭

he’s so fucking annoying

but

you kinda want to hold him now. :(

would he be weirded out

if you

cuddled him?

he probably never cuddles any of his little hookups

but

aren’t you different?

by the time jungkook has returned

you’ve crawled back into his sleeping bag

he doesn’t say anything about it as he crawls in with you

he turns his back to you and seemingly tries to go to sleep

you slowly scoot closer

and closer

and closer

until you’re pressed up against him.

“you’re really close, y/n.”

“i know, i’m sorry. i just,” you whisper, “don’t feel so good.”

he doesn’t say anything about it

just like he doesn’t say anything when you wrap your arm around his waist

and press your face into the back of his neck

and place your hand on his chest

the soft thumping of his heart against your hand

you just want him to feel loved :(

“you’re so warm,” you whisper as you close your eyes

for someone who tries to act cold… he’s really warm

so warm

“i could just,” you continue, “lie next to you for the rest of my life.”

hm

now that you think about it

there’s wordplay

cause this could mean two different things

literally lying next to each other, in a bed or whatever

but lying next to him, lying about sneaking around, lying about wanting each other

cause it seems like you’ll be lying about it for the rest of your life at this rate

however

he doesn’t say anything yet again

and it allows you to shut the fuck up

and try to fall asleep

and you do

you’re dozing off

cause you don’t remember him saying these next few words

“i could too.”

to be continued

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[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 4

Ao3 | 2.7k words | Darlin's POV

Home sweet home. Scrambled eggs, new phones, and unchanged offices.

TW: Conflict, arguments, mentions of abuse and manipulation, non-consensual tattooing.

You lost time somewhere along the stretch of road between the 10-19 and David’s uncomfortably plush suburban house. If you focused really hard, you could piece together where you’d been, the moments you’d brushed up against others. David’s spouse did surprise you a bit. Small. Sweet. Smiling. Somehow, that nickname sounded so familiar in their mouth. You wanted to pull the strings of it out from between their teeth. 

Instead, you went to bed. You didn’t stop at the adjoining guest bathroom, you didn’t shuck off the outer layers of clothes that were sticking to you with sweat in the balmy, heated house, you didn’t even untie your boots.

The guest room was lowly lit by a single, shaded lamp on the bedside table. A soft, lavender bedspread was laid out over the biggest bed you’d ever seen. There was a shelf on one wall full of decorative, leather bound books and knick-knacks you had no context for. A piece of dried driftwood. A mug advertising a local coffee shop. A half-burnt scented candle, vanilla sugar. You rubbed your hands over your face, your fingers catching over your scar-curled lip, trying to scrub away the exhaustion. 

You wanted nothing more than to strip out of your uncomfortable, DFD clothes and climb under those pretty lavender sheets and never emerge. 

But you were dirty. You still had dried blood and sweat everywhere. Your boots were laced so tightly you couldn’t kick them off, and you weren’t sure you could bend reliably at the moment. The idea of trying to undress was enough to make you shiver. Not to mention the fact that you might have to run in the middle of the night. You didn’t want to have to redress before you did. 

In the end, you sat heavily in the velveteen arm chair that was set next to the bed. You kept your boots on the ground, dusting off mud and blood on the hardwood floors. You had barely rested your head back against the back of the chair when you fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep. 

The moment something shifted in the house you jolted awake. Even this exhausted and bogged down by your injuries, you were a light sleeper. Quinn used to wake you in the middle of the night, drag you out to bars and hovels, to stranger’s houses and dingy basement apartments. 

Sometimes, you’d wake up with him on top of you, your arms pinned. He moved so fast or so quietly that he didn’t wake you. 

You scrunched up your brow to the memory of a tattoo needle carving through your skin, Quinn tutting at you for ruining his line when you startled awake. You scrubbed a finger over the raised, blown out word and tried to put that particular memory out of your mind.

Your legs were asleep, but you stood anyway, your ribs protesting as you forced yourself into a crouch. The door to the guest room creaked as you opened it. You held your breath. The shifting sounds deeper in the house didn’t let up. You hadn’t announced yourself. 

The door to the bedroom across from yours was ajar. The gentle light of the hallway fell on a sleeping form, bundled up in blankets on one side of the giant bed. You could see in the dents of the mussed sheets where David had lain, wrapped around them. 

You moved through the house silently, rolling your steps through your feet across the shiny, hardwood floors. Christ, this was the nicest place you’d stepped muddy boot in in literal years. You tucked your hands close to your body, rested your shaking palms against your thighs. You were afraid that, if you touched anything, you’d ruin it. 

David was in the kitchen, clinking away with some pots and pans as the coffee pot brewed. A knot of tension eased in your gut. He wasn’t here. He hadn’t found you. 

“On the table,” David pointed over his shoulder without looking at you. You turned slowly, your back stiff. There was a little white box next to a bag from Verizon on the Shaws’ quaint breakfast nook table. 

“Showing off your new toy?” You grunted. Your throat was hoarse and cracking. 

“Your new toy.” David replied. The coffee pot finished brewing. He poured two mugs, one left black, the other smothered in sugar. He held it out for you. “You need a phone.” 

“I have a phone.” You said. Your hand drifted to the pocket of your sweatpants. 

“You have a burner phone.” David said, his voice dangerously close to a laugh. He pulled a handful of ingredients from the fridge. “Like a drug dealer on Law and Order. You need something up to date.” You eyed it with suspicion. “I won’t take yours from you. Just… take that one, okay?” 

“So you can keep tabs on me?” You sipped at the coffee. It was perfect. How the fuck did he remember how you took your coffee? You didn’t think that David had ever given you a second thought. But he knew how you laced your boots and how much sugar you needed to make coffee drinkable and that you needed to hear he wouldn’t take your stupid burner to feel secure. 

“Kind of.” David shrugged. He cracked eight eggs into a bowl before whisking them together. A dash of garlic salt, some pepper, paprika. “I’m worried you’ll run again. I’m not trying to force you to stay here or anything, but… I’d feel better if I had a way to contact you if you decide to.” 

“So I’m not being held against my will in your guest room?” 

“No.” David sighed. “Although, if you were, pretty nice digs for a hostage.” 

“Hostage implies you intend to use me for leverage.” You grinned. “I’m not worth much as a bargaining chip.”

David looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes narrowed. He sliced through his scrambled eggs forcefully with his spatula. You were half convince that could be considered a deadly weapon in his hands. 

“I don’t like it when you say shit like that.” He grumbled. 

“What?” You laughed. 

“‘I’m not worth much.’” David growled. “That pisses me off.” 

You didn’t reply. Instead, you moved across the kitchen and snatched the phone from the table. You sat heavily and rested your head against the cool wood. You drifted while David cooked. Somehow, it was easier to sleep here, bent uncomfortably over the breakfast table, than in the secure, lockable bedroom on the delta wall of the house. You didn’t want to think too hard about the implications of that. 

You woke again when a plate was sat down in front of you. It was piled high with scrambled eggs and bacon, toast spread with soft butter and marmalade. Your stomach announced you loudly, and you ignored the smile that played across David’s lips. You hadn’t put it together before, but looking at him head on, the scar that cut through his lip was on the same side as yours. If you looked at each other head on, you were a mirror image. You wondered where his had come from. 

“What does your spouse do?” You asked around a mouthful of eggs, surprising yourself. David looked up from his own plate and eyed you suspiciously. He took a long swig of his coffee before nodding. 

“Copy editor.” He said simply. “For Vesta. Big company that just started up in town. Although I don’t think they’re even really sure what they do.” 

“Soulless corporate stooge.” You laughed softly. David cocked his head and shrugged. 

“They’re apprenticing as a tattoo artist.” He said, almost defensively. 

“Are they any good?” You asked. David met your eye as he pushed back in his chair and rolled up the hem of his  t-shirt. He twisted to angle his back to you, exposing a complex, beautiful, black and gray tattoo. You’d seen a few pieces like that, rings of eyes and wings spiraling towards a core in the dead center of David’s spine. It was American Traditional, thick, bold lines and stipple shading. The eyes and halos were dotted with highlights of white. 

“They said it was an angel.” David sighed. “I was expecting more choir robes and prayer hands but this is way better.” You nodded, fighting the urge to reach over the table and smooth your hand over his back, feel the healed ridges and test the line weight. It was cold out. The linework was most likely raised and itching like yours. 

“It’s good.” You huffed as David righted his shirt and resumed his breakfast. “I can’t believe they’re just an apprentice.” 

“They’ve been tattooing for years. They’re just doing it officially now.” He eyed you nervously for a moment before adding on; “You could ask them about some coverups.”

You looked away, a hand snapping up to scratch at the ‘Q’ on your cheek. Shame burned in your stomach, bitter and acidic. 

“Coverups for what?” You challenged. You wanted to hear him say it. He didn’t reply. 

You found out, while setting up your shiny new phone, that it was four-thirty in the morning, and this was a perfectly normal time for David to be up and moving. He dug out some of his own clothes from the back of his closet for you. Once upon a time, you and David had the same waist size. Now, he was thickened with healthy muscle, and you had barely been eating. You stole the lace out of one of David’s spare sneakers to cinch the waist of the jeans he gave you and tugged the oversized t-shirt and sweater over your head with only a small protest from your ribs. Across the chest that hung down too low on your chest, the worn logo for Max’s Rustic Pizza caught on your fingers as you brushed them down over it rhythmically. 

David stooped into his bedroom before leaving. You listened to his voice rumble through the walls, deep and indiscernible. His spouse’s high laugh brought a smile to your face, although you didn’t know why. 

Dahlia’s Firehouse 10-19 had changed since you’d last been there. You didn’t remember much of your hour-long visit after David had dragged you out of your apartment. It was all tinged with the fuzzy discomfort that blood loss always gave you. You walked the length of it as the sun rose, ran your fingers over the redone walls, laid out on one of the queen sized bunks for an hour or two, never quite sleeping but close. You passed by a wall of fallen brother’s pretty, dress uniform portraits. Gabe Shaw’s face grinned down at you, the only one of the lot with a smile. 

His office, now David’s, was still mostly the same. The carpet had been redone, and the fluorescent overhead lights were left off for a series of soft, warm lit lamps. You didn’t turn a single one of them on as you entered the unlocked space, let the darkness hide the few changes that had been made and let the memory of it fill in the gaps. 

Gabe raised his son in this fire house, in this office as Captain. And Asher’s dad was his lieutenant. And Milo’s dad was the beat cop who would divert his route to clear a scene when he heard the 1019 was on a call. The house was fill of lineage, full of families of firefighters and their sons. 

It was a lineage that you weren’t a part of. 

Your dad was a gas station attendant who left as soon as you mom fell pregnant. She barely kept food on your plate. As far as anybody knew, you came from nothing. You were just a probie, a fresh faced eighteen-year-old still working out your baby fat who had never touched a rig. You applied with no resume, no references, just the certification that you’d passed the exam. Because you could haul equipment. You could scale a ladder in three seconds flat. You could throw a grown man over your shoulder without hesitation. 

You caught sight of the big, black office chair sitting behind the same cheap desk that had been sitting in that office since you first stepped foot inside. Gabe made that chair look tiny. He made you feel tiny. 

“You’re a good firefighter.” Gabe had said. “You’re ferocious. You’re not afraid to throw yourself into a call.” He grinned that stupid, bright grin. “We all trust that you’ll be the first one into a fire, the first one reaching to save somebody.” 

You remembered how proud you’d felt at that moment. How easy it was for Gabe’s praise to make you feel two feet taller. 

“But I don’t think you trust us.” His smile went soft then, a bit sad. “I don’t think you trust that we’ve got your back. And that’s why you’re so vigilant.”

“I trust you guys,” you had replied so quickly, so defensively. “I just know how to watch my own back.” 

“Trust is essential to what we do.” Gabe said. “When we put on our turnouts, when we put those numbers on our chests, we’re a unit, one machine. When one of the cogs of the machine starts to turn on its own, with no regard or acknowledgment of the others, the whole thing can fall apart.” 

You remember being so angry. You couldn’t put your finger on why. You’d stood, your arms light and body tensed, as though you were going to swing at him. Gabe rose with you, his shoulders relaxed. He knew what you looked like when getting ready for a fight. 

David had walked in on you two, interrupted what was likely to be a career-ending fight. You hadn’t realized until he walked in that you’d been crying. 

Knuckles rapped against the doorframe, jolting you out of the memory. You were in nearly the exact same spot, and when you turned, so was David. You shivered at the familiarity and tried to shake it off of your shoulders. 

“Refamiliarizing yourself?” He asked softly. 

“You really should lock your office door.” You replied. 

“My dad never did.” He shrugged and stepped deeper into the space. He looked around slowly, his eyes carrying a heaviness you couldn’t put a name to. “Open door and all that. I take it literally.” 

“You’ve changed everything else about this place. Except his desk. You kept that.” 

David locked eyes with you. The emotion drained from his face very suddenly. His walls slammed up the moment you tapped on them. He closed himself off to you so naturally, like it was his default state around you. 

You’d given him plenty of reasons over the years. 

“I did good by this house.” David said. “But there are some things I can’t…” He pressed his mouth into a tight line, unable to go on. 

“Yeah well… dead dad… makes it a bit more complicated than an office makeover.” You shrugged. It was the wrong thing to say. David huffed out a tight, tense breath. You watched his temple jump as he clenched his jaw. 

“I know the Captain’s death was hard on you.” There was something hollow in the way he said it, like he’d said it a hundred times before. Frustration cut across his closed off features.

“Jesus Christ, David.” You snapped, scrubbing a hand across your face. “Hard? Yeah, no I would say your father’s death was hard.” You tugged on the hem of your shirt nervously. “Getting the call was hard. Recognizing Gabe’s car was hard. Knowing nobody could survive a crash like that was hard!” 

“Stop.” David said resolutely. You pushed through the urge to follow his orders. 

“But it must have been torture for you!” Your voice cracked. “Pulling your father’s body out of a burning wreck must-“ you couldn’t get the words out from around the lump in your throat. You slammed your fist into your thigh. David hung his head. His shoulders slumped. One big hand came up to cover his eyes. 

“Stop.” He said again. His voice was a ghost. 

“You stop.” You replied. “Stop trying to comfort me. God, David.” Your body twitched to hug him, to gather him up in your arms. You didn’t move an inch. “Save some of that for yourself.” 

You turned tail and closed his office door quietly, leaving him alone in the dark, silent room. It was the closest to comfort that you could provide. 

[questionableratatouille00]

ʜɪɢʜᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴄʜ. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an effort to get the two of you to bond, Tony Stark sends you and the ex-assassin Bucky Barnes on a road trip together. The problem? You hate each other. The situation? Two weeks in a car together. The reward: three days of a resort vacation. And the problem? He's kinda cute.

Warnings (Entire Series): Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, crying, fighting, violence, chaos, mentions/talk of trauma, discussions of mental health, and potentially more.

Warnings: Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, food and eating, insecurity on Bucky's part, and Bucky is probably written wrong. (Trying my best lmao)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||

[Series Masterlist]

---------------------------------------------

𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚, 𝑻𝒘𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒘

🄳🄰🅈 1

It had been twenty minutes into the drive. Tony had specifically picked out a route for the two of you to follow, which was saved into your phone.

Neither of you had said anything since the whole 'who's-driving' thing. Part of you was grateful, but at the same time it just made the whole situation awkward.

As your playlist filled the car with noise, you attempted to just ignore him.

"What time is it?" You ask, quickly glancing at him. He tapped your phone with his flesh hand, reading the time as it opened up to your lock screen.

"11:00am." He answers.

"You wanna stop somewhere for lunch? There's a cluster of fast food places about fifteen minutes from us."

He nods.

When you get to the nearest fast food place, the two of you notice the long Drive-Thru line. "I know you don't like being in public or whatever," you begin, "but the line is super long. You wanna head inside?"

After a brief moment, he nodded again. Smiling slightly, you led the way into the restaurant.

--------------

Bucky sat across from you in silence, sipping on his drink. He wanted to make an effort, to try and befriend you, at least for this trip. The only issue is that he's not sure how.

After an insanely quiet argument disagreement at the ordering counter over who was going to pay for the food, Bucky wasn't ready to piss you off again. Especially after he had won said disagreement. He realized right after the two of you had sat down at the booth that you could've just ordered separately, but it was too late.

"Is it alright if I drive?" He asked as the two of you walked to the truck. He watched your expression, studying the changes in it. You were about to argue, but a yawn stopped you. "Sure." You answered finally.

Opening the truck door and hopping inside, Bucky buckled his seatbelt, listening to you do the same. He started the truck, watching you lean the passenger seat back. "I'm gonna plug in my phone. The route's on it." You say as you do so. "I'm taking a nap. Wake me up if you get tired."

"Alright." He drives in silence for a while. He can't quite tell how long had passed. It could've been five minutes or four hours. It was 9:00pm when you woke back up. "Good morning." You muttered. "You can't drive all night. How far out's the nearest hotel or something?" You picked up your phone, realizing there was no cell service. Checking the map, you scrolled around on it. "Two hours and forty-five minutes. Jesus--you look half-dead, dude."

He yawned, side-eyeing you. "I look fine."

"You look like Victor from The Corpse Bride. That's not 'fine', man." You countered. "Just find a place to pull over for the night. We're in the middle of nowhere, so there's probably a little trail or something we can drive down." He nodded at this suggestion. "Alright. Tell me when you see one."

Maybe fifteen minutes passed before you told him to slow down. "Right up there. Look." You pointed through the windshield, and he drove the truck down a small path leading to a little clearing in the woods.

"Just put it in park off to the side." You told him, and he complied. "Do you wanna sleep in the backseat or anything?"

He shook his head. "You can have it."

"I'm too lazy to crawl over the seat, and I don't wanna get out." I sighed. "I have a couple episodes of Dance Moms downloaded if you wanna watch it with me." You glance at him for approval as you pick up your phone. He doesn't stop you, so you pull up the show.

You grin as you successfully balance your phone on the shift stick. It was fun for you, studying Bucky's expressions. He even made you laugh once in a while, when his eyes widened and his brows furrowed at Abby talking to one of the moms.

Eventually, the two of you drifted off, Bucky making sure to turn off your phone before he fell asleep.

--------------

🄳🄰🅈 2

You woke up to the sun shining right into your eyes.

"Morning." Bucky said, looking up from his book. When did he get that? You considered it for a moment, before your brain fully woke up. He probably just grabbed it from his suitcase. Duh.

"Morning." You replied, checking the time. It was just a little past eight.

"I'm gonna drive for a little while." He said as he started the truck.

"Kate packed a snack bag for me. You need breakfast, Super Soldier." You reached into the floor of the backseat, grabbing the grocery bag and pulling it into your lap. "We got..granola bars, juice boxes, Goldfish, pretzels...And a bunch of other things. What do ya feel like?"

After he decided on a granola bar, you picked your breakfast snack of choice.

"There's a little town a couple hours out. If you want, we can just wait to get food and stuff until we get there." He suggests.

"Sure." You agreed, wondering why he wasn't being as asshole-ish as usual. "Sounds good to me."

--------------

You did end up reaching that town by lunchtime. The old and faded sign indicating so was perched off to the side of the main road. 'Welcome to Brandon Briar!', it read.

"We should just get a hotel room. My back hurts like hell, and we can just get back on the road tomorrow."

"Can you make it until the next town?"

"What? No. I haven't pissed since we stopped for lunch yesterday, Bucky."

He rolled his eyes, and you mentally took back everything you said about him not being an asshole today. "Look, there's a hotel right there. I will personally pay for the rooms, just get in the parking lot."

"You don't have to." He sighs, pulling into the hotel's parking lot.

You lift your suitcase and backpack out of the backseat, before heading into the lobby. Bucky follows as you approach the receptionist.

She's an older lady, some sections of her hair gray, other sections a warm brown. Her eyes match the brown, and she smiles when she sees the two of you walk in.

"Hello. Welcome to the Brandon Briar Hotel. How may I help you two today?" She asked, looking up at the two of you. She has wrinkles by the corners of her eyes, and smile lines around her mouth. Her voice is warm, as is everything about her. A quick glance to her nametag revealed that her name is Barbara C.

"We'd like two rooms, please." You smiled politely.

"Alright, and how long will the two of you be staying, dear?"

"Just for tonight, if that's okay."

"Wonderful. Is it okay if it's a connecting room? The festival always brings in a lot of tourists." She smiled proudly.

"Festival?"

"Yes, Brandon Briar has it every year. Here's a flyer, if you're thinking about attending." She slipped a brightly colored flyer over the counter, sliding it in front of you. The main colors, yellow, blue, and white, were eye-catching and pretty.

"Now, is the connecting room okay, sweetheart?" She asked again, though there was not a single note of annoyance in her voice.

"Oh--yes. That will be perfect."

You pay quickly for both of the rooms before Bucky--who had been standing behind you silently--could fight you on it. Barbara hands you the two key cards, and you hand Bucky one. Taking the flyer with you, you give Barbara one final 'thank you' and a smile, before heading to the elevator.

Bucky presses the button for the 2nd floor, where your rooms are. You study the flyer.

"This is pretty cool. It's like a 'this-town-through-the-decades' kind of thing. There's a 40's style dance thing tonight." You state, reading the first event listed. The festival is a week long, starting tonight, Monday, and ending on Sunday.

Bucky nods, yet he says nothing.

"Do you wanna go? It sounds fun."

"No." He answers simply.

"Why not?" You furrow your brows, confused.

"I don't dance."

"Okay, Chad from High School Musical." You side-eye him. "Please can we go?"

"Neither of us have anything to wear to it." He tries to reason as the elevator door opens. Walking down the hallway, you continue to argue with him. "I'm sure there's at least one store that sells stuff specifically for the festival. Barbara--the receptionist--said that the festival brings in a bunch of tourists, so they have to have something around here."

"We're both Avengers. We could be recognized."

"So? Either way, we're in a tiny ass town in the middle of nowhere. If we were recognized, it wouldn't even matter."

He looked down at his gloved left hand. He always wore thick jackets or long-sleeved shirts, paired with gloves.

"Nobody's gonna care." You reassured quietly. It was true that the two of you didn't get along very well, but you didn't think it was fair to make personal attacks. You knew his arm, and basically his entire past, really, were sensitive topics.

When you opened your room, you immediately rushed to the bathroom, dropping off your stuff by the door.

--------------

Bucky took off his gloves, stepping into the hotel room. Quickly opening the door that connected to your room, he sighed. He couldn't handle the stares from random civilians whenever he went jacketless. But the way you looked so excited when you talked about it...He wanted to go. He really did.

He looked at you when you opened your door to his room.

"I'll go with you. If you want."

"Really?" You grin. He nods, already regretting his decision.

"Come on, we gotta find 40's shit." You decide.

[radiant-reid]

hi luv can you please do a blurd of reader being morgan's sister and find out about her and spencers relationship and he has a simiular reaction to ross f.r.i.e.n.d.s also love your writing litteraly makes me so happy

omg it's been so long since i've seen friends

"Alright, what do you think, baby girl?" Derek asks, showing Penelope the new living room of his renovated townhouse. It's gorgeous inside, refurbished to peak, antique condition.

"This is amazing." She agrees, looking around the polished wooden floors in the living room. "You've done such a good job."

He grins, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Thanks."

"Don't you think it's weird you can see into your sister's windows from here?" She asks, remembering your townhouse is across the street. Also a townhouse he renovated, especially for you. "See her bringing boys home?"

He scoffs. "Please. Y/n's not bringing boys home."

"You bring girls home." She reminds him.

"She's my little sister. She can't do that." He complains.

Penelope rolls her eyes at him, walking closer to the window. "Uh, your little sister has a boy in there right now." She tells him.

Derek's never walked faster than he does to the window, looking into the windows of your living room... where you're involved in a heated make-out session with Spencer.

"What?!" He yells. "Get off my sister!"

He sprints across the road, not looking for traffic, and Penelope follows, ready to calm him down. All you know is one moment, you're kissing Spencer, ready to take your shirt off, and the next, someone's banging on your front door like a madman and looking in the beautiful bay window. That someone is your overprotective big brother.

"Spencer Reid, Y/n Morgan, open this door right now!" He hollers, getting concerned looks from passersby.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Spencer says, climbing off you and running a hand through his hair.

You get off the couch as well, looking at him with a grimace. "Uh-oh."

"Alright, bye, I love you." He says, giving you a kiss before backing away. "I'll call you once I get to Mexico or somewhere far, far away from here."

He looks terrified, and although you feel it too, you know enough is enough. You have to be with Spencer publicly, and you grab his arm. "No, you're not going to Mexico. I can handle Derek."

Derek's still banging on your door like he's possessed.

"You might be able to, but I cannot," Spencer tells you. "He's strong and he knows how to get away with murder."

"He's not going to kill you." You assure him. "Come on." You manage to drag him towards the door. Casually, you open it, smiling at your brother and Penelope. "Hey, D, what's up?"

Derek storms inside, pointing a finger at Spencer. "What the hell are you doing!?" He demands to know angrily.

"Hanging out." Your boyfriend replies, hiding behind you.

"Making out with my sister is what you're doing," Derek answers his own question. "My sister and my best friend."

You reach out to hold his hand while holding Spencer's. "Brace yourself." You warn him. "But I'm in love with him."

Spencer shouldn't be smiling, considering the situation, but he is. "And I love her. Derek, we're not messing around here." He assures your older brother. "Y/n's the one for me."

You squeeze his hand at the confession. "Please let me be happy, D."

Derek knows you're both adults, and the smiles you've both had on your faces over the past few months are unparalleled. "Okay." He agrees. "Wow, my sister and my best friend." He brings you both in for hugs, easing the tension. "Wait, why aren't you more excited about this, baby girl?" He asks Penelope, who's not shocked at all. For someone who lives off gossip, that's not possible.

You bite your lip, not wanting to admit to your other secrets. "She knew."

[masiethewriter]

Honored Eternal Path of Demise CH. 12 - Regaining Health

Instead he moves closer to Shen Qingqiu’s head. taking hold of his hand and shoulder, he pulls him up, so he is forced to sit back up again. Luo Binghe does not release his grasp, but even with his support, Shen Qingqiu can’t manage more than a slouch. "Senior Shen. We need to get you somewhere dry. And find medical supplies. You think you can manage that?" Luo Binghe gently asks.  Shen Qingqiu does not think he can manage that. But for whatever reason, his head still nods.

First Chapter ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ AO3 Link

Low hanging branches and sharp leaves grasp at them as they run through the garden forest. There is no road to guide their way and their only light is a far away lamp post, whose glow only barely allows them to see the way.

They are moving too slow.

Shen Qingqiu can only limp as Luo Binghe carries most of his weight. What is left of his leg is stuck in hell and the world around him becomes more blurry with each second. Were Luo Binghe to let go of him now, he would definitely fall, unable to get up or move away. The entirety of his survival hinging on Luo Binghes kindness.

A kindness that puts them both in danger. 

The shrill screams of the Killer have turned into roars of rage. The pain from the poisonous bushes can only distract him for so long, having instead left him a hunger for revenge. 

He is on their trail. 

They have no hope of outrunning him.

Shen Qingqiu can’t think. Mindlessly he can only follow wherever Luo Binghe goes. When he suddenly throws them both to the side, he can only fall along.

They land in between two tall bushes with barely an opening between them. Trees from above cover them with their long branches, water drops dripping down from them. Luo Binghe is quick to drag them further in, until they barely can see the way they came from.

His foot howls for mercy at the rough treatment, but Shen Qingqiu almost bites his hand bloody in an attempt to keep in his cries of pain. Only when he believes he can control his voice, does he instead move to cover the bleeding of his leg. Warm blood spills through his fingers as he does his utmost to keep it from further pouring out.

His foot is still attached. But with how deep and destroying the axe went, it might have been more of a blessing if it had just been cleanly cut off.

Luo Binghe leaves him to it. Once certain Shen Qingqiu is hidden behind him, he moves forward to peek through the bushes. A hand held to his mouth keeps his breathing quiet as he looks out. 

Shen Qingqiu can see nothing from his vantage point. The crashing of the underbrush tearing apart as the Killer bursts through is not possible to miss, though.

The Killer stops. Only his strained breathing can be heard in the silence. Luo Binghe stands completely still. Shen Qingqiu holds his breath.

Seconds that last eons tick by. The Killer walks in a careful circle around the area, twigs cracking under his heavy weight. Slowly, oh so slowly, does he move closer to their hiding spot. With each step, the tension in Luo Binghes body tightens. With each splitting stick, Shen Qingqiu runs out of air. With each beating of their terrified hearts, they both come closer to their doom.

In the distance, splintering can be heard. With not a second of hesitation, the Killer follows the sound.

Finally he has lost their trail.

Shen Qingqiu gasps for breath. He is cold, he is dirty and he is in so much pain that he should not be conscious. Nothing of what he is doing seems to hinder him bleeding out.

But without the Killer to worry about at the moment, Luo Binghe returns his attention to him. Crouching by his side he assesses the situation at hand.

"Fuck," He curses. Shen Qingqiu couldn't agree more.

Words are too much for him, though. He can't tell Luo Binghe what they need to do next. Not that he would even know what that would be. Their current predicament is nothing like anything that has happened in the game before. 

"Okay. Okay! We can work through this. We just need-" Luo Binghe mutters as he looks around the small space. Suddenly his eyes catches on Shen Qingqiu’s jacket. 

"Sorry Senior, but please let me get that. My own got lost earlier."

Shen Qingqiu is too exhausted to fight him. He lets Luo Binghe pull off his jacket, limp body going along with the movement. Letting go of his leg releases a burst of pain that catches his breath. Unable to react with more than a weak whimper, he can only let Luo Binghe continue whatever he is doing.

Luo Binghe does not put on Shen Qingqiu’s jacket. Before he can return to provide pressure against the bleeding, Luo Binghe delicately picks up his leg. 

That slight movement is enough for the agony to sap the last of Shen Qingqiu’s strength. Falling back into the mud, his mind is pure static, blurry eyes dumbly watching Luo Binghe and his actions.

As carefully as he can muster, he ties Shen Qingqiu’s jacket around the wound. First he covers the foot with the cloth, wrapping it up like a cocoon. Afterwards he ties the sleeves around it, pulling them as tightly as he can. Each jolt breathes life in the inferno that is Shen Qingqius leg, the jacket quickly reddening with his blood. But as Luo Binghe finishes the improvised bandage, he does not put the leg down.

Instead he moves closer to Shen Qingqiu’s head. taking hold of his hand and shoulder, he pulls him up, so he is forced to sit back up again. Luo Binghe does not release his grasp, but even with his support, Shen Qingqiu can’t manage more than a slouch.

"Senior Shen. We need to get you somewhere dry. And find medical supplies. You think you can manage that?" Luo Binghe gently asks. 

Shen Qingqiu does not think he can manage that. But for whatever reason, his head still nods. 

"Good. Then we need to go. Can you keep your leg up? I will help you in a moment, but I don't want it getting in the mud."

Another nod. Luo Binghe releases his hand and gets up. Shen Qingqiu manages to keep his foot above the ground, using both hands to hold its weight. Once Luo Binghe is standing again he hurries to lift Shen Qingqiu, once again throwing their arms around each other so he can keep his weight. A stable force, he keeps them both balanced as they move on once again. 

Without the Killer chasing them, their pace is slower. Luo Binghe is much more careful about not hurting Shen Qingqiu further, no matter how impossible an act it is. Still, he finds each bump along the way only leaves a flaming ember instead of the blazing hell that consumed his foot before.

Once again his mind goes static as Luo Binghe leads the way. His only focus is his breathing, unable to think further than the pain in his leg and the kinder warmth seeping through from Luo Binghe. 

He must lose some time. Suddenly they are no longer surrounded by trees and plants, instead finding themselves in a small clearing. The first strand of moonlight lights the area, revealing their sorry states. Both are drenched to the bone, Shen Qingqiu almost completely covered in mud. Each of their steps have left footprints in the grass, the muddy ground breaking apart under their weight.

Miraculously, Luo Binghe has managed to find a shed.

While it can be argued whether Luo Binghe is the actual protagonist of Honored Eternal Path of Demise, he certainly bears the halo of one. Shen Qingqiu can only think of this, as Luo Binghe carries them both inside.

The inside isn't particularly remarkable. A single lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, which releases weak fluttering light as they turn it on. It reveals that the shed mostly contains tools for gardening and the like. Still, there is a small stool on which Luo Binghe places him on. Once he is certain Shen Qingqiu can carry his own weight and won’t fall over, he turns to sort through the mess.

Shen Qingqiu leans his head against the cold wall. It is a relief to no longer be under the onslaught of the harsh weather. He also finds it easier to deal with his leg when he isn’t moving around. Really, if there is any place where Luo Binghe could leave him, this wouldn't be the worst...

The luck of a hero continues to impress. From his search, Luo Binghe manages to find a small medical kit. Hurrying back to Shen Qingqiu's side, they both open it to see what it contains. 

It is not much. A few rolls of bandages and an almost empty package of pain killers. Looking at the supplies, Shen Qingqiu hardly thinks about it for a moment before he reaches out for the pills. 

"Give me those."

"Are you sure Senior?" Luo Binghe asks, but only hesitates for a second before he does as he is told.

Shen Qingqiu knows the pills could be a trap. He doesn't care. They are going to relieve his pain either way, whether that is by doing their function or putting an end to his suffering. He does not care which.

Swallowing the pills dry, his head returns to the wall. Luo Binghe has rolled out one of the bandages and carefully unties the bloody mess that is Shen Qingqiu's jacket. For the first time, both of them can get a clear view of the damage. 

His foot looks horrible. There is too much blood to clearly see the wound, but angry red skin still reveals the edges of the cut. His pant leg also got sliced, with bits of it mixing in with his open meat. How he hasn't died from blood loss yet is a mystery. Likely the same forces that kept him alive long enough to fully experience his grotesque deaths are the ones behind this. 

"We have nothing to clean it with," Luo Binghe mutters as he studies his foot. "If we don’t find anything else we risk it getting infected."

Risk it getting infected? Shen Qingqiu could laugh. He has barely managed to survive for half an hour in this wretched game, when would he have time to get it infected? If he survives the next couple of hours that would be impressive in itself.

"We can worry about that later. We need to deal with what we can for now," he manages to grit out. The painkillers will take a while to kick in, so it still leaves him exhausted to speak. Luo Binghe seems to understand though.

"Don't worry Senior Shen," he tries to reassure. "Just give me a minute."

Then Luo Binghes full attention is on Shen Qingqiu’s foot. The first thing he does is try to loosen Shen Qingqiu shoe. At his harsh intake of air, he hesitates. Instead he checks his pockets until he pulls out a small pocket knife. 

Ahh, this Shen Qingqiu recognizes. The small knife is a tool unique to Luo Binghe. The backstory is that he got it from his foster mother before she died. It is cheaply made, the plastic handle meant to imitate that of jade stone. The blade itself is so short that it could never be used as a weapon, requiring to be almost in an embrace to reach anything vital. Still, Luo Binghe has kept it in good condition, edges sharp as he cuts open Shen Qingqiu's shoe. 

Like this he is able to peel it off. Soon after he does the same to his sock and pant leg, until his foot is completely free. They don't have the supplies to remove the fabric already caught in his wound, but now more won't get stuck in it. 

The entire process is agonising. Shen Qingqiu has his eyes closed through most of it, his focus on controlling his breathing. He must remain patient as Luo Binghe does his best to patch him back together. 

With the cloth out of the way, Luo Binghe begins to roll the bandage around his foot. His movement is precise, showing that clearly this is not his first time tying a bandage. The pressure he has to apply to stop the bleeding is enough that Shen Qingqiu can't hold in his sobs, fists clenched at his sides. 

But finally, after a lengthy process, Shen Qingqius leg has been properly dressed. Or as properly as is possible given the circumstances. 

Now they just have to wait for the painkillers to kick in.

Luo Binghe prepares to wait. Sitting down on the floor and leaning against the wall he puts the bandages away. Quietly Shen Qingqiu watches him through hooded eyes.

Luo Binghe looks like a mess. His shirt is almost see-through from the rain and multiple curly locks have slipped out of his ponytail. Mud is splattered across his pants, which is still not as horrible to see as the blood splatter covering his hands. 

His face is pale, dark shadows under his eyes. But considering the traumatising experience he has just gone through, he seems mostly put together. Staying strong in the face of adversity like a hero should.

Shen Qingqiu himself on the other hand must look like a total nightmare.

The dirt and blood on Binghe is nothing compared to Shen Qingqius appearance. Even when looking past the state of his foot, he is covered with mud from head to toe. It is impossible to wipe any of it off as his hands are just as dirty. It sticks to his clothes, it sticks to his hair and no matter how he tries to move to loosen it, it sticks to his skin through his uniform. Nothing but a full bath could save the sorry state that he is in. Though that is not likely to happen anytime soon. Especially since he still has no trust in any body of water they might stumble upon.

Basically, there is nothing Shen Qingqiu or Luo Binghe can do but wait. Until Shen Qingqiu is in less pain, he is in no state to decide on their next course of action. Even now, Shen Qingqiu is still unable to really focus his attention enough to analyse what has happened or why Luo Binghe would save him. Instead, he just rests his head against the wall, carefully breathing in and out, as he exhaustingly slowly waits for his agony to lessen.

Suddenly Luo Binghe breaks the silence with the last statement Shen Qingqiu would have ever thought he would make.

"You shouldn't have come back for me." 

Shen Qingqiu has to take a minute to get his mind on track and return to the here and now. His first instinct is just to yell "What the fuck?!" at Luo Binghe. Why would you ever say something like that? That is fucked up!! What the hell protagonist??? 

But before it can be released, he manages to remember that it is not Shen Yuan that Luo Binghe is talking to, but Shen Qingqiu. And even in his miserable state, he has to play the role he has been given.

Wishing they could have this conversation when his foot isn't a mess of burning suffering he manages to grit out: "And what exactly... would you want me to have done instead?"

"You should have run away, like I told you to!"

Luo Binghe isn't exactly angry. Rather the eyes he sends Shen Qingqiu's way are confused and upset. Like he couldn't imagine any world where the other would run back for him. Were it the original goods, he would have been right. Shen Qingqiu, on the other hand, can only feel pity at what he sees. Still, he has to muster out much harsher words.

"Tell me, what would I then have said to Ning Yingying? That I just abandoned you to a crazy killer? Don't be stupid-" He first tries to dismiss, but Luo Binghe interrupts. 

"That you had no choice! The killer was between you and me, what could you have done? Isn't you being hurt like this proof that this was the stupid thing to do?"

"Not as stupid as you dying! I am your senior. It is my responsibility to keep my juniors safe. What exactly would you have done if I hadn't turned back?!"

"I would have been fine! I had already seen an opening and knew how to get away. You coming back only put you in unnecessary danger!"

Shen Qingqiu finally can't keep it in and explodes: "Are you really so incapable of a simple thank you that you argue for your own abandonment!?"

Luo Binghe is silenced, eyes as wide as saucers. When he tries to open his mouth to argue further, Shen Qingqiu refuses to let him.

"I turned back. I got hurt. We got away. We can't change any of these actions. So instead of telling me everything I did wrong, the least you could do is show some goddamn gratitude!"

Luo Binghes mouth snaps shut. It takes him a second to fully take in Shen Qingqiu’s words. Then he turns his face away, in what Shen Qingqiu can only assume to be shame.

The shouting match stole his breath away. First when it becomes clear that Luo Binghe has nothing more to add, does Shen Qingqiu allow himself to rest again. Pure calm is hard to reach though, his temper still prickling at him underneath his skin. What was before a somewhat comfortable silence between them is now thick with tension, awkward and bitter.

The thing is, Shen Qingqiu doesn't need Luo Binghe to tell him how much of a moron he is. He knows! Of course he knows! He risked everything to save a character that can't permanently be damaged! And every time he is about to forget it, a flare of pain from his leg reminds him of it all over again! This was totally not worth it!

And that just leads to the question of what their next course of action will be. 

They have to get back to Ning Yingying, first of all. In order to correctly progress through the game, they have to solve the upper floor of the mansion. They have already wrecked the sequence more than once and the faster they can return back on track the better. If they can just find their way back from where they came while watching out for the Killer then-

Suddenly Shen Qingiu's entire body runs cold. Everything around him is forgotten as he has one horrible realisation.

In the original order of the cutscene, Ning Yingying would be forced to run back from where she came. The same as Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe needs to do. And in order to do so, she would have to navigate back through the maze of poisonous bushes until she was safe on the other side. 

This navigation only possible with the use of the flashlight.

The same flashlight that Shen Qingqiu yeeted at the Killers head, sealing his fate, as it broke and turned into pieces of junk. 

(Which, BTW, wouldn't have been changed by the fact that he had actually been aiming for the Killers back. Luckily he didn’t completely miss his target.)

Broken flashlight = No going back through the bush maze.

No going back through the bush maze = No way to return to the entrance of the mansion.

Shen Qingqiu has softlocked them!

Motherfucking, goddamn, shitty ass bullshit of a-

Nope! Nope, Shen Qingqiu is not going there. This is completely, undoubtedly his fault. Of all the things he could have thrown, the flashlight was the absolutely worst! What can he do now? What can they do now? Luo Binghe is maybe meant to spend his time outside, but that is by himself! Not only is Shen Qingqiu not meant to be here, but with his leg crippled as it is, he will only drag them down! Also, he doesn't even have any idea where they can go from here? He doesn't know where they are and he doesn't know where anything is. This is completely uncharted territory, even when compared to when he first played the game. 

For the first time since he woke up in this world Shen Qingqiu has absolutely no idea what to do. 

He doesn't want to break the game further and worsen their situation, but they also can't just stay here and do nothing, that will lead them nowhere, and if they go out they might stumble into the Killer, but maybe that would be for the best, maybe reseting and returning everything back to the start is the best solution, if Shen Qingqiu just dies once more, in the grand scheme of things, another death would make no difference-

"Thank you Senior Shen."

His thoughts halt. Looking down, he is almost shocked to find Luo Binghe staring directly at him. He looks almost shy, head slightly bowed and words hesitant like he is not used to muttering them. But as Shen Qingqiu’s eyes are caught by his, he finds himself unable to look away, the honesty too pure.

This time it is Shen Qingqiu that is left speechless. Mouth slightly open he tries to formulate a response. A tiny voice in his mind screaming at him to stay in character. But nothing sticks and Shen Qingqiu is stuck just staring back at Luo Binghe.

This serves to strengthen Binghe's resolve. He adjusts his posture so he is properly kneeling. Like a student looking up at his master, he gives a determined nod before he bows down once.

"Thank you for coming back to save me!"

[crimsonvictory]

Temptation

Minors DNI

Word Count: 7.4K

Tags: Simon Riley x Reader, Ghost x Reader, Ghost smut

Warnings: mentions of drug use, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, inexperienced reader, sexual tension, overstimulation, p-in-v sex, CONSENT IS IMPORTANT, sub!Simon if you squint

Notes: Thoughts of neighbor Simon helping you relax has been PLAGUING MY BRAIN

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It starts small – an uncomfortable feeling in the back of your throat. A tinge of anger after you arrive at your work station, abundant disarray from your careless coworkers. You feel your eye twitch, fidgeting against your upper cheek as your nerves start to fray. It was only Monday. A soft groan falls from your lips. You fight to keep the closing of your throat, blink back hot, angry tears as you take in a shaky breath. Start small, you tell yourself.

You’ve recently discovered that your own brain can be a blessing and a curse. On most days, it works in a routine manner, allowing you to get into a never-ending groove. It makes your work days pass quickly and you leave feeling accomplished. Today is not one of those days. An immediate halt in your ever-flowing process has been determined by your coworkers. You try to repeat a happy mantra, forcing yourself to be as positive about the situation as possible – it’s what you’ve been working on in therapy. But that’s the thing about a spiral, once it starts – it’s damn near impossible to unwind. You take your metaphorical scissors and chop blindly, hoping you catch a tail-end.

The morning quickly transitions into the late afternoon and you disappointingly discover that the goal you had set for yourself was highly unattainable. Holding yourself to a very high standard, you got angry – not meeting your self-planned progression. Thus, starting another spiral.  An eight-hour shift creeped into a ten-and-a-half-hour shift. You hadn’t eaten since last night and the hunger pains gnawing at your stomach allowed for nausea to slowly creep in.

With shaking hands, you finally called your stopping point, grabbing your keys and slamming your office door shut.  Most employees were gone for the day, leaving the parking lot eerily empty. The air outside was humid, heavy. Taking a few deep breaths did nothing to soothe the nagging feeling of an approaching panic attack. Sweat builds on your brow and under your arms. A self-awareness of how uncomfortable your clothes are really starts to dawn on you. You need to get home.

It blooms sharply in your chest, slow invisible hands sliding up, up, up to your throat and squeezing. You struggle to catch your breath, trying to focus on getting over in the right-hand lane so that you could deal with this in private. Your way home was a blur, one that didn’t have music playing on the radio. The scenery zips past you, white lines on the road inching slower and slower as you turned down your street. Your mind was somewhere else – work – worrying about what you were going to have to do the next week to get yourself caught back up. Parking your car, you rip the keys out of the ignition and throw your door open, dropping your keys in the process.

“Fuck,” you grumble, bending down to pick them up.

A low whistle rings out behind you. You don’t know why, but it makes you instantly angry. Attention, (especially unwanted) was fairly common in your line of work. You snatch your keys up in your hands, pulling yourself up way too quickly, making your head spin. You grit your teeth, turning in the direction of the whistle.

Simon.

You had been neighbors for quite some time, but had probably spoken a total of ten words to him. You’ve never taken it personally, he’s busy – away for months at a time. If you were to be honest, you would say that you enjoy the solitude. When he is home, however, you feel safer. (You’d never tell him that). Although you can’t see him (bastard doesn’t have his porch light on), you know he’s staring right at you. You feel your eyelids squint in annoyance, a sneer pulling your top lip taught.

“What?” you gripe out, still overstimulated from your days’ work.

“Jus’ appreciatin’, he simply states, accent thick.

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“What? Can’t take a compliment, lovie?” he prods, a bit of humor in his voice.

He steps out from the darkness, coming into your line of vision. His arms are folded over themselves, grey t-shirt pulling taught across his broad chest. Your eyes focus on the smattering of ink on his forearm before trailing up to meet his eyes that peer out from a plain black balaclava. He’s sans grease paint, so you’re able to see his eyes – which are unblinking. You have no idea what expression he’s pulling and his hard gaze makes you uncomfortable. You feel your brows furrow in annoyance, head pounding from your self-inflicted whiplash. You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts.

“I don’t have time for this,” you grumble, hiking your bag back onto your shoulder and quickly walking over to your door.

You fumble with the keys, dropping them again. The action nearly brings you to tears. You bite back the lump that forms in your throat, trying your best to hurry and get through the door so you don’t have to embarrass yourself anymore. You slam the door shut, leaning against the cool metal as tears prick in your eyes. They’re hot and angry, spilling over your cheeks as you finally let the dam break. You take a couple minutes to let yourself cry, sobbing softly into your hand. Cold metal bites into your back, providing an arousal of goosebumps across your skin.

It’s an ugly, but much needed. You tried rationalizing with yourself that it was a justified cry, but the tarnished voice of deprecation comes up. Telling you that you did this to yourself and your feelings about the situation were not justified. You know that you work yourself to hard, hold yourself to a high standard that even you cannot reach, but just knowing that your hard work will never be appreciated starts a burning sensation in your chest.

It brings up another bubble of tears, they spill over your cheeks fatly, soaking the collar of your shirt. You’re gasping for air, choking on the angry bitter feeling that has made a temporary home within you. You hate feeling sorry for yourself. Embarrassment fills in your chest for snapping at Simon. Although he could be rather annoying at times, he was never any real harm to you.

A sharp rap of knuckles against your metal door has you scrambling to get up. You quickly wipe your tears the best you can, sniffing and opening your door a crack. You’re met with those familiar wide shoulders again. You’d never been this close before and it’s intimidating. He’s nearly blocking out your porch light. His shoulders nearly take up your entire doorway and you only realize that you’ve been staring too long when he finally clears his throat. Your eyes snap back to his unblinking ones. Although you think him to be, you don’t truthfully think that he is trying to intimidate you. His head is slightly tilted, angling his gaze to your puffy face.

“You been cryin’?” he asks, voice almost hinting concern.

You look down quickly, clearing your throat and mumble out a “no”.

“Liar.”

“Caught me red handed, or red nosed if you really think about it,” you halfheartedly joke.

That almost pulls laugh out of him, he huffs, amused. You feel a gloved finger tilt your chin up, forcing eye contact, his eyes soften when focused on you. You let your eyes lock onto his for a moment for flicking them to the side.

“Look at me,” he murmurs softly.

You feel a blush creeping up your neck, letting your eyes slowly wander back to his. Simon’s gaze is intense, almost looking through you, breaking down the resolve that you had quickly thrown together when you opened the door. A fluttering of nervousness settles in your stomach and you want to run, but you cannot – entranced by the sudden encounter.

“You need to relax.”

“What could you possibly have to help me relax?” you ask, voice (almost) wavering.

He gives you the answer by holding up a blunt between his two thick fingers. You feel your mouth drop open, surprised at his offer. There’s a small crinkle around his eyes, indicating a smile. You burst out into nervous laughter, teeth catching your lip.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks eyes narrowing, faux defensiveness coating his words.

You shake your head, heat blazing on your cheeks.

“I’ve uh- never…” you trail off.

It’s his turn to laugh – a soft huff of air. He shakes his head.

“Course not, little prude,” there’s no malice behind his words, he’s grinning, you can tell by how his mask moves.

You could even bet that his nose scrunched up deliciously on his face.

“You gonna let me in?” he asks, a bit hesitant for your answer.

“No, I don’t think I will,” you say with a small grin, stepping aside.

—

You had excused yourself to change into some more comfortable clothes, opting for an old oversized band tee and a pair of shorts. Splashing your face with cold water helps calm your buzzing nerves – activating your diver’s reflex. A short huff of a sigh escapes your lips, leaving your lungs empty. Your reflection peers back at you, eyes still a bit puffy from your crying earlier.

You don’t really know how you’re feeling at the moment. Nervous? A nagging familiar feeling in your stomach was making you wary. You pick at your fingernails, a comforting habit as you try to move your feet, but you’re a bit stuck.

“You comin’?” Simon asks, voice loud in the previously quiet air, it carries down the hall and into your bathroom.

You jump, blinking before taking the first step out onto your plush carpet. He’s made himself comfortable by the time you get back,  stretched out on your couch, big frame taking up the most of it. His left arm is slung behind the cushion, other arm on his knee. The blunt sits on your coffee table, abandoned. Your eyes flick to it – a devious thing – or so you’ve been told. You didn’t know what it’s affects were personally, only by word of mouth.

You mentally tell yourself that everything is fine. Your eyes flick back to Simon – a strange addition to your apartment. It’s like he fits right in but is also way out of place. He’s leaning comfortably to the side of your couch in a way that reminds you of a relaxed cat. Your eyes drift down to his black sweatpants. They stretch across his thighs in a delicious way – almost as if they might be a size too small. Did he do that on purpose? You pull your eyes away and up to his face, only to make eye contact. You blush.

“Now who’s admirin’?” he jokes.

You smile sheepishly, shuffling over to him and sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. He’s taken your normal spot, but you don’t tell him that. You curl your clothed feet up and under your thighs, snuggling down against your plush cushions. You hum softly, filling the silence. It’s not terribly uncomfortable, but just on the verge. You shuffle around a bit, trying to get comfortable. Simon leans up, reaching for the discarded blunt on your coffee table. He picks it up between his thumb and pointer finger, letting it rest there as he moves his hips up to grab the lighter in his pocket. Grumbling, he brings his right hand to his covered mouth, grabbing the fabric of the glove between his clothed mouth and pulling it off before letting it fall to your floor.

Immediately, your eyes dart to his exposed hand, watching him dig around in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Ah,” he tuts softly, holding up the lighter with a skull on the front in triumph.

You watch him closely, trying to anticipate his next move. You’re nervous and hope to God he can’t tell. Taking the lighter in right hand, he brings the end of the rolled paper to the flame, slowly watching as it ignites. Your eyes fall to the burning orange of the herb, watching it lick around the thin paper. The smell faintly drifts over to your nose. It’s an odd, familiar thing – you scrunch your nose. That pulls a laugh from Simon.

“‘S not that bad,” he says.

His voice sounds less muffled than usual. That’s when you look up, a soft gasp leaving your lips. He has the balaclava rolled up on his nose, exposing the lower half of his face. His lips are plush – the prettiest shade of pink. You want to burn the color onto your skin. Simon brings the rolled paper to his lips, parting them and letting it dangle before taking a long inhale. He sits silent, letting the smoke fill his lungs for a few seconds before tilting his head back and slowly exhaling.

Tendrils of smoke fill your apartment, you watch in the soft, amber lighting that your lamp provides, as it trickles around in the air before slowly disappearing. You fight a shiver of nervousness.

“How long?”

A hum from him, the effects of the herb relaxing him already. His heavy-lidded eyes fall to your lips.

“How long are you in for?” you ask again, shy under his gaze.

A shrug, slow and languid as he answers.

“Never know, but hopefully a coupl-a days.”

You nod, turning your head over your shoulder to look at your front door. The sun has set, the faint blue hue of the moon trickles through the windows. It spirals like the smoke, disappearing before it hits your carpet. You hear him inhale again, a soft woosh as the paper burns. Simon sinks down lower into your cushions, nearly melting into relaxation. A soft sigh escapes through his parted lips. It gets your attention.

Turning your head back to look at him, you rest your chin on your knee. His eyes follow your every move. His reflexes have slowed, eyes taking a moment to catch up – almost if they were floating in syrup. A crooked smile – charmingly so, makes its way onto his face. He’s gorgeous – rightfully so. Although you cannot see the full vision of his face, your mind can somewhat fill in the blanks.

“Fancy a try?” he holds out the blunt for you, a dangerous invitation.

He must notice your hesitation because suddenly he’s sitting up, scooting himself closer to where you are curled up on the couch.

“C’mon, lovie. I’ll help ‘ya,” he coos softly, breaking down the barriers of your hesitantly built walls.

A large hand gently encircles your small wrist, curling long fingers back into themselves. He pulls gently, getting you up into a sitting position.

“Simon, I-“ you start, hands shaking slightly.

He shushes you, petting your hair softly and tucking a stray piece behind your ear. It’s instantly calming – a soft brush of his forefinger against your burning skin. Your heart is thrumming in your throat. You’re almost positive he can hear it. It’s rushing in your ears, nearly drowning out the sound of his voice. You focus back on the deep timbre, noticing how he has moved closer to you, trying to make himself small and less intimidating. A small smile tugs on your lips.

“I’ll guide, you just follow, yeah?” he gives you a small nod.

You’re too focused on his lips and you nod. A flash of white appears as he smiles, eager to please. What he does next takes you by surprise. A large hand slides up the left side of your face, cupping your jaw. He’s gentle, like handling fragile glass as he pulls you close to his face. A puff of air is pulled from your lungs. You try your best to stay calm and collected as he takes a long drag from the blunt, slowly closing the space between the two of you.

He presses his lips against yours, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip – it takes you by surprise. Oh. You gasp, sucking in a deep, quick breath. Your eyes flutter shut and you feel the burning hot smoke fly down your windpipe. It causes a coughing fit. You grab onto his shirt tightly, trying to get composure of yourself. He’s laughing – a melodic sound that rumbles deep in his chest. Your cheeks are burning with embarrassment and you look away quickly, tears filling your eyes again.

“Hey, hey,” he tries to soothe through fits of laughter.

You frown, tilting your chin up and away from his grip. Pride hurt, your lip trembles. This was a bad idea. You go to stand up, pushing up with your left foot. Simon grabs your arm gently, reconnecting your attention.

“Your first time isn’t goin’ to be perfect,” he muses. “Let’s try again.”

You’re still glaring at him, hesitant. He arranges himself on the couch, fitting his large body against the cushions to the best of his ability. Simon beckons you with a bend of his fingers – you oblige. Crossing your right foot under your left leg, you sit back down in front of him. Your throat is burning from the smoke. He’s grinning up at you, pure unadulterated joy plastered on his face. The blunt is positioned yet again between those pretty lips of his. You focus on them, trying to get your nervous system to calm down. He’s tracing small circles on the underside of your wrist, the calloused pad of his thumb soothing.

His sleepy eyes flutter as he leans in close to you again, mirroring his actions from just a moment earlier. You’re a little more prepared this time, opening your mouth slightly and slowly inhaling the lazy trickle of smoke between the two of you. Eyes fluttering shut, you let it trace out the cavity of your lungs, feeling it burn – but in a more delightful way this time – before slowly letting the smoke out with a sigh. You keep your eyes closed for several moments, enjoying the comfortable silence.

A subtle weight has been lifted from your shoulders and you feel your body relax. Letting your eyes flutter back open, you’re met with Simon’s intense stare. His eyes are dark, almost black – you can see your reflection in them. He’s watching intently, blunt forgotten. Feeling a surge of courage, you pluck it from between the plushness, placing them between your own and inhale lightly.

You’re getting the hang of the inhaling and exhaling motions, testing the waters on how long you hold the smoke in your lungs. Head foggy, you feel a smile creeping up on your face. Your eyes are heavy, a nice buzz floating through your bloodstream. A slow blink from Simon causes an unbridled fit of giggles to overcome you. You don’t know why you find it so funny.

“What’s so funny?” he questions, eyes narrowing as a smirk pulls the corner of his upper lip up – he looks so pretty.

You gasp for air, contractions making your sides hurt as you choke out,

“Y-You.”

“Me?” he asks incredulously. You have no doubt his eyebrows have shot up to his hairline.

Nodding, you rub your side to ease the cramping caused by your laughter. It’s settled now, a small smile still on your face. You feel good – best you have in weeks. There’s no overwhelming dread or anxiousness clouding your thoughts.

“T’was a good idea,” you sigh.

He hums an agreement, eyes carefully landing on you – gaze appreciative. You make eye contact, the buzz running through your body giving a false sense of confidence. Your eyelids are heavy, but not in a sleepy way, more of a relaxed state. Maintaining eye contact, you rest your chin on your right palm, petting your own cheek with your thumb. Absentmindedly, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. You watch his composure change, eyes darkening into a blackness you could get yourself lost in.

“Don’t do that,” Simon huffs, breaking eye contact and looking away from you for a short moment.

You notice his fingers curl up into a tight fist, veins nearly popping. He adjusts his posture, lifting his hips subtly up towards the ceiling before settling back down with another huff. Your brows furrow in confusion, pulling up towards the center of your face.

“Do what?” you ponder aloud.

His sharp gaze falls back to your face, almost predatory. You watch his eyes trail back down to your lips, which are resting in a natural pout. A dark blossom of lust lights up your lower body, making your fingers twitch against your cheek.

“You know what,” he rasps.

His voice sends another flood of warmness through your body and you shiver. You feel a blush spreading high on your cheeks, mouth nearly salivating. Goosebumps travel at the near speed of light, covering your whole body in seconds. The way his voice has dropped a goddamn octave has you nearly dropping to your knees on the floor in front of him. Another deep rumble of his voice, bouncing around in his chest cavity before delivering so sweetly to you grabs your attention.

“You still with me?” Simon asks, eyes a little more open – concerned.

You feel yourself nod, swallowing. Your mouth is dry and you grimace. He’s closed the distance between the two of you, his fingers brushing your arm. You could stay like this forever – a foggy high of pleasure and temptation. Your fingers itch to place themselves over his. Simon meets your eyes again – but you can’t really tell what he’s thinking – such a mystery. You sigh, counting the delicate eyelashes that brush the tops of his cheeks. From how close you are, you can see that his cheeks are colored a light pink as well. You grin, relishing in the fact that he’s just as fucked as you are.

He's too much and not enough – your anticipation is leaping skyward by the second, but you tell yourself to be cautious. You don’t want to bite off more than you can chew. However, you cannot help but want tell him everything – let him be your confidant – your saving grace.

“I feel safer when you’re home,” you confess, eyes languidly rolling upwards to meet his. (Dammit, way to go).

Simon tilts his head and you see the mask contort against his skin, scrunching up against his crooked nose – a smile (a cocky one at that).

“Oh, really?” he humors you.

You nod, face burning like a wildfire. You’ve started picking at your nails again – self-soothing habit. His eyes slowly bounce around your face before he speaks again.

“You like when I’m home? Hm?”

You fight back a shiver, his voice smooth as molten honey. It does nothing but fuel the fire in your stomach. You let out a shaky sigh, nearly rolling your eyes in pleasure. Something in the air changes then, a thick settlement of tension making it hard for you to breathe. Simon’s grinning now, amused over your behavior. You can hear the subtle change in his voice – suggestive. It’s not like the thought of him in that way has never crossed your mind.

But then again, you never thought that you would have Simon in your house, let alone on your couch. You feel your eyes unfocus, lazily resting on Simon’s tattooed forearm. A soft tut falls from his lips, clipped and a bit accusatory. A shift of weight against your couch has you blinking to refocus, eyes rolling back up to his face. Time seems to shift, slowing down as your eyes meet his. His hands are resting simply in his lap – courteous. You watch out of the corner of your eyes how he shifts under your gaze, almost as if he’s nervous. His full attention is on you and you feel the scrutiny of his own.

“Didn’t answer my question,” he reminds.

It had been completely forgotten, lost in the swirling thoughts of your hazy brain. The joint has been burning against your fingers, smoke filling your apartment. Simon reaches out – lightning quick and snatches the small roll from your fingers, touch lingering. He waits, nearly as still as a statue – almost not even breathing.

“Y-Yes,” you finally breathe out, tension leaking from your shoulders as you confess.

He flicks the blunt free of it’s accumulated ash, and then nods curtly – no other commentary. You watch as he takes another long draw from the nearly depleted roll, flicking it on your worn coffee table – forgotten. Simon tilts his head back, heavy under the drug, and lets the smoke fall from his lips. His eyes are shielded from you and you can’t tell what he’s thinking. It makes you anxious, not knowing. The thing is, you didn’t know much about him at all. This shared moment between the two of you had been the most open you had seen him since he had moved in next door. Simon was a stranger to you.

The silence stretches, uncomfortably slow as you both remain within your own thoughts. You clear your throat, standing up and walking slowly over to the kitchen to grab two glasses of water and some fresh air. The clock reads 08:13, not even well into the evening. How long had he been over? The cool night air is tempting – you give in, walking over to the sink and taking a lungful of fresh air before filling the two glasses. You’re parched, bringing the cool glass to your lips and chugging your water in no time. It requires another refill before you carefully walk back over to him, holding out a glass.

His long fingers wrap around yours, tugging you closer to him. The water sloshes up and over the glass, spilling down your joined hands. A twinge of apprehension stirs in your gut. The fogginess of your thoughts sobers for a moment as you try your best to read his facial expressions.

“You’re too hard to read,” you say aloud, brows furrowing.

His eyes soften at your words, pulling the glass from your hand gently and draining it of its contents. He sighs, thirst quenched. He’s pulled the balaclava back down.

“Thank you,” to your actions and the commentary.

You frown, still looking down at him. He’s avoiding eye contact, but you notice. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest. There are so many mixed signals – it’s hard to decipher. His fingers are still lingering on your own, you take them and squeeze. That gets his attention.

“Simon.”

His head turns languidly to your voice, eyes sleepy. A soft hum vibrating through his broad chest. For some reason, the way he looks now, has another current of arousal surging through your veins.

“Would you be cross if I asked you a question?” he starts, words tumbling out of his mouth, unable to stop them.

You feel another twinge of apprehension, but let yourself answer with a slow nod. A grin pulls at his lips again, mischievous. He shifts his weight, sitting up on his knees on your couch. You’re near eye level with him, his broad shoulders block your view of your room down the hall. His cool fingers slide up your forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s trying his best not to be intimidating, at least not on purpose. You appreciate the mindfulness. A small sound leaves his throat and leads straight down to your abdomen. His fingers make their way up to the side of your neck. For a moment, they rest there – swirling soothing patterns into your skin. You feel your eyelids flutter, trying to remain focused on him.

He's so close, you can feel his breath on your skin. Your eyes focus on his covered lips as he finally speaks,

“Would you like to fuck?” his voice is deep, nearly cracking with how much restraint he is using.

Your heated gaze meets his own, lids heavy with arousal. His breath catches in his throat, tension suspended in the air as he waits for your answer.

“God, yes.”

--

He moves quickly, eagerness flashing in his dark eyes as he slides his fingers up into your hair, cradling your head. His balaclava is haphazardly pulled up just over his lips. Simon’s fingers twitch involuntarily – restraining – as he pulls you close, lips brushing against your own. A soft sound falls from your lips as you feel your eyes close. There’s almost too much of him and you worry momentarily that you bit off more than you can chew. But, he’s gentle with you, brushing his lips over your own before pressing them together.

You melt into his grasp, hands sliding up his arms to rest on his broad shoulders. Everything in you wants to put your hands on his face, but you restrain yourself, not wanting to spook him. An act of courage, you swipe your tongue over his bottom lip. He pulls away suddenly, and for a moment you’re afraid you’ve ruined the moment.

“Fuck,” he hisses softly, shoulders relaxing under your touch.

He returns to you eagerly, mirroring your actions by swiping his tongue over your lip. You part your lips in a gasp, allowing him to explore your mouth. He’s nearly overwhelming, but the taste he leaves in your mouth is heavenly – a mix of chamomile tea and the blunt you two had shared earlier. The thought of him on his knees for you is almost dizzying. You squeeze his shoulder softly, sliding your hand up to the side of his neck. His fingers shoot out lightning quick, wrapping around your hand and squeezing tightly. It makes you wince. Everything freezes – you’re left panting into his mouth.

“Sorry,” you pant out.

He shakes his head, loosening his fingers before placing your own on his face – where he wants them. A pained laugh leaves your lips, embarrassed by your actions. Both of you touch-starved and wanting to respect boundaries. You realize you’re both similar in that way – wanting to keep control. You try to pull away and he stops you, a heavy hand on your arm.

“”m okay,” he murmurs.

“I should’ve asked-“ you start before he shushes you, pulling your face back to his with his thumb and forefinger.

He slams your lips together, teeth nearly clacking in the process. Simon’s hands slide down your sides, grabbing at the fat surrounding your hips. He’s moving again, sitting back down on his ass and pulling you into his lap. You stumble, reaching out and grabbing the back of the couch to steady yourself. He’s looking up at you now head resting on the back of your couch, eyes as dark as sin. The angle is inviting, but you want a little bit more, so – you take your thumb and forefinger, placing on his chin and tilting back dangerously. A flash of glitter pools in his eyes, a soft noise leaving his lips. You rest on your knees above him, avoiding his lap as you look down at him.

A surge of power takes over you, seeing him react so prettily to your touch. His arms rest by his sides, obedient. You notice how his neck is turned upwards, so you lean down, attaching your mouth to his skin and licking a stripe. He shudders, hips involuntarily bucking against your own.

“A-Again,” he huffs, eyes screwing closed.

You oblige, the sweet taste of his lingering soap on his skin. You’ve never had a vocal partner, but hearing the sounds he makes just for you makes your pussy flutter. He sounds so strewn out, and you haven’t even touched him yet. You lean back slowly, looking back up at him before settling your hips down against his own. Simon’s hand curls itself around your waist (he can’t help himself), squeezing as his hips buck up into your clothed core before settling back against the couch cushions.

Fuck.

“I’m going to touch your face again,” you warn, placing your hands gently on his cheeks.

You move very slowly, rolling his mask neatly up onto his nose. His eyes are glazed over, nearly unfocused as you continue.

“No more,” he states calmly, despite taking a deep shuttering breath.

His voice is full of arousal as he purrs,

“Y’ want me to use my mouth?”

Oh. Your brain short circuits, mouth falling open in a silent gasp.  He’s grinning again, and by how close you are this time, you notice the slight crookedness of his teeth – it makes him even more human. There a sliver of a scar that rests against his upper lip and are those? Freckles? Your eyes nearly roll in the back of your head as your stomach flutters again. Fingers dart out to trace them, it makes him jump before relaxing under your touch. His skin is flushed, pink blossoming all the way down his neck. The closeness of your two bodies has you burning up. You reach to your right, yanking your t-shirt up and over your head, letting it fall to the floor.

Simon chuckles softly, a tinge of nervousness around the edges. His mouth, god his mouth.

“Is that a yes?” he questions, leaving it open.

You grab his chin a bit roughly, and he sighs into your touch. His fingers tighten on your hip, squeezing a couple of times.

“Yes, Simon.” You coo against his lips, voice sultry.

He shudders, still grinning at the sound of his name.

--

Simon never in his life thought that he would let himself become this vulnerable, this open to someone. Let alone show his face. He’s relinquished a part of him that needs control – and it fucking terrifies him. He’s nervous as fuck, but the haze of arousal has him blinded. With you sitting so pretty in his lap – he wouldn’t dare move a muscle unless you give him the okay. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. Simon’s stomach clenches with arousal? Fear? He doesn’t even fucking know – ignorant to the sensation. He didn’t indulge often, only to ever stave off that ever growing feeling sometimes. It wasn’t intimate, it was practical.

He’s watching you through hooded eyes, the weed and your presence on top of him making his pants pull almost unbearably tight. Simon’s in uncharted territory, letting his guard down, trusting that you won’t take advantage of him (he already knows you wouldn’t) but that anxiety builds up within his chest – nearly burning. He wants to hand himself over, to fully relax into the pleasure and just be. He feels safe with you (he’d never fucking admit it).

“So pretty,” you coo against his lips.

It sends a delicious shiver down his spine. A soft, almost pained sound leaves his lips. Oh, he’s fucked. He’s so hard it fucking hurts. But he wills himself not to come, not yet. Simon needs you, just as desperately as you need him. It’s a standoff for whoever is going to make the first move – tension nearly asphyxiating. His neck hurts from staring up at you, he hasn’t moved since you placed him. He wouldn’t dare unless you told him. He’d listen to anything that you told him.

“Simon,” you say, breaking the silence yet again.

He feels his cock jump in his pants. The way his name rolls off of your lips – it’s delicious. He’s thinking too much – side effect of the weed. Simon’s eyes focus on yours, all doe-like.

“Yes?” he breathes, all composure gone.

“I want you to use your mouth,” you state.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He’s fucking dizzy, ears ringing. A laugh escapes his lips, almost like he had a punch to the gut. He scrambles upwards, moving his hands away for a second (it feels like a lifetime) to maneuver your pliant body underneath his. Simon’s panting, placing his knee inbetween your thighs, caging his broad arms around you. He’s never seen a more beautiful sight. You’re looking up at him like he made the damn sky – something wicked curls in his stomach, a flush setting flight down his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathes, brushing a few stray hairs out of your flushed face.

Your pupils are blown, not an ounce of color within them. Your lips are plastered in almost a permanent grin, high still buzzing through your veins. He plants his thumb on your bottom lip, gently prying it open. Your tongue swipes at the pad of his thumb, begging for a taste. He doesn’t know why he does it – but he leans closer, allowing a trail of saliva to part from his lips. It lands on your tongue and you fucking swallow.

All while maintaining eye contact.

--

You stare up at Simon, eyes burning from not blinking. Not a moment missed. His eyes roll in the back of his head and he shudders.

“Jesus, fucking Christ,” he runs his finger over your lip and does it again.

You don’t miss a drop.

“You’re a fucking tease,” he huffs out a laugh.

You grin, tracing the fluttering pulse at his neck and pull him down to meet your lips. The fabric of the balaclava brushes against your skin, but you don’t mind. He has you caged in, you cannot move (you don’t even think about moving). Simon’s knee bumps against your clothed pussy and you moan softly against his lips.

You feel your brows scrunch upwards in pleasure as he does it again, this time pulling your hips down to meet his knee.

“There you go,” he encourages.

You feel your breath hitch, a pang of sharp arousal pooling near your core. Moans fall from your lips, filling the air of your apartment. Simon’s eyes are focused on where your clothed core meets his knee, grip tightening on the fat of your hips.

“S-Simon-“ you pant. “I-.”

“Say my name again,” he grunts, voice nearly a growl.

“Simon,” you gasp, eyes wet with tears as your orgasm bubbles up and over, pleasure flooding your limbs – all the way out to your fingertips.

You clench around nothing, soft sobs escaping your lips as your orgasm slowly fades. He doesn’t give you any time to recover, inching is large body down your sofa and hooking his legs over the armrest as he lays on his stomach. His fingers curl around the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down your legs. His fingers trace a line up your thighs, causing you to shiver.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he says, leaning forward and burying his face between your folds.

It turns him on, seeing you turned on. He’s exceptional – and absolutely fucking messy. Simon eats you out like it’s his last meal on Earth. Your moans mix with giggles, the thought of him being your “last meal” being absolutely hilarious in your inebriated state.

Simon tilts his head, nose brushing up against your clit in a dangerous way. It bumps the bundle of nerves just right – choking a moan out of you. He does it again (on purpose this time the bastard) when he comes up for a breath of air. It’s not long before he dives back down, tongue swirling through your sopping folds. You’re almost certain you can feel him thrusting against the couch, chasing his own pleasure while burning your taste into his tongue.

A second orgasm pulls tight in your belly, sharp and quick as you come yet again, pleasure pooling on his tongue. He doesn’t waste a second, lapping up your release. You’re shuddering, aftershocks lingering the second time around. He’s still lazily curling his tongue around your clit. You take your hand, pushing at his head until he finally gets the hint. He pulls away, lips shining with your release. You moan at the sight, clenching around nothing once more. Simon places a swift kiss to your knee, clouded gaze falling to your own.

“That was so fucking hot,” his voice is hoarse and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“D-Did you?” you ask shyly, cheeks burning.

“Oh, all shy now, are we?” he teases, the top of his balaclava moving.

Bastard was wiggling his eyebrows. You fake a pout, leaning up on your elbows. He places a hand on your stomach, petting the skin there.

“You gonna let me take care of you? For being so good to me?” you coo, petting his hand on top of your stomach.

His grin falls, mouth falling open in shock. A soft groan falls from his lips, almost pained.

“You? You…want more?”

You do. You fucking want your body to memorize every inch of him. Every sound, every touch, every taste, every smell. You can only imagine how he would feel inside you. A whimper escapes your mouth at the thought. You feel yourself nod, pulse quick and thready in your ears. He’s getting back up on his knees in no time, pulling you into his lap and standing up rather quickly. It’s dizzying, the rush of blood going to your head. He spreads you over your coffee table, brushing your books and forgotten glasses to the carpeted floor. You wrap your legs around his waist, thighs burning with the stretch.

Fingers curling around his waistband, you tug, trying to get his cock free. When it is released from the confines of his boxers, it springs up against his belly – red and swollen with want. Oh, fuck. He’s fucking huge. You gulp – too much. Spitting into your palm, you reach in-between your two bodies, wrapping your small fingers around his length and tugging upwards.

A wanton moan punches from his lips. It’s loud, and you’re cursing yourself for getting an apartment with thin walls. You don’t shush him, allow him to be candid and open – something you’re sure he doesn’t get to do much often. He thrusts through your curled fingers, the head of his cock brushing over the tips. His precome eases the way as you continue your ministrations. Up, down, up down, squeeeeeze.

“Oh, fuck-,” he chokes on a moan.

“Sound so pretty, Simon,” you coo once more, voice sultrier than ever.

His hand grabs a handful of your ass, tugging you closer to his cock. You tease him by running the velvety head through your folds. You’re still slick from your previous orgasms.

“I-If you keep doing that I’m going to cum,” he gasps, teeth gritted in concentration.

He curses, yanking your hand from off of his length and letting out a groan. Simon shifts forwards, thick thighs spreading your own even more. You whine softly at the stretch, thighs screaming (worth it). The head of his cock brushes against your hole, catches on the lip before sliding inside. It punches the air out of you. You can’t believe how easily he slides in, wide girth filling up every inch of your cunt. You clench down on his length, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Hands reach out to grasp his own, that are circling your hips. He removes one, taking your left knee and pushing it up towards your body. If you didn’t think he could get any deeper, he does – the head of his cock brushing against that spongey spot deep inside.

You’re babbling, drunk on the pleasure his body gives you, praises falling from your lips. You don’t even recognize what you’re saying.

“Can’t-Can’t keep talkin’ like that honey.” Honey. Honey.

He sounds wrecked, fucking up into you as his hips stutter. A whine escapes your lips as he pulls your body down to meet his thrusts. You’re pliant to his touch – fucked out and not a care in the world. You’d let him do anything to you.

“Please,” you beg. “Please come for me Simon,” you sob out, finding his eyes finally.

“You fuckin-“ he chokes, hips slamming into your ass as he captures your lips in a kiss.

He bites down hard when he comes, splitting your lip open. The pain from it pushes you over the edge and you clench around his cock, milking every ounce of pleasure from him.

--

You come to later that evening, eyes blearily blinking open to find him in-between your legs again. He’s lapping lazily at your cunt, tongue dipping in and out of your hole, cleaning up his mess. You whine softly, pussy puffy and overstimulated. Simon smiles against your folds, the noises coming from his mouth are obscene. His voice is rough when he speaks, fucked out – you fucking melt.

“Had to give ‘ya one more.”

You pet the side of his head, thighs shaking with overstimulation as a laugh punches its way out of your throat. He’s moved you back to the couch, in your previous position.

“Taste too good.”

[my-own-walker]

Someone You've Never Seen Before

A Kyle Spencer Fan Fiction

frat!kyle AU, fem!main character, sexual themes, mature language, use of drugs and alcohol, frat boy antics

18.

As if on cue, someone cleared their throat behind me. Shivers went down my spine. I turned my head and was met with the most piercing brown-eyed gaze. He looked at me with such intensity, I couldn't help but hold my breath.

He stood tall next to me, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt with a white ribbed tank top underneath and a pair of jeans.

"Hey Kyle," Lily greeted with a knowing smile, standing from her seat on the side table. She rubbed my arm as if to say 'This is who it was.'

"Hi. Mind if I steal Hannah from you for a second?" Kyle smiled softly. My eyes remained trained on him as he interacted with my best friend.

"Not at all," she replied, pushing my arm lightly as she walked away. I quickly cast a pleading look in her direction, but she didn't see. Turning my attention to Kyle, I said a quiet prayer that this was going to go well.

"I've been trying to find you all night," he spoke lowly, looking deeply into my eyes.

"W-why?" I stammered. I looked quickly to my left, hoping to find comfort in Lily's presence nearby, but instead, she was nowhere to be found. She must've known what he was doing, otherwise, she wouldn't have left me.

"I saw Julian try to talk to you earlier. I wanted to make sure you were alright," he mumbled. "We uh, also - Hannah, need to talk."

"I don't disagree with you on that," was all I could muster.

"Do you wanna, I don't know, maybe go somewhere more quiet?" Kyle suggested. "That sounds creepy, I just mean-"

"No, yeah, I'm okay with that," I murmured. I could see that my change of heart was unexpected. I could tell he expected me to tell him to fuck off. 

"Let's just uh, leave, I guess," he stammered. I nodded, then proceeded to follow him outside, past Lance, and down onto the sidewalk. I walked alongside him for a few moments before he paused. "Wait, where are we going?"

"We could go to mine," I offered. "It's literally one block this way." I pointed to my right.

"That's fine."

I shot Lily a text on the way there, letting her know what was going on, although I think she had it all figured out. Kyle nor I spoke a word for the rest of the walk.

We got to the door of the apartment and I nearly forgot how to work a key to open the door. When I finally got it open, his eyes widened slightly at the sight of our place. He had never been, so I was sure it was jarring for him. 

He settled in on the couch. I discarded my angel wings by the door and turned on some music to ease any tension, but it seemed unnecessary. Or maybe distracting. We really did need to have a serious conversation. I noted how soft he looked in the warm lighting of the room. I crossed the floor and sat on the opposite end of the sofa from him, my feet planted firmly on the floor in an attempt to keep them from running away.

"This is a - uh, nice couch," he muttered, running his hands over the upholstery next to him. I cocked an eyebrow

"Yeah?" I laughed wryly. "I, -uh stole it off the side of the road. Cleaned it, of course. Loved the color. Purple's my favorite." Overexplaining my couch and its origins. Nice going, Hannah.

"It's soft, uh, I don't know," he chuckled. "I'm just a fan of couches." He shifted uncomfortably and shook his head at himself while looking down at his lap.

"L-look-" I started.

"I just-" Kyle spoke at the same time. He exhaled and looked up at me. "You first."

"I was just going to say that, uh, thanks," I uttered, unsure how to string my words together. "Thanks for, like, the other night. L-lily told me what you did."

His eyes softened. He sniffed, rubbing his nose with his thumb and index fingers. "I'm just glad you're okay," he replied, his voice barely a whisper. "Timing was good on our part."

"And you somehow knowing where I went," I jabbed, slightly sarcastic.

He cleared his throat and laughed slightly. "I may have seen you go in there, yes."

"Spying on me, Spencer," I taunted, poking his bicep. Except, he didn't smile. In fact, he sobered, his expression changing to one of complete and utter seriousness. He looked down at his hands in his lap.

"I'm sorry, Hannah. I can't even begin to explain how sorry I truly am," he spoke, his voice catching on his words.

"Kyle-"

"No, I know. I know it sounds like bullshit. I know that sorry is what I should say. I know that no number of apologies will take away what I did," he interrupted. "Listen, Hannah," he leaned forward to better meet my eyes. "I'm so tired of the frat act. I'm some blonde guy who wears frat polos and khakis. I hang around with douchebags. You're, like, so fucking cool. You're so above all of the college social politics. The bullshit I deal with every day." 

I couldn't help but scoff at his words. I pulled my feet up from the ground to sit cross-legged on the sofa and turned to face Kyle entirely.

He continued, after a beat of silence. I didn't speak. "You're cool without trying. That's the thing. You just have it all figured out. And I know you're above all the frat garbage. You know it, too. I see the way you looked through me from the beginning. You still do. But worse now."

"Kyle, that's not-"

"You've always been someone I needed to know. I have never wanted anyone's approval more," Kyle spoke lowly. "Do you realize that your smile is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen? You don't give it out easily. Not many people get to see it. But when you smile at someone, it's like- the greatest reward in the history of the world."

I shook my head, bewildered. "I- I guess I didn't realize you'd noticed me before."

"Noticed?" he scoffed. "This is going to sound so lame, but I felt like I wouldn't be able to win you over. I'm an insecure frat guy. That stupid fucking bet meant nothing. I wanted to know you. All along. My pride was hurt when I agreed to it. When you, uh, yelled at me at that party."

"I-"

"But I wanna be someone you've never seen before," Kyle professed, leaning forward and putting a hand on my knee. "I want you to know the guy behind what you see. Behind your preconceived notions of me. The guy that totally hates what he did to you."

"I don't know what to say, Kyle I-" I trailed off, shaking my head, staring deeply into his genuine gaze.

"When I saw you in that room with him on top of you, god, I could have murdered him," he murmured. "But I realized in that moment just how strongly I feel toward you. It hit me that somewhere along the way, I fell so fucking in love with you. My heart is so full of you, I feel like I can't even call it my own."

I leaned into his face and pressed my lips to his. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths started playing over the living room speaker. Kyle relaxed into my touch and scooted closer to me, wrapping his arms around me. We made out hungrily for what felt like both a second and an eternity.

He then leaned forward even more, guiding me to lay back, and positioning himself on top of me. I pulled at his overshirt, encouraging him to take it off. He looked down at me as if to say 'You sure?' then pulled the fabric off smoothly and threw it across the room.

Kyle's body was way more athletic than I had imagined. We had made out many times before, but we had never gone this far. The muscles in his toned shoulders were apparent. His biceps were large and the veins in his arms protruded visibly. His strong hands found their way to the top of my dress, and without thinking, I sat up slightly to tug the straps off and pull it down, exposing my bra.

Suddenly feeling exposed, showing my bra in the front room and all, I stopped kissing Kyle. "We uh, we should move to my room," I whispered, smiling. "Just in case Lily comes home."

"I don't know that I can wait," he rumbled, stooping down to pepper kisses up and down my neck and chest.

It was in my best interest to protest, but the feeling of his soft lips upon my breasts put me in a trance. I pushed his head back, though. "I will simply die if she walks in on this. Let's go," I demanded. He hopped off of me and helped me up. I led him back into the apartment and opened the door to my room for him. He walked through and swiftly grabbed me, pulling me in roughly behind him.

I gasped as he pushed me backward, pinning me up against the door, and clicking it shut with my body weight. As his lips met mine, I fumbled behind me, locking the door.

I felt my way down to his pants and palmed his erection through the fabric. He whimpered at the touch. I undid the button and unzipped his jeans, and Kyle took the work of pulling them off of himself. I took that time to slide my dress all the way off, tossing it behind me. He stopped to regard me in just my underwear. He chuckled and shook his head.

"What?"

"You're so fucking hot," he breathed wrapping his arms tightly around my waist and walking me over to my bed. We both flopped down, I on my back and Kyle on top of me once more. I continued kissing him and put my hand down his boxers. 

"Okay?" I asked. He nodded in reply, inhaling sharply when my fingers wrapped around his cock. I pumped his erection, reveling in his moans and whines. 

"Fuck," he spat. I removed contact, making Kyle grunt loudly. 

"One sec," I whispered, reaching back to the side table next to my bed. I fumbled with the drawer, opening it to grab a spare condom. I handed it over with a smirk. "Didn't think I'd ever use these but damn am I happy to have 'em right now."

"Thank god you remembered," he sighed. He slid his boxers down and opened the package with his teeth, guiding the rubber over his member. Then, he pulled my panties down and guided my legs apart. I yelped when I felt his dick enter me. It was much larger than I anticipated.

"You okay?" he panted, beginning to hit his stride.

"Mmhmm," I affirmed through gritted teeth. I threw my head back, feeling my walls tighten around him. His thrusts got deeper, hitting the innermost parts of me. We both grunted, gasped, and moaned at the contact.

"Shit, I'm gonna come," Kyle groaned. He stroked a few more times before coming with a whimper. I felt warmth spread in my middle. He pulled out and stood to clean up. I laid on the bed for a moment, watching his toned back ripple under his thin tank as he pulled his boxers back on. 

He handed me my own underpants upon his return, a shy grin on his face, and a pink flush in his cheeks. I chuckled at him as I slid them back on. He spun around and continued searching the floor for something.

"Are you looking for your shirt?" I asked, noticing his struggle. "It's in the living room."

"Ah, fuck," he replied quietly. "I don't need it." He joined me back in bed, snaking his arms around my middle.

"Holy fuck," I gasped, something dawning on me. I whipped my head to face him. "Your costume tonight. You were Romeo. 1996 Romeo and Juliet."

"Your best friend tipped me off," he said with a wink. "It's a favorite of mine as well."

Previous Part | Next Part

[lunchboxpoems]

MY FATHER AND I DRIVE TO ST. LOUIS FOR HIS MOTHER'S FUNERAL AND THE WILDFLOWERS

There is a story in a journey / a son takes / with his father / that circles back to a field / of flowers / that stays a field of flowers / only in name / & because our eyes pass them along a road / so / there is a point in a journey when all the years blur the same / Meaning / the details it took to get there / & the details it takes to get back— / & there is a point in a journey when a volta pivots inside a narrative / when a father turns the wheel over to his son / & this is the moment when a father releases his child / to the wind / & the boy learns to fail / or the boy learns to fly / & we desire shade from our oak trees / where the robins watch their nests / & sure / this could be a story about how a parent never rests / once his hands relinquish control / & my father ever slept along the journey / (though / I’d seen him doze) / & we mostly ate fast food / & paused for gas / so / there is a point in the journey when the journey becomes a hill / a literal slope / somewhere between a field / & Texas / where our bodies enter a highpoint / & there is a tension / & / peripheral to a son / & / peripheral to a father / are likely flowers blowing in a wind / that could be from anywhere / & we could be anyone / & I could ask for anything / so there is a point in a journey where I become a magic lamp / & my father becomes a field of wildflowers / & the thing about a magic lamp is / how gently the hands tremble / once the wheels turn slowly onto the shoulder / so there is a point in the journey / where I pull off the road / & I am asked to exit my vehicle / as if I had a choice / so there is a point in the journey when the frame holds / & the hill stills / more or less its green / & the dandelions become a haven / for the bees to stuff their pockets / with gold / & / by this standard / my father can no longer be likened to a field / of wildflowers / & / the thing about a magic lamp / is / I only get three wishes / & my father is being cross-examined / as I make use of them all / so there is a point in a journey when / who lives to tell the tale / & / from what point of view / become central to the climax / & if the man toting the gun has a third-person limited / & if the plane in the sky has a god’s point of view / I am all out of wishes / & the thing about a journey is / at some point it becomes a prayer / & what I mean is / from this point on / & the man with the gun is all about the math / & see— / what should be viewed as routine / does not start out that way / & what is likely to be believed / requires / neither of us / so / there is a point in a journey when it ends the way it begins / with that which appears different / upon the surface / & the man toting the gun wants to know / if our stories corroborate / & to think / all of this came from my being / too relaxed / from allowing my foot to coast down a hill / while I mistook a field of dandelions to be a field of wildflowers / & that was my mistake / & the plane that was said to have calculated my duration / to distance (before the age of drones) / is not put to a vote / So there is a point in a journey when I return to the math / & I have never been one for arithmetic / so forgive me if my story does not add up / I leave this problem for you to resolve / since I know that you will work through my miscalculation / & the thing about a miscalculation / is how a journey could end / & the thing about a journey ending is / how easy it is to misfire / & what I mean is / how easy it is to begin with a field of flowers / & end / with no flowers at all

CHAUN BALLARD