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nnight-dances · 1 month

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ONE KISS, ONE LOVE

PAIRING: park wonbin x fem!reader

GENRE: fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive dialogue but nothing explicit

TROPES: established relationship!au, idol!wonbin, age gap vibes but no real mention, reader babies wonbin like he deserves to be, texts at the end, just sickening sweet stuff

WATCH: wonbin's night routine

NOTE: inspired by the video above! once again, these wonbin fics write themselves ... he might be my favorite boy to write rn or maybe that's just my way of coping!! anyway don't be surprised if i just start spamming u with the wonbin fics i just have too many good ideas. but they're all gonna be set in this same established relationship style, he's just so bf coded lol... anyway, enjoy <3

you've been in bed for a good twenty, clad in cream pyjamas and skincare intact, when you hear the frontdoor open – signalling your boyfriend, wonbin's arrival. you pause the video you're watching on your phone and sit up to greet him, "bin? welcome home." his heavy footsteps stop where his figure finally comes into your view.

wonbin looks wiped out, no doubt, eyes shadowed by his somnolent lashes. he stares at you for a moment before humming, the sound halfway between a thank god you're here and i could die right now. he peels his layers off with speed, black leather jacket hung up on the tree-shaped rack near your closet and his other outerwear finding its place on the small cabinet next to it.

you watch fondly as even in his fatigue, he patiently makes sure no outside clothes pollute the bed. as soon as he's in nothing but his white tee and boxers though, he jumps onto you, deflating the air out of you like a body pillow.

"hello," he mumbles, face disappearing into your chest where he snuggles closer.

"hi, love," you welcome him warmly, fingers carding through his hair as a force of habit. you breathe against his limp body, letting him unwind on top of you as he often does. it's a silent activity, a night routine of sorts for wonbin on his longest days. he'd trudge home and settle close to you, wordlessly like a cat looking for soothing.

sometimes, you talked to him about your day and he'd hum along, eyes on yours telling all you needed to hear. other times, you would go back to doing whatever you were doing – watching a show, playing a game, or talking to a friend – while he recharged. he even insisted it worked best when you were just doing your own thing.

today, you do neither. setting your phone aside, you occupy yourself with wonbin himself, first meandering through his charcoal hair and then trailing down to his neck, tracing hearts and stars into his skin. you can feel him relaxing under your touch, his face finally coming back into your vision.

"tired," wonbin says, voice coarser than ever. "need to sleep."

"i know, baby," you croon, "wanna wash up first?"

he shakes his head adamantly, "no. sleepy."

you laugh softly, "angel, i'm sure you are but you can't sleep with your makeup on, can you?"

"had a few drinks with taro hyung," he murmurs as if that explains his behavior.

"really? you had time after practice?"

"he snuck it into practice. beer after all that sweating was nice."

"wow, look at you," you muse, hand brushing his bangs out of his eyes, "you sound like an old man."

"i am," wonbin pouts, "let the old man go to sleep."

"sorry, love, i can't do that," you say.

"rude."

"say what you will," you sit up fully, pulling your sluggish boyfriend with you. ignoring his groans, you kiss his nose, "wash up, okay? can't have my rockstar breaking out because he was too lazy to wash his face before bed."

he groans again but this time it's an endearment, his kiss on your cheek disguising his smile. "but i can't move, y/n. please."

"i'll help you," you snake out of the sheets, squatting as you heave wonbin out as well. he stands up unwillingly, head wilting like a sad flower. you laugh, pulling him toward the washroom, "will you listen if i do all the work?"

that gets the job done alright because two minutes later, wonbin's settled against the sink with you between his legs. you crane around his tall limbs to reach for his products, having memorized his night skincare by now.

cleansing balm in hand, you carefully cover every inch of his face, the makeup turning into oil gradually. "okay, babe, now rinse your face for me."

"you said you'd do all the work!" he complains without missing a beat.

you glare at him, "i can't possibly wash your face without making a mess of both of us."

"sounds like an excuse to me."

sulking, he turns around, washing the balm off. next, you go in with his foam cleanser, gently circling his cheeks and forehead. despite all his earlier declarations, he watches you attentively, his hand loosely clasped around your waist to keep you in place. you have to scold him midway at one point when he gets cheeky and sneaks a hand down your pyjamas, feeling the hem of your panties.

eventually, you dry his face off with a hand towel. "there," you peck his cheek, "all clean."

when he doesn't let go of your waist, you raise a brow at him. "you only love me when i'm clean," he scowls, "don't you?"

you narrow your eyes at his tantrum, "i think you're forgetting how i'm sacrificing my screen time before bed to clean you up right now."

he looks unconvinced as he tails you out of the bathroom. he's about to throw himself back onto the bed when you stop him by his hand. "change first," you explain, pulling out fresh pyjamas and throwing them at him.

wonbin stands idly and it's only when he starts raising his arms up that you realize he wants you to do it. you sigh, "bin, you're such a baby today." but you smile as you pull his shirt off, disregarding the way he instantly flexes when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. slipping his pyjamas on, a piece at a time, you clap when he's done.

"i would make a great mother," you pat yourself on the back.

"you can adopt me if you want," he shrugs and you snicker, "i don't think i need to."

"you want anything to eat before you sleep?" you ask as if you hadn't quite literally brushed his teeth. "chocolate," he says without any conviction and you roll your eyes at him, watching as he launches himself at the bed.

"quick, come here," wonbin whines. you pad over to your side of the bed and join him, giggling when his body curls around you instantly. his nose finds its indent against your neck this time, cold and fresh.

for a minute, you think that's all you'll hear out of your boyfriend for the night. but it's just as you're about to reach for your phone when he speaks up again, "sorry if i'm boring."

you're not sure if your ears hear right, "what?"

but his voice is solemn, "...i'm probably kinda boring lately. so i'm sorry."

you turn on your side to face him completely, hand coming to rest against his cheek. "bin, you idiot. you coming home is the best part of my day."

"really? even though i'm too dead to do anything?" he perks up but his eyes gloomy, "we don't even fuck anymore. or go to the movies. or go out at all."

you laugh, "you're making us sound like an old couple on the verge of divorce, baby. you're just busier because of your comeback! i'm so excited and you should be, too."

"i am. but i don't want bore you."

"you don't, though. i'm lucky enough i get to see you at night and take care of you when i can. plus, it's not like you won't have more time after your promotions, right? we can do everything you want then."

wonbin blinks at you, his cool hand finally coming to meet yours where it was still caressing his cheek. he kisses your palm, "thank you. i'm glad."

"of course, love. now, go to sleep or you'll regret it tomorrow," you chirp, rolling over and shutting the lights off quickly.

"...you really would be a great mom," wonbin laughs at your behavior.

"good night, wonbin."

"good night, mom."

you hit his arm at his brazenness but when he just laughs again, the sound is too sweet for you to even pretend to be mad. so instead, you hug him closer, hand on his bicep and his legs tangled with yours.

–

bin: I AM FREE AT LAST

bin: FROM THE SHACKLES OF IT

you: …

you: how would ur fans react if i leaked our texts

you: so much for being mysterious

you: "shackles of it" boy have you ever touched a book

bin: okay so you're rude today

bin: i miss y/n mom version

you: ew?? if u have a kink i dont think this is gonna work

bin: because…?

you: is sungchan still single

bin: i was kidding! haha!

you: ok.

bin: seriously tho let's do smth fun 2nite

you: i get off work late today :(

bin: whatttt you have a life outside of me :0

you: do you WANT me to break up with you???

bin: what i meant was i will be there to pick you up <3

you: wtv man idgaf anymore

bin: noooo

bin: i'll do anything you want don't be mad

you: anything?

bin: well other than leaking our texts ofc

you: i want to live together

bin: ???

bin: we alr do

you: wonbin

you: baby

you: you just always come over to my place

bin: i sleep there it's my home wdym

you: and you still pay the bills for your place?

bin: i don't make that bag for nothing

you: ok so what if we lived together instead

bin: but i really like your place!!

you: i do too

you: let's make it our place

bin: shit

bin: i just actually blushed irl

you: :)

you: is that a yes

bin: i want to marry you

you: okay well let's calm down

bin: did u just reject me

you: i'm telling u that you're gonna regret proposing through text

bin: i love u and i want u to be my wife

bin: omg i just shed a tear at the thought of calling u that

bin: wife…. im changing ur contact name

bin: or should i change it to fiancée? since we havent yet tied the knot

you: park wonbin

you: we are 20 years old

bin: untrue

bin: im 22

you: i am not marrying you right now

bin: … is there someone else

you: i'm not marrying anyone right now

bin: ok so i'm not husband material

you: you are

bin: i'm not father material? you: no comment

you: but we aren't ready babe

you: let's take it slow k?

you: just move in first

you: we have so many memories to make

bin: you're such a flirt

you: ??? u just asked me to marry you but sure

bin: i'll be moved in by the time you come back home

you: i thought you were picking me up

bin: that was before u asked me to move in

bin: now i have to bring all my stuff over

bin: which side of your closet can i use? bin: also thoughts on letting me keep my rock collection next to your figurines?

you: right side and no

bin: wow u didnt even think about it

you: imagine we get into a fight

bin: i refuse to

you: i'm just saying i would be tempted to throw them rocks at u

bin: you would do that????

you: depending on what u do

bin: why are you expecting me to do anything at all????

you: …experience

bin: wow

you: to be loved is to be known

bin: you can't flatter me now

you: i love you

bin: …

bin: i love you too

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purelyfiction · 6 months

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NFL QB Jake 'Hangman' Seresin AU x Popstar F!Reader

Summary: NFL Quarterback Jacob Seresin is in hot water from a streak of bad decisions, just as you go through the worst public breakup of your life. With people slandering both of your reputations, your publicists hatch a plan to bring both of you back into favor and keep the heat off until spring - that is if you can keep up the facade.

Word Count: 5,334 words

Author Note: I know I have two other outstanding Top Gun fics and I swear I'm trying to get those going but I am writing what sparks joy and well.... this certainly does. || Also!! Reader's stage name is 'Celeste' with 'Este' as the nickname. So no one gets confuseddddd

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You'd never anticipated to start the biggest year of your life absolutely gutted, yet here you are. Your boyfriend – well, ex-boyfriend, severed what you had thought to be a loving, trusting and safe relationship, rather unexpectedly on New Year's Eve. Then he'd gone to the press to relay that you were a horrible person, a terrible girlfriend, too involved in your work to even bother paying attention to anyone else. The timing couldn't be worse, since you were about to start your first ever stadium tour in the spring.

The result had been you hiding away in your little oasis that was your condo in California’s southern escape of San Diego. You’d stayed off the internet, binging TV shows that you’d been too busy to pay attention to and immersing yourself in anything you could, to erase the four year relationship you’d been splintered from. The garbage people probably wondered why there were a near dozen empty quarter pints of ice cream in your recycling bin, but that wasn’t for them to care about. At least you’d recycled them.

Now, three weeks into the new year, with your favorite Chinese on the way, you sit on your couch going over tour visuals. Your lighting engineer is rambling on the line as you hear the gate buzzer go off. You’re quick to collect your dinner as one of the others on the line gasp and quickly mute their mic. “What?” You quip, walking to your expansive kitchen and dropping the large paper bag down. You’re half paying attention when the employee brushes you off, as your hand pulls container after container of food from the magical Mary Poppins-style bag. Getting to the bottom, you grasp for a pair of chopsticks, only to find several sets of them, along with a dozen fortune cookies. You take a moment to look over your four entrees and styrofoam container of sushi. The audacity of them to think you would be sharing any of this.

Finally, you address the matter of your dramatic tech director. “What’s the deal over there Hollywood?” You chide, before your phone is ringing, leaving you to hang up the video call to answer the phone. It’s your publicist and you know better than to let her calls go unanswered.

“Check your inbox.” Her voice is frigid instead of it’s usually cheery demeanor.

“Hello to you too?” Begrudgingly, you do as she commands, finding the email she sent to you.

Jonah Carter agreed to sit down for an interview with UsWeekly, post-breakup to clear the air and to make sure no one else would fall for his ex-girlfriend's (Celeste) playful, girl-next-door-ish facade.

"At first, it felt like a dream come true," Carter, an up-and-coming actor within his own right, said almost sheepishly. "I thought she was talented and kind, but I should've known it was too good to be true."

But there's more to this pop-star than Jonah says meets the eye. In addition to the vanity and self-importance that seems to plague this generation's starlets, Este was a vindictive slob who routinely talked behind the back of even her closest friends. "It makes me wonder what she's saying about me, now, after everything I've heard her say about those who think are closest to her." The concern for others is written very clearly on the actor’s face as he speaks. When I question the songstress’ messages about authenticity, the man adjusts in his seat as he holds back a laugh.

"She'd like you to believe she writes all her own music, but I'm not sure she could write a full sentence without the help of her team," Jonah chuckled nervously into his coffee. "Sorry, that was rude. I don't want to stoop to her level." Cowed brown eyes made me wonder what else he had endured behind closed doors. It struck a chord within me.

“Why did you stay as long as you had if this was what you were facing?” I ask him. The expression of his kind features morphs into despair.

“When we first met, Celeste was someone I admired. Her compassion, her drive and her dedication to the things she valued spoke so deeply to what I did, what I still do-” he fumbles as he attempts to source the proper words, “They just… weren’t her beliefs. They were her team’s.” Jonah lets out a pained sound, “I think when we got toward the end of it, I realized that she has this way of manipulating what she says, how she acts, to make herself look good. She puts on a show, on and off the stage and you pay for it one way or another. So, I knew what she was capable of. I knew she could be that person if she really wanted to and I wanted so badly to help her see that. I eventually learned that people see what they want to see.”

God, what a load of hot garbage this was. It was a particularly rare batch, clearly it had been baking in a dumpster in the scorching sun with the lid closed. All damp, with a horrendous mix of something rotting and old crusty seaweed.

The tour was supposed to be announced on the first of the month and here your ex was selling stories (horribly narrated and mangled stories) to the press. You might as well have been kicking puppies at this point.

“Isn’t he just swell? Nothing but peak wisdom from good ol’ Jonah.” Your eyes could’ve strained themselves with how far back they rolled. Probably the only time he’d ever made them do that too.

“I’ve already called a team together to brainstorm. I don't want you to respond. Stay offline, away from all of it and don't entertain any of the discourse. Not until I have something to work with.”

“None of it is true we both know that-” You begin to laugh but she cuts you off.

“As much as I want to be on your side here, we are working to put out a fire. Your silence the last three weeks has put you at a massive disadvantage and frankly? The public eye doesn’t see you in the greatest space right now.” You know she’s right. She always is, and right now ‘Celeste’ was synonymous with ‘cynical, fake and fraudulent’. You wouldn’t be shocked if the uproar demanded you be canceled based off of this testimony.

It wasn’t all but two days later that you were called in by your PR team. Into the office in New York for the first time since before Thanksgiving. It had been a busy end of the year and now that the new one was coming in so ferociously you weren’t looking toward any of the things you once had been. This was the first time back into the light and so you had made sure that the inevitable cameras had something to look at. You’d dressed yourself in your favorites, in an effort to boost your confidence as best as you could. Putting on a show, just like you had been when things had been on the rocks with Jonah.

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Getting to the office, you’re nearly trampled with the amount of people that swarm you. It’s not normally this bad - hell it’s never this bad. It isn’t until you catch sight of a football jersey and an ESPN logo that your brow furrows. Odd.

Stepping into the building, you’re pushing your sunglasses up onto your head, looking down at your ringing phone and trying to slide your coat off simultaneously. Instead, you crash right into what you think is a wall, but is instead a broad man, looking rather lost.

“Easy there, Twinkle Toes.” You guffaw and look up at the blonde man before returning your eyes toward your feet. Of course, the bedazzled statement boots on your feet call attention to themselves before the rest of the outfit can balance itself out.

“Alright, Prince Charming, you first.” You snicker before stepping out of his way and start to the elevator. Unfortunately for you, he’s apparently heading your way as well, needing access to the lift to the next floor.

“Prince Charming, huh? I mean I’ve been called worse.” His shoulders roll backwards as the elevator dings to one of the other floors. You keep your head trained forward, suddenly remembering the rule you’d been given. Stay quiet, don’t engage. And here you were giving sass to a stranger and showing up in bedazzled booties. You were really digging this grave deeper than necessary. So, instead of giving him another sassy response, you keep your eyes locked to the neon numbers as the elevator passes each floor. “Oh so, now I’m getting a cold shoulder? Darn, I was really ready to ask you all about the boots on your feet, too.” You can’t help but let your eyes move back over to the broad male, just out of the corner of your eye. His face is completely locked on you, shamelessly at that. “They expensive? They got that waxy red paint on the bottoms of ‘em?” Silently, you turn one of your feet up to give him a glimpse at the blue bottom of the shoe. “Huh, blue. That’s fun. That more expensive than the LouButton or whatever they are?” Finally the elevator reaches your floor, hopefully shutting this chatterbox up for the time being. Yet the questions continue like an immature toddler as you rise up the floors - going to the same floor nonetheless. “Hey, you’re that Celeste chick aren’t ya?”

“Yes.” You finally answer one of his questions, his face lighting up.

“Oh look at that, she cracks.” Another eye roll times well with the sound of the elevator reaching the desired floor. Instead of responding, you quickly find your way through the glass hallways and to the desired room. You are so glad to be in the presence of the familiar group, the stranger in the elevator having rattled your composure somewhat. Your manager comes in with a cup of coffee and a smile, which immediately puts one on yours.

“You didn’t have to do that!” You cheer, reaching out for it as she sits beside you.

“When you see what Rachel has come up with, you’re going to need it.” Oh. Reassuring.

You see her point when Prince Charming steps into the board room, followed by a host of men in dress clothes and suits, all matching the blue soles of your boots. Charming sits directly across from you, a hand wiggling his fingers as he waves at you. Oh good.

“Thank you everyone for coming. I know this is a very polarizing group, so before we get ahead of ourselves, I want to introduce Celeste, or Este as we all have come to call her over the years.” Awkwardly, you wave at the foreign men. They grunt and nod. You were already having doubts and not a word had been spoken on their end. “I also want to introduce Beau Simpson, public relations coordinator for the San Diego Sea Lions, Coach Natasha Trace, and Sea Lions owner, Tom Kazansky.”

Sea Lions? As in the NFL team that had been built not even three years ago but had made it to all three playoffs in their short time? The one that Jonah had ridiculed immensely when it joined the league because ‘California doesn’t need another group of inflated egos in the league’?

“I’m really feeling the love here, Rach.” Charming speaks up and the raven haired woman on the other side of the table sighs.

“This is Jacob Seresin, starting quarterback for the Sea Lions.” The coach speaks, the blonde man brushing off her introduction.

“No need for full names, Trace. Clearly we only do the stage name around here.” That was a clear jab to you if you’d ever heard it. “Hangman’s what they call me.” His hand juts across the glass, toward you. Your hands stay tucked under your biceps.

“Pleasure to meet you.” It’s passive, turning to your team leader. “Rachel. I’m not seeing a connection here.”

“Jacob is in the same pot of hot water you’re in.” Your attention moves to the similarly broad man who stands up, towering over Rachel. “We feel as though we can spin this to both of your advantages. Jake needs to stop sleeping around–”

“Easy now, Simpson.” The eldest in the room stands up and he gives you a kind smile. It’s not a farce though. You’re not entirely sure what makes it so genuine, but you smile in return of seeing him stand, despite it taking a slight bit of effort to do so. “What he means is, Jake’s professional status has changed due to the words of someone else and we’re determined to alter that. Rachel identified this and made quite the proposal.” The young woman seems all too cheery to cut off the old man.

“You’re both having relationship woes–” The raven haired woman on Jacob’s team speaks under her breath.

“Wouldn’t call them relationships.”

“And by putting you two together, we feel as though we can put you into a positive light. Let’s face it, putting two very successful, and attractive people who are already in the spotlight allows people to follow the developing love story. Este attends games, plays the WAG card, has an opportunity to be seen in the public eye more frequently and dispels the ill-spoken words that were published about her this week. Jake gets the proof that he isn’t just a love-em-and-leave-em type.” Your eyes spell out the doubt you’re feeling, looking at your team who is just as skeptical. “That’s just the beginning! Celeste is going on tour this year. Stadiums all across the country have her booked and ready for the summer. We have a captive audience already following these games to see Este and Jake together, and we get brand recognition. The conversations that will come as she gets to witness her betrothed play in a stadium she would be performing in that very summer.”

Now you see where the benefit actually is. Clearing your name while simultaneously promoting your tour in the process. Seeing stadiums you’ve booked and would hopefully sell out.

“So how are you proposing this works? We’ll need a start, an end - a story on how we met–”

“Well,” Beau settles in his seat, twisting in the desk chair as he draws in the attention of the group, “we have the major details hypothesized. Rachel and I will work with one another to get the rest of it together. For now, you two met at a New Years Eve party.”

Oh joy. Now you get to remember that bitter break-up that led you here, every time you speak about him.

The man looks like he walked out of a surfing magazine, as it were. Now, the scowl on his features paints him as a devil. Long hair, muscular arms on display as he leans into the table in front of him.

“If we don’t do this?” Jake leans back in his chair, a hand coming to fiddle with the lingering 5 o’clock shadow that he has omitted in his morning routine.

“We don’t do this and there will be a lack of support for the Sea Lions. You’ll have painted the entire team as jackasses who can’t focus to save their life, especially if you continue to party and hook up with whomever your dick has the hots for that night-” Beau has gone off the handle and Tom speaks up again.

“The point is, public favor will stay low and it will not bode well for the team. With a lack of support, we have empty seats. Empty seats translates to less viewers, then to less money and you know the song and dance. Not to mention morale for the upcoming playoffs. We need to keep the team happy, Hangman. It’s time to do something to benefit everyone.”

Jake’s expression deepens, as though he was a young child just scolded by his father for his poor behavior. Green eyes shift and face you, his hand jutting out toward you.

“I’m in.” His hand hovers. Waiting for you to join him in this grand scheme. Glancing at your own team, they look rather haunted. At this point, it was this or to hope that a long string of possible good stories and fan interactions can redeem you.

You want this to pass. And if this would make it go faster… you grab Jake’s hand firmly.

“What’s there to lose?”

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You went back onto social media. Posted some photos you’d taken with friends back at the beginning of the month, from the worst party of your life. The photos at least were cute and you loved the dress you’d gotten to wear. Luckily these photos were all taken prior to midnight. So there were no red eyes. No ruined mascara and glitter across your cheeks. No freezing car rides home and empty beds.

Mindlessly, you scroll through the comments.

Flameth: can still make the whole place shimmer ✨

RunTao: phony photos

Romanacent: so glad to see you’re not letting him get to you!

H_ngm_n: you’re still gonna let me borrow those boots right

It’s the last one you’d been keeping an eye out for. Boots? Looking back at the photo, you scroll through the carousel until you spot them.

The same shiny sparkly rhinestone boots you’d worn to your meeting.

Celeste: @h_ngm_n I’m a woman of my word, of course 🤗

Not even a week goes by before you’re ‘spontaneously’ at a bar in LA. Jake has been there for the last two hours, as he insisted you both show up alone and then end up leaving together. You eventually found him in the VIP section, drinking with his buddies.

You made sure to keep your distance for a few minutes - after all, his friends had no idea this was going down. The only people who knew about this little arrangement were your respective PR teams. That was it. No one else from your teams, your friends and family, absolutely no one knew what your little plan was. Maybe you should just leave. It was a verbal contract, you didn’t sign anything, you were just trying to make this work for the two of you-

The bartender pulls you from your deliberations. There is now a drink that you certainly didn’t order sitting in front of you. Well there was no going back now. Jake had likely made a show of sending over the drink and now you had to go through with this. Glancing over your shoulder, you see the jock, legs spread, arms resting on the back of the booth chair. Green eyes lock in your direction and send a cocky wink as a garnish to your drink.

You are about to win your first Oscar with this performance. Throwing on a grin, you pick up the drink and easily sashay your way over to him and his football buddies. Some flash titanium wedding bands, some platinum. Some aren’t wearing them at all, like your date, mister 83 who leans forward upon your approach. “Well, well, well, long time no see hot shot.”

“Speak for yourself, pop star.” Jake stands to greet you, his arms coming around you, carefully as to not spill either of your drinks. You catch a whiff of his cologne when he does so. It’s rich, familiar in the way it reminds you of summers camping. Bonfire smoke and smores. Yet clean, like when you came home to a clean house, citrus floor cleaner lingering in the halls. Pulling back, you almost move forward again to sit in it. Easy does it.

“Oh come on, three weeks isn’t that long.” You chide. While most of his body has pulled away from the hug, his free hand still sits on your waist, warm against the AC of the exclusive bar.

“Technically it was a year ago.” Jake smirks before taking a sip of his drink and you want to groan. So you do. But spin it into something more playful.

“Observant, are we?” You nearly snarl as you take a sip of your drink, Jake’s colleagues standing up. The one who’d sat right next to him grins and extends a hand. He’s tall, lean but has a stunning smile as he steps your way.

“Not sure we’ve met. Javy Machado, running back, San Diego Sea Lions-” the blonde looks at his friend with an amused scoff.

“I think she knows who the Sea Lions are, Jav.” The look on the captain’s face is one of skepticism and amusement. You were here to dispel rumors. So, as much as you’d like to smack Jake for being a dick to his friend, you shake his teammate’s hand instead

“In passing. I don’t follow football closely, but I get by. Celeste.” The smile on your face is genuine as the next player stands. Kind eyes, a domestic bar of hair on his upper lip and the build of a pickup truck, he goes for a quick one armed hug. When he lets go, you have to wipe the temptation of any swooning you were compelled to do. Especially since a gold band glistens on his left hand.

You’re here for Jake anyways.

“Name’s Bradley Bradshaw. They call me Rooster.” Your eyebrow furrows as your head twists. Before you can ask, another man on the other side of the room laughs.

“You should hear him on the field when he’s sacking someone.” This one, curls and meticulously groomed facial hair to boot, leans forward and shakes your hand kindly. “I’m Mickey. That back there is Bob.”

True to his word, at the end of the bench is a long haired man, tucked into his phone and fiddling with a ring. He doesn’t seem to match the energy of the rest of the group. Curious. “Bob!” He glances up at the sound of his name, blue eyes flitting from face to face before spotting you. When he does he breaks out into a smile.

“Celeste! Gosh, wow it’s so cool to meet you! My girls adore your music.” This catches Jake’s attention, a brow popping up.

“Aren’t both of ‘em less than five?” He asks and Bob looks between the two of you.

“Yeah? It’s never too early to introduce them to great music and influential women.” There’s no faking the smile on your face as you reach over and shake his hand. When you do, you look at Jake with a ‘would you look at that’ coded grin.

“That’s amazing to hear! I’m glad they have fun with it! That’s why I do it.” You glance back at Jake as he comes behind you, hand shifting to the small of your back.

“Pay’s in the bathroom, I’m sure you’ll meet him sometime later tonight.” The quarterback gives a nod to his group, before guiding the two of you to a high top table not too far from them. When you sit down he looks at you with a laugh. “Flirt much?”

“Excuse me?” Jumping to the defense, you watch Jake roll his eyes and then look back at Bradley, before facing you.

“You were practically eye-fucking him.”

“Was not.”

“He’s happily married, leave him be.” The blonde sips at his drink and you can’t help but laugh when you realize he’s giving you a hard time.

“Right, right, guess I’ll bother you instead.” The tease is off your lips in two seconds. Maybe he was right, you were coming off strong. You huff and sink into yourself briefly. “I don’t know if you realized this, but I haven’t had ‘flirt’,” your fingers mark the quotation marks in the air, “with anyone in a while. Let alone fake it.”

Jake leans back in his chair, downing the rest of his beverage a smirk making way when he sets the glass down.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be faking it for long.”

The two of you sat at that table for probably an hour, bickering over which of the Pirates of The Caribbean movies were the best, and why glitter was a detriment to society. Another round of drinks and the football star return to the table as he laughs when he spills a little of your overflowing drink.

“No, no I assure you. Glitter originated in some high tech nuclear weapons factory to make the enemy go insane upon introducing it to an environment.” He pushes your drink toward you as you pull your hair back. Not only were you not anticipating for him to be this passionate about it, but you weren’t planning on the night going like this.

You were enjoying yourself. Jake had told you about his time at UT, six years spent studying communications no less.

It made sense when you really dissected it. Jake had the ease to hold someone’s attention: he’d held yours this long after all, and he was well spoken. Both were things that were shocking to you. He soon enough revealed the plan had always been football. Communications was for post-retirement, when he got tired out and wanted to be back in the stadiums.

Stories of his dad commentating his high school games came fondly before he asked about your background. You were a bit hesitant to divulge too much, but what you had was pretty bare-bones.

Music had always been a hobby but never a career choice. You’d planned to go into school for a degree in education, a masters in English. Go and teach for a bit before getting your PhD in some niche of the world of writing and then become a professor at your alma mater.

With the rise of social media and the multitudinous connections of the internet, a little original song of yours got popular. Local radio picked it up and then your label signed you.

“It all was pretty spontaneous, really,” you answer. “My career was in no way by design, but… I wouldn’t change it.” The smile on your face is small, but genuine as your hair falls back around your face. Tracing the rim of your glass, you keep your eyes down before a hand pushes your hair out of your face. Coming eye to eye with him, he grins.

“Guess it was written in the stars then.” His response catches you. Jake’s eyes are much softer than when you’d approached him earlier. They were dark, focused and possibly a little mischievous. Now? They were gentle. Every shade reassured you that the boisterous man you’d seen in the office and the press was nothing like the man under the helmet.

It made far more sense to you now. How he’d gotten women hooked on him. The abrasiveness and bold exterior was the casing to the real character.

How many women had actually made it past the outside?

The rustling of a fabric on leather comes from in front of you, watching as the blonde pulls out a wad of cash from his pocket.

“Please tell me this isn’t you trying to buy my affection there, Seresin.” As he stands up, pushing his wallet back, the grin carved on his face doesn’t leave when he shakes his head.

“No, no, princess. This is for the bartender. Turns out you’re not a cheap date.” His knuckles wrap onto the table briefly before he disappears. You blame the blush on your face on the humidity inside the building.

The two of you bid your goodbyes, before starting to the front of the bar to exit. Reaching the street, it’s expectantly empty. He takes the side closest to the street as the two of you head down the way, toward the row of restaurants and shops that were quiet for the night.

“Are you hungry?” Jake’s voice breaks through the cold of late January air, looking at him quizzically.

“If you’re hungry we could go back-” His hand comes to your back again as he shakes his head.

“Oh-ho, no ma’am I promise, I’ve got something way better.”

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Unfortunately, he was right. The two of you stand in the glow of food truck lighting, beyond messy tacos in hand. He’s watching you with a smirk on his face, obnoxiously chewing the fish taco in his hand.

“Is that not the best taco you’ve ever had?” Again, his voice is filled with ardor as he watches you attempt to maneuver the soft corn tortilla that seems to be spilling into your napkin.

“It’s… a taco.” You shrug, looking down at the brown beef meal in your hands. Jake shakes his head, still chewing.

“No, no, I will not have you slander Ganso’s Tacos. Absolutely not.” He sets his red basket down on a table, hand in a vice grip around his taco. “Here, open,” he maneuvers closer and you shake your head, backing up.

“I am not eating your taco!”

“Eat it!!” The two of you laugh. Finally, you concede and take a bite of the hand fed taco. When he finally takes it back to his plate, his expression eagerly waits for your reaction. One hand covers your mouth as you chew, nodding as Jake looks like he just stole the Mona Lisa without getting caught.

“You’re right.” One singular fist to the air and he’s back to scarfing down his tacos.

“I told you. Way better than bar food. This is by far the best taqueria in all of California. And I stand by that.”

With full stomachs and messy hands, the two of you start back toward the bar, where Jake’s parked. When you do, you finally notice a car has been tailing the two of you since you ordered your meal.

The crowd in front of the bar proves that your teams were certainly on to something. Flashes of light start in an onslaught, your hand coming to block your eyes. Still, you keep walking toward them, only for Jake to grab your hand and guide you toward his car.

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Voices shout, questions sail through the air, your name, his name, Jonah’s, more questions about football- it all gets crammed into the cacophony before the passenger door opens under Jake’s hand, guiding you to your escape pod.

The driver side door causes the car to shake with an unceremonious thud. In seconds, the engine to the sports car is ignited and the two of you are underway.

It isn’t until you get about two miles out that one of you finally speaks.

“How long do you think it’s going to take for those to show up online?” White lines on the road disappear as you head further and further from the bars and closer to the hotel you were staying at for the weekend.

“I give it maybe six hours. Four if we’re lucky.” He laughs, but it doesn’t match the hearty ones he shared with you earlier.

A sports broadcast plays lowly on the radio, both of you overwhelmed by the cameras that stimulating conversation was far from what either of you were concerned with. It isn’t long until you spot your hotel. Jake navigates into the lane closest to the front of the building, pressing down on the brakes. You’re just about to unbuckle when he pulls back out into the other lane, lurching forward and away from your accommodation.

“Um. Hello?” You question. The car whips around a turn, green eyes fixated to the rear view. Shifting in your seat, you glance behind you.

“We’re being followed.” Jake just barely makes the light before it turns red, leaving the tailing SUV behind.

“It’s probably just paparazzi, no big deal.” It’s easy to shrug off for you, but Jake huffs.

“Yeah. And I’m not dropping you off at a hotel alone with vultures circling.” Navigating the CarPlay in the vehicle, he quickly moves to messages and asks his phone to send someone to your hotel to gather your things.

“Jake, I’m-”

“You’re staying with me.”

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#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fic #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #hangman fanfiction #hangman fanfic #hangman x reader #hangman

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ohbo-ohno · 11 months

Text

Kinktober Day 15 - Noncon

Ghost x Reader - 4.6k (on ao3)

summary: You find yourself cornered in a Maze of Mirrors. (Reader POV)

cw: noncon everything, face fucking, pussy slapping, degradation, kinda a wedgie? like a front wedgie? is that a thing?, orgasm denial

note: if you like this (or hate it but like the concept) read Halloween Haunt by Harley Laroux <3 her erotica is top tier

You’ve always loved Halloween - always been the kid with the scariest costume in class, always had the house decorated with uncomfortably realistic decorations. When your sorority sisters dressed up as black cats and sexy witches, you spent hours painting the most realistic zombie makeup you could. (Your sisters complained for months that you ruined the pictures, but the frat boys had all thought your makeup was far more interesting than theirs. God, you do not miss college.)

Regardless, you’ve always been known to love any and everything scary. There’s something about the thrill of a scare - the creeping horror as you start to realize what’s coming, the ultimate reveal - that always gets you a little squirmy in your seat. Your first crush was Skeet Ulrich in Scream - specifically the scene where he’s covered in blood, licking his fingers.

You get all those ooey-gooey good scared feelings as your friend drags you through the decently crowded fairgrounds. The actual fair - the one that comes yearly, that no one ever calls anything but the fair - had left only two weeks ago, so this travelling fair had set things up in mostly the same arrangement and, you suspect, to trick certain people into thinking they were the same company.

You’ve already forgotten what your friend said the event was called. She hadn’t needed to give many details to convince you - you heard travelling circus, horror themed, interactive workers, and you were in. The branding isn’t very strong anyways, the only place the name was displayed was the entrance booth, and none of the workers seem to wear any sort of logo, so you don’t feel too forgetful for letting it slip your memory so easily.

You’re not very impressed with the fear factor so far. You hadn’t done too much makeup (hadn’t wanted to risk being mistaken for a cast member) but since it’s the night before Halloween you’ve got a half-done costume on - a clown. Just some white face paint, black lips, and overdrawn triangles around the eyes, a little smudged to make it look like you’ve been chasing someone down and working up a sweat. Your hoodie and tennis skirt look a bit out of place, but you’d wanted to be comfortable since you hoped you’d be spending your night running from actors.

But even a face full of makeup feels like it might’ve been too much effort for this place. Most of the costumes look like they’re from Party City at best - some of them even look very lazily hand-made - and none of the workers seem particularly interested in scaring people. Still, the crowd is easily amused and even a wave or a feint towards a customer has shrieks ringing in the air every few minutes.

You sigh a little disapointedly as you and your friend linger on the edge of the fairgrounds, off to the side and in the dark so you don’t have to deal with the crowd. She pulls out a cigarette and offers you her light.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lighting the stick between your teeth when you lean forward. “I really thought it would be scarier than this. Some of the posters…” she exagetates a shiver. “I thought they’d at least have better costumes.”

You eye a man in a werewolf mask across the pathway, pissing into the dirt. He’s got a flannel and jeans on, and the mask is a little bit crumpled like he pulled it out of a Walmart bin this morning. You’d bet money the flannel was just a happy coincidence he noticed when he showed up for work.

“Yeah,” you sigh, blowing out a lungful of smoke and watching the actor try not to get his dick stuck in his zipper. “Not really your fault, though, these things always look scarier in the ads. Wanna get out of here soon?”

You pass the cigarette to her. “In a bit,” she replies. “I want to try and find some food first. You hungry?”

You shake your head with a grunt. “I wouldn’t trust anything cooked here, honestly. Might just pick up something on the way back.”

She passes you the cigarette for one last breath. “Well I’m too hungry for that. You good on your own for a bit?”

You crouch down a moment to stub out the cigarette, leaving the butt in the gravel. “Yeah, sure. Might see if these fun houses have anything worth seeing in them.”

“You should!” She smiles over her shoulder at you as she starts off to a more well-lit section of the fair. “You never know, maybe they stick the real scares in there!”

You give her a final wave and shout, “Here’s hoping!” at her back as she leaves.

You linger outside for a little longer, scanning the few structures nearby to decide which one you want to waste a few tickets on.

There’s a Freak Show, but you already know you’d be horribly disappointed if you went in there, something labeled a “House of Horrors” that you’re sure is as much a scam as the freak show, and a few games that have cheap prizes lined up above them.

Across from you, with no lights around it and just one attendant - slumped over, hopefully sleeping - at the front, is a House of Mirrors. Figuring it’s the least likely to be a waste of time (and knowing the kid won’t wake up to charge you), you head over to the building.

The closer you get the more you worry about if he’s asleep or dead, but his snores rattle the little tickets resting on his desk so you figure he’s just a slacker. It’s almost too easy to get by him with all your tickets safe in your pocket. There’s no one else around the darkened corner of the fairgrounds, but you’re quite sure no one would bother snitching on you this late at night. All the parents with little kids left hours ago, leaving mostly teenagers and adults of varying ages left to wander the park.

There’s music playing from speakers that you can’t see, an old clown-themed song that sounds like it’s playing on a scratched up DVD. You’re pleasantly surprised as you make your way through the dusty lobby and into the main section of the building, creatively labeled MAZE OF MIRRORS.

Their branding could definitely use some work, but you’ll give them points for ambience - the lights are turned so low that it’s nearly too dark to see, making all of the mirrors even more difficult to spot. You find yourself a little spooked as you start to make your way through the maze, grinning to yourself.

It’s a shockingly difficult maze, you quickly discover. The music is so loud in some spots that you can hardly hear your thoughts, and so faint in others that you think it might be turned off. The maze itself is a series of either tight, tiny hallways or large open rooms. Whoever designed it clearly knew how to take advantage of the space they were given, the maze feels ten times bigger than it looked on the outside as you wander through.

You know the trick to mazes - keep one hand on the right wall and eventually you’ll find your way out - but it’s fun to just wander around the place, so you let yourself get stuck wandering in circles. You’re glad your friend isn’t here to see how many times you manage to walk into a mirror fully confident that it’s not there, only to whack yourself in the face. For how low maintenance the rest of the fair is, you’re surprised that the hall of mirrors is what they focus their upkeep on.

You’ve been in the maze for about five minutes when you see him.

He scares the shit out of you at first. You spot him behind you in a mirror - one you’d just walked into, which is the only reason you can see well enough to notice him - standing at the entrance to the hallway you’d turned down. He’s clad in all black, except for the skull mask over his face. You think he’s just something taped onto the wall with the way that he blends in, but then that mask titls to the side and you’re struck with the bone-deep knowledge that you’re being watched.

“Shit!” You shout when it first registers that he’s not a piece of paper, one hand coming up to clasp at your erratically beating heart while the other steadies you against the mirror. He doesn’t move past tilting his head a bit further, and after a moment you relax.

You don’t turn around, but you study him a bit in the mirror. It’s too dark to see much more than the outline of his body, but he’s big. He looks like he’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans with the mask, and he must be wearing gloves to cover his hands since you can’t see them.

You huff out a laugh as you let both of your hands fall to your sides.

“You got me good,” you call, glancing over your shoulder. You almost jump again - he’s closer than you’d realized, but too far away for you to touch. “I didn’t even see you follow me in here.”

He doens’t say anything. You turn around more fully, leaning back against the mirror and crossing your arms across your chest.

“You gonna start chasin’ me now?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow. You’re playing up the sass, but it’s always fun to mess with theme park employees.

The man takes a few steps forward, heavy boots thudding against the cheap wood flooring. He really is an intimidating bastard, far scarier than any of the other actors you’d seen so far.

“Well?” You call out, standing up from your spot. “Do I get a head start?”

Still no answer. He rolls his head on his neck, then steps to the side and walks into one of the connecting hallways without sparing you a glance. When you step closer to see which direction he’s chosen, he’s already gone.

You huff another laugh to yourself, shaking out your limbs and bouncing a few times on your toes.

Now that you know there’s someone in here with you, the thrill of a scare is starting to get you worked up. You hope they don’t have any rules against physical contact between actors and customers, just imagining the skeleton man tackling you has shivers running up your spine.

You don’t bother to be any quieter as you keep wandering through the maze. You bump into just as many mirrors, continue to question the speaker placement, and keep an eye out for any skeleton masks lingering behind you.

You see him a few more times, always behind you, always just out of reach. He gets progressively closer everytime you spot him. You're reminded of the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who - every time you look away, he gets closer.

It’s fun. More fun than you’ve had all night.

He finally catches up to you what you guess is about half an hour later. Youre just turning another corner, thinking about how it’s been a bit since you’ve seen your shadow, when a hand plants itself firmly between your shoulder blades and shoves.

You’re sent to the ground with a cry, palms scraping against the floor. There’s a gloved hand collaring your throat before you can think to do much more than catch your breath, hauling you up and holding you in the air.

Your eyes fly to the mirror less than a foot away, staring wide-eyed at the image reflected.

There’s you, in your messy clown makeup and hoodie, being held up by a giant swath of black behind you. He’s not ducking down at all, his feet planted on either side of your splayed legs as he towers above you. The way you’re being held up, your head doesn’t even reach his belt buckle. The contrast of your shock and discomfort to his plastic mask has your thighs clenching, just a bit.

He doesn’t duck lower, just tilts his head in that now-familiar way of his and pulls you a little further up. His hand is absolutely massive, thumb resting beneath one ear and his fingers resting below the other. You choke a bit as you’re lifted, knees scrambling beneath you.

This close to the mirror you can see his eyes - bright blue, surrounded by black paint, and staring back into yours.

He lowers his head, his free hand tugging your hair until you lean back and look straight up. The hand on your neck shifts to hold you in that position, his other hand lifting to pull the black part of his mask up.

He’s white, with thin lips and a broad jaw. You pant as you stare up at him, incapable of processing what’s going on.

His jaw works for a moment, lips twitching, and before you realize what he’s about to do you feel something wet splatter against your cheek.

He spit on you. Who the fuck does that? Being tackled and manhandled is one thing but spitting? You recoil reflixivley, lips curling as you reach up to try and wipe disgusting liquid off.

“What the fuck-” You start, but before you can even finish your sentence you’re yanked forward by your neck.

You yelp as you’re thrown from between his thighs, hips twisted awkwardly and head slamming back against the mirror. You cry out at the sharp pain at the back of your skull, but before you can think of doing anything there’s a hand around your neck again, a body crouched in front of you - over you - keeping you from doing anything.

You gape up at the actor, panting and surprised. None of the other employees even got close to touching customers - half of them didn’t even look like they wanted to be there - what the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he just take his job way too seriously

He’s far too close to you now, your nose nearly brushing where his shoulder be, his boots on either side of your thighs, his chest pressed so close that you can’t do anything with your hands.

The hand not around your neck comes up to your cheeks, grabbing them both in one hand and pinching until your lips pucker up. You squirm, letting out a noise of surprise and pain when his thumb and pointer finger dig in between your teeth to force your mouth open. One eye squeezes shut at the ache, but there’s nowhere for you to go with him caging you in.

This time when he spits, it lands right in the little hole he’s made for himself. With how close he is, you see the way his lips twitch up in the corners.

You try your best to get out from under him, hands pushing at his shoulders and legs desperately kicking. But he’s like a statute above you, hard as stone and immoveable.

He leans so close that his lips nearly brush yours, meeting your glare with a spark of amusement.

“Like how it tastes?” He purrs, chest rumbling against yours.

You make a noise somewhere between offended and annoyed, trying to throw yourself every which way for even an inch of freedom. All you manage is a tighter grip on your jaw and neck, leaving you wincing.

“Lots more where that came from,” he promises.

It’s insultingly easy for him to manhandle you, and you curse all the times you swore to yourself you’d finally start taking self-defense classes. You can barely manage a single blow, and when your hands or feet do make contact he doesn’t even flinch.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do as you’re wrestled to the floor. He gets you flat on your back then kneels over your head, his knees so close that you worry he’ll squeeze them together and pop your head like a berry.

He doesn’t give you a chance to sit up, planting one heavy hand in the center of your chest and leaning his weight forward, knocking the air out of you. You finally regain the ability to speak when his other hand moves to his belt, undoing it right above your face.

“What are you-? No, no, get the hell off me!” You shout, desperately pushing at his arm and trying to get enough leverage with your feet to squirm away. “Don’t you fucking dare- help! Somebody help!”

Your screams go ignored, blending right in with that stupid clown music and bouncing off the mirrors just to come straight back to your ears. Your noise doesn’t deter him at all, and he’s got his belt off and jeans yanked down despite your resistance.

“No, no, no, don’t- stop, please, you can’t-” you gasp, eyes flying wide as you find yourself staring up at his cock above you.

He doesn’t give you any warning, just grabs your jaw, holds it open, and sheathes himself down your throat.

Your limbs spasm, every instinct in your body screamin to get away as he slips right past your gag reflex. You’re terrified that you’ll vomit and choke on his cock, the fear dousing you in icy cold and leaving you limp for a minute. All you can think about is breathing around the intrusion in your throat, finding some way not to suffocate and die on a sticky mirror maze floor.

“Finally,” you hear him grunt from above you. He grabs both of your wrists, easily ignoring your weak pulls and tying them together with his belt. “Somethin’ to shut you up.”

You try and make a sound around his cock, yanking your hands away and panicking even more when you feel how firmly tied they are. You make another sound, insitively trying to cry out even with something stuffed in your mouth.

He moans above you, lowering himself to his elbows over your body. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Mouth feel’s fuckin’ heavenly.”

You go silent, determined not to give this piece of shit anything he wants. Tears pour down your temples and across the tops of your ears, and your throat burns.

His hips move slowly against your face, grinding himself as deep as he can get before pulling out just a few inches and sliding back in. He’s got an unfairly large cock, and there’s already an ache developing in your jaw from just seconds held so wide open.

His foreskin catches on your teeth when he pulls the whole way out just to fuck back in, and you’re sharply reminded of the fact that you have teeth.

When his cock bottoms out, his balls resting against your eyes, you bite down, praying it’s enough to break skin.

It’s not. Instead of blood pouring into your mouth and a screaming man falling off of you, you hear the man snarl, pulling his dick out entirely and slamming it back down your throat so harshly that it feels almost like he’s punched you in the face.

“No fucking teeth,” he snaps above you, and you feel his weight shift back onto his knees, then his hands grab at your thighs and throw them open. He flips your skirt up and before you can think to bite down again lands a stinging slap against the gusset of your underwear.

You nearly scream around his cock, hips snapping closed to try and smother the pain. He only growls another sound, using one hand to hold you open and the other to rain down a series of progressively harder smacks.

Your breath hitches as you sob, hardly able to get any air in around his thrusts as he starts them back up again. Every time he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, he lands another hit to your poor pussy. You can’t help but wail around him.

“There it is,” he moans, the sound loud and unrestrained. “God you feel good screamin’ around my cock. Good fuckin’ hole, huh?”

He punctuates the last four words with slaps, leaving his length inside your throat and going back to that horrible grinding against your face. You go silent again, using all of your willpower to keep from screaming. What little thought is left in your head is used to figure out how best to breathe through your nose without choking on snot.

He doesn’t smack you again, but you feel his fingers trace around the edges of your panties. Your hips wiggle against your will, just trying to get away from the violation. One of your legs is pinned to the floor by the thigh, but the other oscillates between going limp and trying to get leverage and force your body up.

His fingers hook around the gusset of your underwear, but before you can even worry about him touching you there, he pulls them up towards your body.

He does it with such force that you’re left squealing, hips flying off the ground to try and lessen the pressure against your clit. His hand pulls so far up that you feel it resting nearly at your belly button. You can’t help the little gasping, gagging noises as he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth again.

You hear - you feel - him laugh, swaying his hand from left to right. Your hips try to follow naturally, just desperate to alleviate any of the pressure you can.

“Like a little puppet,” he murmurs, yanking even further up, moaning when you scream.

He lets them go only a few thrusts later, big hand smoothing the fabric down over your cunt. You can feel that it’s stretched out, a little looser around the meat of your pussy, and the thought only makes you cry harder.

But you go silent again. It’s the one thing left in your control - even pinned to the floor, hands tied, legs useless, mouth stuff, you can decide how much noise you make.

He doesn’t like that. He groans a little when you go quiet again, tapping your thigh sharply.

“No, come on, make your little noises again. Feels real nice on my cock.”

This time you’re ready for the smack against your vulva, and you remain silent. You stay silent for the next three too.

His hips work with a little more force again, balls smacking against your face and leaving you to squeeze your eyes shut. After the next slap his hand doesn’t lift again, just rubs over your vulva slowly.

It’s pure luck on his part that he happens to rub over your clit. It’s a pure lack of luck on your part that you moan at the sudden and unexpected pleasure, completely taken off guard.

He stills above you, then slowly repeats the movement. You’re helpless to the little whimpers coming from your throat, and you curse the fact that you’ve always been loud during sex. He zeros in on exactly how to rub your clit unreasonably quickly, fingers sure through the fabric of your underwear.

“That what you need?” He rumbles a laugh above you. “Pain won’t make you noisy, but pleasure will? I can work with that.”

Before you can even begin to question what that means, your underwear are tucked to the side, and there’s a face buried in your pussy.

He doesn’t bother taking any time to explore or try and learn your body, just dives tongue-first to your clit. His technique of lick first, figure out what feels good later unfortunately works on you, and you’re left writhing beneath him, eyes rolled back in pleasure and moans muffled.

He groans agaisnt you, too, lips vibrating against your clit in a horrible and delicious way. “There you go.” You can barely hear him over the sounds of your own choking, especially with his own voice muffled in your folds. “That feels good, keep going.”

You don’t want to, but the magic he works against your clit leaves you no choice. You can’t help the hitched cries spilling from your lips, even if they make you cry all that much harder as you hear them.

He doesn’t take much longer to come, and you’re torn between resenting the fact that it’s your sounds that get him off and being glad that he does so he can get off of you.

He comes with a loud groan, sent right into your cunt and dragging you far too close to an edge you do not want to see, and sends thick ropes right down your throat. It’s almost a kindness that you can’t taste him, only have to swallow as quickly as possible so you don’t choke. The movements of your throat only draw out his orgasm though, and you’re locked in a terrible cycle for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t get you off. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or not.

You gasp when he finally pulls out of your throat, taking uninhibited breaths for the first time in far too many minutes. You can’t shut your jaw from the pain, but you also can’t kick your legs when he kneels up more fully.

He’s silent as he takes back his belt, and no matter how much you beg your arms to move, they remain still on your stomach. He shifts off of you, and you whine wordlessly when he grabs a handful of your hair, wiping his flaccid cock off in it.

Still, you don’t move.

He stands and redoes his belt silently, the jingle loud even with the clown music still playing. You stare up at him, and he holds eye contact with you. For some reason, you can’t look away.

He crouches down again before he leaves, and you can’t help but flinch away. He doesn’t touch you sexually again, though, only reaches out and pushes your jaw closed with two firm fingers.

You hate that he still has the mask pulled up, because it means you can see his smirk.

“That was fun. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

He’s gone before you manage to understand what he’s said, and the tears start all over again when you do.

—

It takes you a while to scrape yourself off of the floor. You only catch sight of yourself in one mirror before you stare at the ground.

Your makeup is ruined, teartracks running down your temples and both cheeks. There are smudges along your jaw where his hands grabbed. Your lips are swollen and red. It could not be more obvious what’s just happened to you.

You plant one hand on the wall to your right, and keep your eyes firmly planted on your sneakers as you leave the maze. You feel almost detached from yourself, unable to truly understand what happened, what it means.

The throbbing between your thighs is distracting. You worry you might chafe from how soaked your panties are.

It doesn’t take long to find your friend once you finally make it out. She takes one look at you and laughs, teases you about having fun without her. You can’t bring yourself to correct her, and she picks up on your tone quickly, dropping the subject.

The two of you walk silently to your car. You hate it, but you can’t help but scan every actor. Thankfully - or maybe not thankfully? You don’t know anymore - none of them are even close to as big as the masked man in the hall of mirrors was.

You tuck your hands beneath your armpits as you finally make it to the parking lot, walking as quickly as you can get away with without running. Your limbs go a little looser as you get to your car, mind relaxing as it recognizes how close you are to safety.

You freeze when you finally make it to the driver’s side door, lungs going still and heart beating so quickly you worry it’ll pound right out of your chest.

There, sitting in the driver’s seat, is a skeleton mask sewed onto a balaclava.

#this is not very edited but i am BEHIND #this was originally gonna have like two more scenes but then it started to annoy me #i am coming to you again to confess: i did not read through this #ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #kinktober #kinktober day 15 #bo writes #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kinktober 2023

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sweetiesicheng · 5 months

Text

s.coups - bakery

word count : 1,612

"y/n, seungcheol, want to take anything home?" your manager asked while you two were cleaning the dining area of the bakery you work in.

"oh, if we have anymore of the chocolate expresso cakes, i'll take that," you answered while sweeping.

"my roommates will probably want stuff," seungcheol answered from across the room. he was wiping down some of the tables.

"i'll pack both of you a box," your manager said and grabbed some of the boxes that were used for to pack orders.

you continued sweeping the floor and swept all of the debris and trash into a dust pan. once you were done, you threw the debris away and placed the broom and dust pan in a closet that had a bunch of cleaning supplies inside.

"y/n, bring all of these to your parents. they can give them out to their workers," your manager said while closing a box. you looked over and saw quite a few boxes on the counter and cases.

"oh, sure. thank you!" you said to your manager.

"do you need help? i can drive you," seungcheol asked you after pushing a chair in.

you looked over at him and saw him walk through the dining room.

"are you sure? don't you need to go to the park?" you asked. almost after every shift, seungcheol would play basketball with his friends.

“i’ll just drop them off to them and go back if all of them are still there,” he said to you while passing by you to go behind the counter. “i don’t mind,” he said and you nodded.

seunghceol walked into the back and started putting supplies away. you washed your hands in the sink and checked to make sure that all of the pickup orders were gone. however, you found an order in the fridge.

"hey minhyun!" you called out to your manager. "there's a pickup in here," you said and opened a fridge.

"we still have one? i swear all of the orders were picked up," your manager said and walked out from the back. "let me see," he said and you handed him the order, letting the fridge door close itself. "i'll call them. you and seungcheol fill stuff up in the back.”

"got it," you said with a nod.

you went into the kitchen and noticed that seungcheol was putting sacks and containers of ingredients onto one of the benches.

"i'll refill the chocolates first," you said to him.

he nodded, "okay."

you started opening packages with different chocolates in them and put them into bins. seungcheol started helping you once he brought in the last bag of flour that was needed.

"it's satisfying seeing the bins filled up," seungcheol commented as he started collecting empty containers from a shelf for more ingredients.

"yea, it's really nice," you replied. "okay, this is done," you said and pushed a container to the end of the bench.

"hey, that pickup order is a no show," you manager spoke, walking into the kitchen. "one of you can take it. it's chocolate with strawberries and chocolate ganache in it," he mentioned.

"i’m good. the cake can’t even fit in my fridge anyways," you said, looking at seungcheol.

"i can probably find someone to take it," seungcheol spoke up.

"that works with me," your manager said to you two. "both of you finish up what you're doing and head out. i have to reorganize a bunch of stuff in the morning anyways when the shipments come in," they mentioned.

"do you need me to come in tomorrow morning? i'm free," you offered.

"no, don't worry about it," your manager said before opening a door to a closet. "i'll see you guys on wednesday."

"see ya," seungcheol said throwing his hand up to say bye. “is it alright if we go to the park first?" he asked you while untying his apron.

"that's fine," you replied to him and untied your apron.

seungcheol hung his apron on a hook attached to one of the walls and held his hand out towards you. you took your apron off and handed it to him before walking into the front.

you reached for your bag, which was under the counter where the register was. the leftovers that your manager packed up for you and seungcheol were on top of one of the dessert cases.

"man, we have way too much," seungcheol said as he walked past behind you. he had grabbed a box from one of the counters and headed outside.

you followed him out of the bakery and to his car. he unlocked his car and opened one of the doors to the backseats. then, he placed the box he had gotten inside before reaching out to grab the two bags from you.

"we have enough desserts for like a month," you commented as you two went back inside.

"my friends will make all of this go away in a few days probably," seungcheol replied. both of you grabbed the remaining boxes and bags and left the bakery. "where should i bring you? your apartment?" he asked you.

"i'm dropping most of this off at my parents house," you said, "it's near my apartment if you want to head in that direction."

he nodded, "okay. let's go to the park first," he said.

you placed everything into his car, making sure nothing would tip over before getting into the front seats. seungcheol turned the car on while you put your seatbelt on.

"music's all you," he said to you, handing his phone to you.

"thanks," you replied. seungcheol started driving while you looked at the songs on his phone. you found a playlist and started playing it.

the drive to the park wasn't long, so you got there after about ten minutes. seungcheol parked his car and grabbed his phone from the cup holder you had put it in. he started texting someone before putting his phone down.

"i texted jeonghan, some of the guys should be by soon," he mentioned.

you nodded, "okay."

the two of you sat there silently with music still playing from the stereo. you glanced over at seungcheol and noticed him looking at you.

"something wrong?" you asked him.

he shook his head, "it's nothing."

"nothing? you sure about that?" you asked. "is there something in my face?" you asked, pulling down the sun visor and sliding the mirror open. "oh, there's nothing," you said while looking at yourself.

"i was thinking how pretty you are."

you looked over at seungcheol again. he had a small smile on his face.

"you're lying."

"i'd never lie to you."

you stared at him. "you're still lying."

"you know i'd never lie. even at work, i tell my customers my opinions on the treats. just like that raspberry treat from a few weeks ago," seungcheol said to you.

all of a sudden, someone knocked on the window next to you. you turned your head and saw some of seungcheol's friends that you have seen a few times. seungcheol rolled the window down.

"where's everyone? there's a lot," seungcheol said to his friends, leaning over the center console a bit.

"they're in a middle of a game. we'll just grab it all," junhui said. "hi y/n."

"hey guys."

"y/n, help me sort everything," seungcheol said to you before getting out of his car.

the guys moved out of the way so you could get out of the car. you helped take bags out of seungcheol's car and brought them to wear all of his friends were hanging out.

"hey, y/n's here with seungcheol!" mingyu mentioned the second he saw you walk onto the court.

"i'll grab these for you," chan said as he ran up to you.

"oh, thanks," you said as you handed the bags to him. "be careful with them."

"i will, i will," he said before turning around to walk to a set of bleachers.

"you guys staying for a bit?" joshua asked.

"i need to bring her home. text me if you guys leave," seungcheol said.

"is there more stuff?" seungkwan asked.

"we got everything," seokmin mentioned.

"i'll see you guys later," seungcheol said to them. "vernon! i'm free tomorrow to pick up that bookcase!" he yelled at one of the guys sitting in the bleachers. the latter throws a thumbs up into the air while the other hand holds a cupcake. "alright, let's go," he said to you.

"yea," you nodded.

the two of you went back go seungcheol's car. just as both of you were about to get into his car, he called out for you, "y/n."

"yea?" you looked at him.

"you and me, friday after our shift, let's go out," he said before getting into his car.

you ducked your head down, "what?"

"geez, do i need to spell it out for you? y/n, i like you," seungcheol said to you. he looked away, turning his car on and checking his mirrors, "i liked you since your second week at the bakery..." after he was done fixing his rear view mirror, he looked at you, "get in already."

you were still in disbelief as you got into his car. you closed the door and sat back in the seat, "is this a prank?"

"hey, don't play with my feelings."

"how can i believe—" seungcheol interrupted you to kiss you in the lips.

when he pulled back, he chuckled at you, "you good?"

"aren't you supposed to kiss me like on the second or third date?"

"i don't hear a complaint."

"...choi seungcheol...you're crazy."

"yea, just a little when it comes to you."

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livixcore · 30 days

Text

i do every year don’t i? (idol!seo changbin x f!reader)

✮ summary: every year you made a big deal about your boyfriends birthday and this year was no different except you hadn’t seen him much with the ‘Ate’ comeback being so recent so the movie night didn’t go as planned but it couldn’t have been more perfect.

✮ a/n: okay first time writing full fluff… i don’t LOVE it but i also don’t hate it so please enjoy:) i started writing this literally the day before Binnie’s birthday but i was working so much i didn’t have time to finish it but it’s finally done hehe… was aiming for it to just be a wee drabble but that didn’t happen whoops :3

✮ pairing: idol!Seo Changbin x f!reader

✮ genre: fluff

✮ warnings: suggestive, swearing, just some fluffy goodness:) not proof read mb

✮ wc: 2k

You’d been planning for this night for a couple weeks, talking to the other boys to make a perfect birthday movie night for Changbin. Thankfully his birthday was on the day you all usually did your movie nights in one of the dorms so you decided to just make a small party out of it with all 8 of the boys and yourself.

Most weeks you all just busied yourself with making snacks and bringing them all to the livingroom to sit all together with a movie playing on the television but you wanted this one to be special. A special night for your special boy.

The schedule had been absolute chaos all week with award shows and fan signings happening every day so the Saturday night was perfect for some relaxation. Chan had made sure to clear the schedules for the kids so that the night would go smoothly.

“Okay perfect this is looking great guys but remember Hyunjin and Bin are coming home in like an hour so we need to get this finished!” You stood in the middle of the dorm watching the boys all help putting up the silly decorations you’d bought. Balloons and streamers filled the room with bright colours, mostly pink.

Every year on Changbin’s birthday you made a point out of over decorating the dorm because you loved to make a fuss about your boyfriend, helping him understand how loved and appreciated he is.

Technically his birthday wasn’t until tomorrow but since you all tended to watch a couple movies at your movie nights you thought it would be perfect for it to run into his birthday and it means everyone who loves him dearly is with him since he can’t be home with his family.

“I don’t think Hyunjin realises how much cleaning is gonna need to be done afterwards like you’d think he’d want to be here to watch the downfall of his dorm.” Seungmin laughed as he sat on the floor blowing up a couple small balloons.

“He told me to go crazy so here I am going crazy.” You shrugged. “Plus this isn’t the most insane I’ve done remember when we covered the studio and the practice rooms in all this shit? Oh I still remember the look on JYP’s face when he saw them.” A shiver ran up your spine at the mere thought of it.

The room erupted into laughter from all angles. You’d gotten a good lecture after that about trashing the company building and what not. Personally you wouldn’t say it was ‘trashing’, you were just celebrating and decorating. Big difference.

You heard giggling from below you, looking down to be met with Felix and Jisung lying on the floor rolling around in the confetti making snow angels or confetti angels in this case and throwing handfuls of it at each other.

You couldn’t even be mad because those two had done the most work helping you make this perfect.

About 50 minutes had gone by and finally everything was in place. All the movie snacks had been sorted and placed in an arrangement on the table in the centre of the room. A cake sat prettily on the kitchen counter surrounded with a gift from each of the boys and a couple sitting from you off to the side.

Each wall was decorated with pink and silver balloons, streamers running down beneath them and brightening the place up. Maybe it was a little over the top but you highly doubted Hyunjin and Changbin were cleaning this up so you didn’t mind since it would most likely be you dealing with it.

You all stood back and admired your work before collapsing on any available surface even just to lean against.

“He’s for sure going to lose his mind when he steps through that door.” Chan sputtered out a laugh while binning the last few packets from the decorations.

“That’s the goal. I just want him to know how loved he is and what better time than on his birthday with his favourite people.” You smiled at the thought of his reaction, hoping he loves it as much as you think he will.

Before anyone could respond to you the sound of a key snapped all of your attention towards the door, everyone scrambling to stand up and welcome the birthday boy himself.

When the door finally opened and Changbin’s face appeared around the side of it you all erupted into cheers, shouting a plethora of happy birthdays and other greetings.

“Holy shit!” he broke out into a laugh, a massive grin stretching from ear to ear on his face. “All of this for me? You’re crazy!”

You couldn’t help but run into your boyfriend’s arms, crashing against his chest and wrapping your arms around his neck. He stumbled back at the contact before dropping his gym bag and reciprocating your hug, his arms snaking around your waist and lifting you off the floor.

The rest of the boys had grabbed the bags of takeout and extra snacks from Hyunjin and taken them to the kitchen, leaving you and Changbin in the foyer of the dorm together.

“Princess you did all of this for me?” He mumbled into your neck, his face pressed there from the hug. You nodded giggling as he put your feet back on the floor.

“Of course, I do every year don’t I?” You smiled before leaning in and littering his face with kisses, the last being a lingering one on his lips as you felt him smile against your own.

He smiled down at you before looking around the room, beaming at all the effort you all put in. All you could do was admire him, the smile on his face was enough for you to fall in love with him all over again.

“Right should we get these movies started? It’s not Binnie’s birthday for another… 4 and a half hours soooo…?” Minho said while carrying the snacks that Changbin and Hyunjin had brought into the livingroom on plates and bowls.

“Yeah but Bin gets to pick the movies, it’s only fair.” Chan shrugged, of course he was the one making sure the kids played fair.

After about 20 minutes of scrolling through every streaming platform possible Changbin finally choose a rom-com to start. It’s one you guys had been wanting to watch for a while but never found the time so now was the chance.

The movie started playing as everyone settled comfortably into the couches and blankets laid on the floor. Limbs thrown over one another either for comfort or to simply annoy each other.

You had your legs thrown over Changbin’s lap as his hands found their place on your calves, kneading the flesh ever so slightly absentmindedly.

Over an hour had gone by but the movie was only 30 in due to the fact everyone kept interrupting for toilet breaks or just to chat about something that happened in the movie that then went off into 3 other conversations before someone mentioned the fact you all still had a movie to finish.

“Yah! Can we get through this movie? I’d like to finish it at some point so we can get onto another one and then go to bed.” Changbin boomed loudly catching everyone’s attention.

No one replied at first until you broke out into laughter, which then caused a chain reaction and everyone was laughing with you.

“Aw I’ve missed this. You guys have all been so busy lately it’s fun to just chat baby.” You said, leaning over to plant a kiss on Changbin’s cheek and place a hand on his which were still holding onto your legs.

“Yeah Hyung come on we’re just having fun, the movies not going anywhere anytime soon. With the comeback being so recent we are just enjoying this time to chill! More importantly to celebrate your birthday.” Seungmin said, obviously making sense which Changbin couldn’t deny.

“Fine fine, I’ve missed it too I just wanted to watch this though.” He pouted. “You’re right though the movie isn’t going anywhere we can easily watch it another time too.” A cheeky smile broke out across his face since he knows he can just play this at the next movie night if he wanted.

Shortly after the movie was long forgotten as you all caught up, mostly the guys catching up with you since you’d only seen them a handful of times in the past month or so.

“Come on y/nnie! You were offered the chance to come to Milan and London too so you can’t be mad at us because you turned it down!” Felix threw his hands up in defeat. “We asked with plenty of time in advance.”

“You literally work with the company! I don’t know why you turned it down.” Hyunjin added, clearly taking the majorities side.

“I didn’t want to distract you guys, those festivals were big deals!” You defended yourself with the first reason you could think of.

“Be so for real, the only person you could’ve distracted was Bin.” Han had giggled, causing Changbin to chuck a pillow at him. “Yah! You know i’m right Hyung.”

“Yeah yeah whatever, I was probably more distracted by the fact I missed you.” Changbin’s face flushed red as his admission. “But it’s over now so it’s fine.” He shrugged.

You melted into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his torso.

The clock was counting down the time to the big day. Binnie’s birthday. In approximately 32 minutes it would be his day. Your boyfriend’s day. A day of celebrating the entirety of him.

The snacks on the table had slowly been running out and no one had bothered to refill anything, clearly either too lazy to do so or too engrossed in whatever bullshit you all talked about to notice.

Chatter continued in the background as you kept looking at your phone to watch the time get closer and closer to midnight so you could smother your boyfriend like you did every year at midnight on the 11th of August.

“Princess you remember that don’t you?” Changbin has turned to face you, a big smile decorating his face. Truthfully you had been too distracted keeping an eye on the time to know what he was talking about.

“Haha yeah! Uh… yeah I do of course!” You smiled by trying to act all nonchalant about the fact you had no clue what was being discussed.

“Uh oh someone’s distracted.” Jeongin whispered from beside Chan causing the elder to stifle a laugh. They all knew why you hadn’t been paying full attention.

“5… 4… 3… 2… andddd 1…” someone had said under their breath.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY BINNIE BABY!!!” You yelled immediately, jumping onto his lap and attacking him with hugs and kisses from every angle.

He didn’t even try to fight it off, instead he grabbed your face between both his hands and crashed his lips onto yours sweetly.

“Ew.” You heard a disgusted voice from behind you. You blindly flung your middle finger out and flipped off Hyunjin since you knew it was him.

“Someone stop them I’m too young for this.” the youngest had said which made you break away from Changbin with enough time to see Chan covering Jeongin’s eyes.

“No but genuinely happy birthday Bin. Since you’re done trying to do whatever the fuck that was can we say happy birthday do our Binnie now?” Seungmin scoffed and laughed at the same time.

“Yeah yeah of course I just wanted to be first.” You smiled and climbed off of his lap allowing him to stand and thank everyone individually.

A silent look was passed around everyone bar you and Changbin as they all started laughing.

“Alexa? Play ‘Birthday Sex’ by Jeremih.” Minho had yelled out.

In a matter of seconds the song started blasting through the apartment which had all of the boys in stitches laughing.

“Let’s leave them to it.” Felix laughed and started ushering everyone to the door.

You could definitely tell your face was bright red at this point.

“Jinnie you live here you fucking idiot.” You said to him hoping it would distract you from being so embarrassed.

“Not tonight I don’t. Have fun.” He smirked back waving before he left the apartment with the rest of the boys in tow.

The door clicked shut and the room fell into silence except for the music still playing.

Well… why waste it?

#livixcore #stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #seo changbin #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin x you #bang chan #lee minho #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin

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hamsterclaw · 10 months

Text

Cherished

Your ex-husband shows up, even when he doesn't want to. Part of the Love series.

Pairing: Namjoon x afab! reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Swearing, implied sex

Word count: 1.4k

It’s the noises that reach you first. The slam of a bin lid, a gush of running water, murmured conversations.

Distant sirens. Electronic beeping.

Then, an ache in your arm, but further down, a hand over your own.

Fingers interlaced with yours, fitting together in a configuration that you would know anywhere.

A warm palm you’ve traced with your fingertips more times than you could ever count.

You open your eyes to Kim Namjoon glowering at you.

‘Good,’ he says. ‘You’re awake.’

He doesn’t sound entirely pleased about it.

He’s dressed sharply in a three piece suit, waistcoat taut around his waist, chest and shoulders broad.

You realise he’s let go of your hand.

‘What happened?’ you ask.

‘You’ve hit your head,’ Namjoon replies. He’s getting up, buttoning his suit jacket. ‘You’re in the hospital, but now that you’re awake, we can go.’

You realise there’s a bump on your temple, a cut over your eye.

You try to remember.

The last clear memory you have is of going for a run after work.

Everything after that is hazy.

Namjoon’s called a nurse to check you over.

A bright light is shined into your eyes, making you wince away.

You’re asked if you know where you are, what date it is. If you remember what happened.

‘I went for a run,’ you say, hesitantly.

‘You ran into a sign,’ Namjoon says, filling in the blanks for you. ‘I’m still listed as your next of kin, so the hospital called me when you were brought in unconscious.’

He sounds brisk, impatient.

With a start, you remember the last time you saw him.

The wedding, where he ignored you. His date.

You sigh. ‘Shit. Sorry. I keep meaning to call my insurance and change that.’

You turn back to the nurse, accept the papers she hands you, thank her for her time.

‘I parked down the block,’ Namjoon says, as you leave the building.

You shiver a little in the cold air, realise you’re only wearing a top and leggings.

Namjoon frowns, then a moment later he’s slipping his suit jacket off, draping it around your shoulders.

You follow him to the car, feeling a little sheepish.

‘I ran into a sign?’ you ask, when you’re in your seat.

Namjoon nods.

‘Sounds like something you would do,’ you say, trying to make a joke of it.

He ignores this, pulling away from the curb smoothly, joining the traffic.

He doesn’t say much to you as he drives you home, parks in your underground car park.

You slip off his jacket, hold it out to him.

‘Thanks,’ you say. ‘I’m sorry they called you. Thanks for coming to the hospital.’

Namjoon stares at the suit jacket you’re holding out to him, jaw tensed, a muscle ticking, dimples nowhere to be found.

‘They said I should stay with you overnight,’ he says, finally.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ you say. ‘I’m fine.’

You notice again how sharply he’s dressed. ‘Did you have plans?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, short.

He’s getting out the car, coming to your side to open your door.

You frown as you try to get out, realise your seat belt’s still done up.

You’re fumbling for the buckle when Namjoon leans over you, unfastens you.

‘I’ll walk you up,’ he says.

You try again once you’re in your apartment.

‘You should go,’ you urge. ‘I’m fine.’

Namjoon rubs the back of his neck.

‘Just get into bed,’ he says. ‘I’ll stay for a bit.’

‘It’s fine,’ you insist. ‘Don’t miss your plans because I ran into a sign. I’ll feel guilty.’

Namjoon snorts. Oddly, his scorn makes you feel a little better.

Anything’s better than the complete indifference he’d shown you at the wedding.

Namjoon looks like he’s about to head for the kitchen, but you stop him by grabbing his arm.

‘Hey. I’ll ring my insurance and get it changed tomorrow, ok? Thanks for coming to the hospital and picking me up. You should definitely go, ok? I’ll call my sister if I’m not feeling right.’

Namjoon looks torn, and that convinces you that you’re doing the right thing by sending him away.

Finally he says, ‘look, I don’t give a shit about my plans. I don’t want anything to happen to you.’

You roll your eyes, ignore the twinge of pain in your temple.

‘I ran into a sign. It’s just a concussion.’

‘Dumb fucking thing to do,’ Namjoon mutters.

‘Like marrying you?’ you snap.

There’s a flare of anger in his eyes.

‘Guess you’re a fucking idiot,’ Namjoon says, cold.

Deliberate.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, dully.

You are sorry, what you said was uncalled for.

What’s the point in hurting each other now?

Namjoon’s still angry, you can tell.

Unlike your quick temper that flares and then dissipates almost instantly, Namjoon’s always been slow to anger and slow to forgive.

You don’t think either of you are good at forgetting.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say again.

Namjoon shrugs, picks up his suit jacket.

‘Make sure you change your insurance,’ he says, a parting shot that nearly brings tears to your eyes.

Thankfully, he’s finally going.

***

When you wake the next morning, it’s to a dull throbbing in your head and the realisation that your phone’s missing.

Neither of those things unsettle you as much as the argument you had with your infuriating ex-husband.

You bundle up, go for a walk to clear your head, and on a whim walk to the hospital to ask about your phone.

The nurse who discharged you is at the desk.

‘I remember you,’ she says. ‘And your husband.’

‘Ex,’ you say automatically.

She gives you a look you don’t understand.

‘He seemed pretty upset when we called him — he ran in here panicked even though we said you were fine. I was almost worried we’d have to sedate him!’

She chuckles as she gets your phone out of a locked cupboard.

You laugh along with her. She must be confused.

‘Doesn’t sound like him,’ you say.

She raises an eyebrow. ‘The tall drink of water in the sharp suit? Dimples for days. Looks like he’d always want to win an argument?’

It’s such an accurate description of Namjoon you burst out laughing, for real this time.

‘Sounds like him,’ you agree.

She smiles at you kindly.

‘He was very upset when we were waiting for you to wake up. I told him to get a drink, that I’d call him if you woke, but he didn’t want to leave.’

‘He’s a stubborn guy,’ you say.

Your phone’s dead, out of charge, so you shove it into your pocket as you head home.

Every step in the route you take on your way home reminds you of Kim Namjoon.

The park you used to run in, together, on a Sunday morning, when you weren’t too fucked out from the night before.

The corner coffee shop he likes that’s a shade too smugly artisanal for you.

The deli you always used to go to when you first moved in together, the stupid inside joke you shared about the hostile lady manning the sandwich counter.

When you get back to your apartment to see him, coat still on, phone out, eyes wide with worry, it’s not a surprise.

It feels like every step’s led you back to him.

Before you can both put your masks of indifference back on, you put your hand on his chest, over his heart.

You can feel how it’s pounding, and it gives you the courage to say his name.

‘Joon-ah,’ you murmur.

It’s all you can get out before he’s curling his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

‘Was worried,’ he says, into your hair, the words so quiet they barely carry.

You tip your face to his and like always, he’s waiting.

His kiss is so sweet you want to cry.

‘Wanna fuck?’ you ask, as close to a declaration of love as any you’ve made lately.

‘Can’t,’ he shoots back. ‘Your head’s fucked.’

You punch him in the chest, but he just laughs.

‘On second thought,’ he says, pulling you into your bedroom, ‘that never stopped me before.’

‘You’re fucked in the head too,’ you tell him, already breathless from the way he’s running his hands over your body.

Namjoon pauses with his hands unbuckling his belt.

‘You fuck me,’ he says.

‘I think we fuck each other,’ you reply.

‘Keep saying fuck,’ Namjoon says.

He’s got his jeans halfway off, cocks a brow at you.

‘Take your clothes off.’

You fall into each other's arms.

©hamsterclaw 2023

#namjoon x reader #bts fanfic

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paperclip-skz · 2 months

Text

Satisfied

fem*Reader x Changbin

YOU have been stressed from work and just life in general....not to mention you've had the hardest time trying to get off for the past few days. But, fatefully, your wifi goes out in your apartment, so you go to your friend just to use his wifi. So, why can't you focus?

*WARNING*

contains: fingering, over-clothes stimulation, teasing, names (bunny), and consent was mentioned, let me know if I missed anything.

WC: 1.5k

****

Your muscles tense with agony. The last few days have consisted of you trying your absolute hardest to get off. Porn is a no-go, smut isn’t helping, and your imagination has run blank, it's beyond frustrating. Having to deal with this problem AND having to work is making your body physically shrivel up.

At the moment you're sitting on the couch with a mindless TV show in the background, you stopped paying attention a while ago, your computer taking up the entirety of your view. The bright glow of the computer consumes you until you hear a loud bang coming from the TV. It was loud enough to lift your head up from your computer to look at the tv, it's another action scene, but it sucks up enough of your attention.

“What are you doing?” Your head whips around fast to see Changbin in a fitted T-shirt and baggy gym shorts enter the room. Compared to you, both your outfits seemed comfortable. You were wearing a black tank top and shorts and your hair was pinned up in a messy bun, while your glasses rested on the bridge of your nose. It was hot and both of you had no intention of leaving the house.

“Nothing, just working” you resume to the document you were working on.

You were just using your friend’s Wifi, for the time being, yours had unexpectedly just stopped working. Your friend offered for you to use his, at least for today, so you could get some work done.

“You look tense” You are tense, tense from all the denied orgasms, tense from your workload, tense that you can’t get yourself off! His simple words make you verbally groan and close your computer in annoyance. It makes Changbin jump, did he do something wrong?

You look back at him, noticing his worried eyes, “Sorry, I’m just stressed.”

His body relaxes slightly, realizing that he didn’t do anything wrong, but his brain still ponders on how he could help you.

Maybe he can help you. Hurriedly he comes around to the couch sitting right beside you and slamming his hands on his thighs. You look at him confused. He sighs and grabs you by your feet to guide your legs across his thighs. It makes you yelp and he only giggles at the sound. Your body is completely turned to face him while your back rests comfortably on the couch. Changbin starts to rub gentle circles over your exposed legs.

A mix of emotions runs through you; confusion and enjoyment battle each other out in your mind. As Changbin's hands gently dig into your skin, all your confusion is thrown out the window and is replaced by pure relaxation.

The tense muscles in your legs begin to melt away as he continues his tender assault. Your body starts to sink into the couch, the cushions enveloping your body.

“Feel good?” he asks, and even though your eyes are closed you can hear the cheekiness in his tone.

You sigh as a confirmation. His hands roam from your thighs to your legs and ride back up to your mid-thigh. Making sure not to reach any place that would make you uncomfortable, but also keeping in mind all your tense spots.

But it's not enough, his hands feel too good and your muscles are only starting to relax. If you really want to relieve this stress you need to feel it more. “Higher” Your nose scrunches when you feel his movements halt.

“Are you sure?”

“Please Bin, I’m really stressed right now and this is actually helping” You can tell he’s still not sure by the way his brows furrow and how he watches his hand on your skin. “If you're not okay with this then tell me now, but please Binnie. This is actually really helping”

He can see the plea in your eyes, how can he say no when you call him that name? “Okay, turn on your stomach.”

At first, you're confused, but you comply, taking your bun out and glasses off in the process. Now, you're lying on your stomach, completely facing down, while Changbin cages his thighs on top of you. He presses the palms of his hands down onto the middle of your back and slowly messages.

The pressure makes you groan, it's a relief you didn’t really comprehend you needed. You can feel his body slowly relax onto your legs as he works pressure into your tense body. Sighs leave your lips and your eyes close shut.

Changbin can see the way your body reacts to his touch and it’s physical torture for him. He can feel you relax and melt into his touch. He wants to keep touching you, but he wants more. He loves the signs that leave your lips, but he wants to hear more than just moans.

Another small sigh leaves your parted lips when his hand reaches your lower back. “Is it alright if I go lower?” you hum in acknowledgment.

Changbin wiggles his way down your body, this way his hands have perfect access to the lower half of your body. His hands work their way down your body, rubbing, squeezing, and caressing each muscle. He works his way from your thighs to the curve of your ass, to your hips.

The pleasure of his hands on your skin overwhelms your senses and the relaxing feeling of the pressure has subsided, now the only feeling you can focus on is the immense need to feel his skin on yours. The thought makes a moan slip.

Both of you are too stunned to speak. You're too embarrassed to make any excuse, so you just close your eyes and pray that he didn’t hear it.

But he definitely did. That sound almost made him groan, but he refrained knowing he wanted to make this moment last as long as possible.

So instead of saying anything, he continued meddling with your clothed body. He moved his hands slightly further up to rub where your folds met your thighs.

The sudden feeling of the pads of his fingers touching your most sensitive area made you gasp. Feeling the tip of his finger slide up and down made you feel just how soaked you were. You didn’t realize how desperate you were until you started moaning and shivering in his touch. He hasn’t even truly touched you yet.

You can feel the tips of his fingers reach for the rim of your shorts, you lift your hips as a silent confirmation for him to keep going. Within seconds he is ripping your shorts and underwear away from your body and kneading your exposed skin.

Suddenly you feel the sharp sting of his palm slapping your ass, the pain quickly is replaced by pleasure as he rubs the same spot. You didn’t expect the sound to leave your lips, the sudden gasp turned into a moan, it both surprised you, but it only encouraged Chanbin to keep going.

His fingers dig into your skin, surly he’ll leave marks in the morning. His fingers briskly find their way back to your soaked folds, rubbing them expertly. “Tell me you want me to keep going”

The thought he still has your consent in his mind add warmth to the pleasure he’s giving you, “please”

His fingers press a little hard against your folds making them slip down to your clit. “Jesus you're dripping. I can feel it through your shorts.” he’s right, you are soaked, more soaked than you have been in the past few days.

“More. please. More” words are muffled into single responses, the pleasure making your brain foggy.

“More? You want more?” you nod your head as a simple response. “Then lift this pretty ass” you oblige without a single obligation, lifting your hips so he can glide your shorts off your body, leaving you naked from the waist down in front of him.

His fingers skillfully find the little thrumming bead, but he doesn’t stay there for long. A single digit tests your flooded entrance, dipping just a tiny only a single finger in. relief washes over you, you didn’t realize how much you needed this.

Delicately he plays with the insides of your walls, sliding his digit in and out of you, and curling the tip of his finger. His little game is making you squirm in his touch. Without warning he adds another finger and starts pumping the two digits into you. Finding a delicious pace.

Sigh and moans mix as one in an unforgettable song.

His thumb comes into play as it finds the desperate bead begging for attention. His fingers and thumb continue their mix while pleasure surges through you. You’ve held out for so long, the tension building up within you for too long, and his fingers play such a torturous game. It's not long before you're barrelling over the edge with a scream of his name.

His movements slow, but he keeps his fingers securely inside you. Your walls clench around his fingers still feeling the afteraffects of your orgasam. “Oh bunny, did you think I was finished with you?”

You tilt your head to the side, trying to get a better look at him. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to touch you. I’m not letting you go until both of us are undoubtedly satisfied”

a/n: I know I haven't posted in a while, I've been working on like 8 stories at once. I have no idea when these other ones are gonna get done \_* *_/...but they are in the works! And they are pretty good...and long. This is one I've had on the back burner for a while, I don't know how "proud" I am of it...idk I want to know what ya'll think.

#skz #limbo #stray kids #story #smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #short story #skz smut #fem reader #changbin skz #changbin x you #changbin smut #changbin x reader #changbin stray kids

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skipper1331 · 1 year

Text

Sick // Jessie Fleming

a/n: based off this request.

The moment Jessie woke up, she knew something was wrong. Her head was pounding and her nose was running uncontrollably. Slipping out of bed, she walked in the bathroom. She looked pale, eyes glossy, nose and ears burnt red. She didn‘t feel well either.

"Why are you up?" your groggy morning voice asked, it was way too early to get out of bed. Training wouldn’t be in the next 3 hours. "Nothin-" before she could finish her wording a loud sneeze escaped her, the second and third directly behind. "Nothing, huh?" you asked with raised eye brows.

"I‘m fine, my love" she told you, "just your new perfume. It tickled my nose" grabbing your hand, she pulled you back to the bedroom, making herself comfortable, closing her eyes for at least another hour. Or so she thought. While you slept peacefully next to her, she just couldn’t fall asleep. Every minute, she blew her nose, the bin in the room already full to the top.

When the alarm rang, Jess was the first out of bed, finally able to do something. Normally, she wouldn‘t mind laying in bed with your arms around her body as she could admire you but with her running nose there was no calm second where she could memorize your features. And trying to hide her cough, so you wouldn’t wake up was harder than she expected. Her throat was sore and aching. In the kitchen, out of ear shot, she coughed the dear life out of of her body, drowning glasses of water.

"How are you feeling, baby?" your gentle voice filled the room, sneaking behind her.

"I‘m feeling great!" she answered straightaway. There was no second left between your question and her reply, something she only did when she was lying. "Hm, totally" you said with sarcasm laced in your voice as she coughed again, a sneeze following.

With the back of your hand and palm felt her forehead - scalding hot, "you‘ve got a fever"

"No I don‘t. I‘m fine" her face started to turn redder than it already was as she bit her lip, "on a scale from 1-10 how bad to you need to cough right now?"

The answer came instantly, a nasty cough leaving her throat, eyes blurry. Her hand held the counter as her fist hit her chest, trying to control it with no luck. "10 apparently" you muttered, searching for some throat candy in the cupboard, "you‘re not going to training" handing her the candy, you filled her glass of water again, the midfielder frowning at you. "Why? I‘m totally fine!"

Your face held the 'seriously?' expression as she sneezed again, "answer enough?" She huffed, arms crossing as she stared at you. Pleading eyes looked at you, eyes that told you she would argue about it.

"You didn‘t even give me a kiss" Jess whined, walking towards you.

"And I won‘t" you told her sternly.

"But- you always kiss me"

"Not today. You‘re sick"

"How many times do I have to tell you- atchoo" the loudest sneeze yet left her body, "maybe I am?"

"Go to bed, my love" grabbing her wrist, you pulled her back in your shared bedroom. You handed her a hoodie of yours, the fluffiest and some fluffy socks, then you wrapped her in the duvet. "Don‘t leave" she mumbled as you were about to leave the room, "Please stay" her soft voice whispered, eyes falling shut.

"I‘ll be back"

Loud, sick and heavy breathing filled the room as you left. You made some quick phone calls, reporting that Jess wouldn‘t show up to training and you wouldn‘t either because of the flu. You didn‘t feel sick per se but you didn't want to risk infecting your team mates and you wanted to take care of your girlfriend.

"Baby!" the raspy voice of your lover yelled, a nasty cough following behind.

"What’s the matter? I thought you were asleep"

"I can‘t sleep without you" she pouted, making grabby hands, big brown eyes looking at you, "Come here!" she demanded now, "or I’ll tell Sinc you don‘t treat me right and she‘s gonna be all protective"

You gasped, acting like you’re hurt as Jessie got all bossy and needy. Something she only got when she was sick.

When Jess was sick, she loved you more than already.

She won‘t let you cook for her if she‘s not in the same room.

She won‘t stay in a room if you‘re not there.

She won‘t take painkillers if you‘re not holding her hand or if she‘s not sitting on your lap.

She won‘t go to sleep if you‘re not holding her.

She won‘t let you do anything without her.

Her justification? Because during the period in which she was sick, you wouldn’t kiss her, so she needed a different kind of love.

"You‘re pulling the Sinclair-card? I‘m offended" you giggled.

She scowled, the wrinkle between her brows visible, "baby! Love me"

"Just because it’s you" you replied, walking over to your side. As you slipped under the covers, it took Jessie not even a second to be at your side, hugging you like a koala. Her legs wrapped around your own, arms around your midsection and head resting comfortably on your chest. "I‘m the only one you love" she muttered in your chest, pulling up her running nose. Your hand made its way in her hair, slowly starting to massage her scalp as a yawn escaped her dry throat.

"Will you be there when I wake up?"

"Always"

Wiggling in your grasp, she tried to get more comfy in your touch yet something didn‘t seem to fit right. "what‘re you doing my love?" you whispered, the brunette clinging onto your body. "I don‘t like this" turning her head in every direction, adjusting her body posture, she desperately tried to find comfort. Thinking about how to help her, an idea popped up in your head, "Let go of me for a moment, please" the meanest glare was sent your way, let you go? Why on earth would she do that? your touch was the only thing that made her feel better. As if you could read her mind, you added, "just for a second" she did as you wished and with a quick motion you got rid of your hoodie. You pulled Jessie on top of you, her palms resting on your bare stomach as her head laid on your chest. So instead of hugging like a koala from the side, she now hugged you from the front with skin to skin contact, something she loved and which you discovered early on in your relationship. "Better?"

"So much. I love you"

Pressing a kiss to her head, you replied ever so sweetly "I love you too"

——————

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #chelsea wfc #chelsea x reader #chelsea women #canwnt #canwnt x reader #christine sinclair

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cerastes · 7 months

Note

I will be going to Okinawa at the end of this month! Also gonna hop to the main island and do a weekend in Kyoto. Any advice?

NIIICE

Well, we could speak for hours about advice when it comes to traveling to Japan, really, but in general, keeping it concise and to the point, I'd say:

Don't tip in restaurants! It's seen as rude because they are paid already, there's no tipping culture for eateries over there.

Also, there's a table fee! Consider this the tip if you must cognitize it somehow, but basically, when you go over your receipt, you'll always see 200 yen or something on top of what you ate. Don't start a fight over this, it's just the table fee, AKA the fee you pay for using a spot in the restaurant in the first place. It's usually something small like 200 yen, and it will also include courtesy snacks like water and usually edamame

Don't point at things with your finger, it's rude. This is not Japan exclusive obviously but Japan is one of those places in which it is rude. Also, don't point at things with chopsticks, that's REALLY rude. In general, don't toy with chopsticks, those are tools with which you consume food with, and should be treated with respect.

Buy your deodorant over there. Strong scents, perfumes and deodorants are usually seen as disruptive (as in, you're invading the smelling space of people), so they use odorless, neutral deodorant there. If you use odorless already, you're good to go, but leave the AXE at home.

Keep your voice down in public transport, and don't take phone calls while in it. You can make small talk (in fact, a few times, some Japanese people talked to me in the train to ask me where I was from and some stuff like that!), but don't be loud. Basically, respect everyone's right and pleasure to a pleasant trip or commute. Return phone calls after you disembark.

Have a Map app on you. It will save your life and make it much easier! Likewise, get a 3/4/5G wireless connection rental card for your phone while you're over there! They are very affordable (I paid something like 70 bucks for 31 days of 4G) and having internet on the go is immensely helpful, from translations to maps to calls to just browsing things on the go or looking up something you might not know.

I recommend looking up some cultural things in general before your trip, so you don't make faux passes. Japanese people are in general really kind and comprehensive to foreigners and won't hold you to the same social scrutiny as they would another Japanese person, but in my experience, they really like it when you actually show an intent to engage with the culture. There's passing by, and then there's actually showing you've at least looked into it, and they really appreciate it. I got away with a couple of free drinks one time in Osaka, even, because the master was like "no yeah you've obviously been keenly aware of how to go about things". Even the few times I messed up by going where I wasn't supposed to go or entering a few off-limit places, talking with authority figures and explaining how that happened to them was smooth as butter and they completely understood and didn't mind the misteps, and gave friendly advice on how to prevent that from happening again.

Absolutely carry a bag with you everywhere. There's very few trash bins in Japan so you'll always want to have a bag or some such to store your bottles and empty snack bags and takoyaki sticks and everything else until you can find an elusive bin or go back to your hotel and throw your stuff there. A lifehack here is that you can sometimes find trash bins near vending machines, but do make sure they are not just for cans!

These are my Primer For Japan, really. Have Fun!

#chug fungus

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ghoulodont · 9 months

Text

β-Lactam

Getting sick on the road is a well known phenomenon in the touring world, but only a folktale for the newly summoned ghouls — up to this point. Dewdrop gets hit particularly hard by whatever illness the roadies are passing around, but the show must go on. Rain considers the nature of his relationship with his bandmate in light of subsequent events.

Relationship: Raindrop Characters: Dewdrop, Rain, Aether Words: 6846

Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Prequelle Era, Pre-relationship, warning for vomit and needles

Read below or on AO3

A plague is spreading among the production’s cast and crew.

For the more experienced members, it’s to be expected. Having that many people in close proximity for enough time is bound to encourage contagion, and they know from experience that it will. For many of the musicians — the ones who are freshly summoned from Hell, tailor-made to fill that role — it’s something they’ve only been warned about. Their ability to perform is the top priority, and they are expected to take care of themselves.

So illness prevention becomes part of their daily routine. Immune fortifiers and remedies of all kinds start showing up on the bus and at the venues, added to the hospitality rider, fetched by staff on errands, picked out themselves during their downtime.

Understandably, the vocalists are all extra concerned about how this situation might impact them. Copia keeps his distance from anyone he deems a potential disease vector, usually squirreling away to his dressing room before and after the show. Cumulus swears by a tea that purports throat soothing properties. Swiss eats cough drops nonstop, though it’s later determined that he just thinks they taste good.

Mountain hands out tiny bottles of vibrant yellow-orange juice one afternoon before the concert. The blurb on the label is packed with scientific-sounding words about vitamins and antioxidants. Rain reads the ingredients — he doesn’t recognize any other than lemon and ginger — and knocks his bottle back all at once like a shot of alcohol, as suggested. The back of his nose burns for the next two hours. Upon searching the internet he learns that “cayenne” is a type of pepper. Several other ghouls fall victim to this as well, excluding Dewdrop, who sneaks away with the bottle and passes it off to an unsuspecting roadie, and Aether, who drinks the juice but seems to genuinely enjoy the taste.

But, otherwise, it’s business as usual. As showtime approaches everyone focuses on the task at hand. They’re warmed up, soundchecked, costumed, ready to go.

And after the performance, the ghouls can relax again, for the time being. Most of them usually end up in the green room while the crew is tearing down, and tonight is no different. At some point they’ll all head to their dressing rooms and get ready to get back on the bus, and then the cycle will repeat. For now, they can revel in this brief low tide in their ebbing and flowing responsibilities.

It’s nearing the time that the party inevitably dies down when things go awry.

Dewdrop has been subdued since coming offstage. He’s always more reserved day-to-day than he is in front of a crowd, but his behavior tonight, by Rain’s assessment, is uncharacteristic. He had gone straight to a couch near the corner of the green room and barely interacted with anyone, even when Swiss pelted him with a grape from the catering table, something that on any other day would have warranted a ruthless counterattack.

At one point over the course of the evening he ventures away from his outpost to retrieve a bottle of water, but he brings it right back to where he had been sitting.

Later, out of nowhere, he drags himself up from the couch and staggers to the big commercial-grade plastic trash bin next to the door. He grabs the edge of it with enough horizontal momentum that it hits the wall with a hollow thunk before he leans his whole body over it and retches. This sudden series of actions makes everyone still in the green room pause. The sound of whatever was in his stomach — just water, presumably — hitting whatever else is in the trash can is stark in the now quiet space.

Rain is the first to react; he stands from his seat and promptly freezes in place. Aether is the first to actually get up and walk over towards the door. It snaps Rain out of his daze, and he follows behind.

Before they can get there, Dew is already on his way back to his spot on the couch. Aether recalibrates their trajectory to meet him there. Dew flops back onto the seat, his head tipped back against the top of the backrest, legs extended out in front of him, arms limp at his sides.

“What’s going on, you okay?” Aether stands over Dew, and Rain stands next to Aether. Dew doesn’t respond. His eyes are unfocused.

From this distance Dew is visibly shaking, his entire body inundated by a fine vibration that itself pulses in intensity, like a modulated wave.

“Hey,” Aether tries again, “you okay?”

Dew groans and puts his hands over his eyes. Then he jolts upright, the soles of his costume shoes squeaking against the laminate tile floor. He takes short, hitching breaths.

Aether immediately anticipates what is about to happen and drags over the trash bin. Dew leans over it, gripping the edge, and releases a tendril of saliva. He gags.

Swiss runs out of the room, hands over his ears.

The trash bin is so large compared to Dew’s seated form that it looks like he could fall into it and disappear. Rain finds a small plastic-lined wastebasket by one of the other seating areas and swaps it with the big bin. Dew relinquishes his grasp on its folded rim as Rain pulls it away. He relaxes somewhat, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees and the wastebasket between his ankles.

He heaves again, unproductive. Aether and Rain hover over him like if they look at him long enough the power of their concern could will him to be better somehow.

After a few more dry heaves, Aether prompts again, “What’s going on?”

Dew responds this time. “My throat hurts so much.”

“Your throat? Are you sick?” Aether puts the back of his hand against Dew’s forehead. Dew tries to lean away from him as he approaches, but his dodge is ineffective and Aether makes contact anyway. His gesture is so maternal, but as far as Rain knows, Aether is just as experienced with this kind of situation as he is, which is to say not at all.

“For how long?” Rain asks.

“Just today.” Dew pauses, amends his statement. “Just since the show.”

“Maybe he has what all the roadies had?” Aether wonders out loud.

"It hasn’t been this bad for anyone else, though, right?" Rain mentally tallies the casualties so far. It’s only been crew members, none of the musicians, and none of them have had to take any time off.

Aether's brow furrows. "Do you think he needs a doctor? We probably have enough time to get one here before bus call."

"Why are you asking him? I'm right here." Dew directs this comment to the wastebasket.

"Do you think you need a doctor?"

"No."

"And you're going to be better for the show tomorrow?"

"I was fine for the show tonight."

"Sure, but it seems like you're not fine now."

Rain isn’t sure whether Dew's tight-lipped expression is indicative of the nausea or the denial. Dew might not be sure himself, either.

"I think you should let a doctor look at you, at least, just in case," Rain suggests. He’s never seen Dew this sick before, or anyone else, for that matter, and it’s scaring him a little.

Dew actually always seems to be the most likely ghoul to throw up — repeatedly, even — when they're all hung over on a day off. He’s prone to motion sickness as well; Rain wasn’t there, but he’s been told it gets bad enough that on Dew’s first tour he had to swap bunks because the top one swayed too much whenever the bus took an exit on the highway. But he never really seemed bothered about any of those incidents. He certainly wasn’t trembling like a newborn fawn. So this feels different.

“Fine.”

Aether nods. “Okay, I’m going to go find someone who can help.” He briefly places his hand on Dew’s hunched shoulder before leaving.

—

Rain leans against a nearby table for a few minutes while Dew drools occasionally into the wastebasket. He’s stopped outright dry heaving over it at this point, but he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to part with it. Then he suddenly moves to get up.

“I need to go shower.” Dew has to brace against the couch with his hands as he stands.

He sways in place as he rearranges his feet to avoid kicking over the wastebasket. Rain steadies him with a hand on his upper arm.

“Okay, yeah, let me walk you there.”

Dew is already walking toward the door. Rain keeps his hand on his arm and follows, letting him lead the way to his dressing room. At some point in the hallway Rain adjusts his steadying hand to hook around Dew’s waist instead. He isn’t supporting any of Dew’s weight, and only applies any pressure at all when the two of them start to veer from their intended bearing.

Dressing room situations varied between tour stops, depending on what the venue offered and what the management requested. Usually the ghouls ended up sharing them, in groups of two or three. The worst so far was actually when they had individual rooms — each room was so small that Rain could almost touch both sides at the same time if he extended his arms all the way. By the time they were all on the bus that night, there was at least one dent in the drywall that hadn’t been there before.

This time, Dew is sharing a dressing room with Aether. When they get there, it’s empty and quiet. Dew rifles through his bag for clothes and toiletries and heads for the ensuite bathroom, closing the painted steel door behind him.

Now Rain is alone in a dressing room that isn’t his. He checks the time on his phone. There’s still plenty of time before bus call. He should shower too. His shoes are glued to the worn low-pile carpet. He listens to the shower turning on in the bathroom.

Aether shows up a couple minutes later.

“Oh! Hey,” he greets, looking a little surprised to see Rain there. “I explained what happened and they’re calling a doctor to come out.”

Rain nods. “Here?”

“Yeah, and then hopefully he can be on the bus in time.”

Rain nods again, checks his phone. Aether stands there.

“You should go shower,” Aether offers.

“Yeah.” Rain doesn’t move.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s okay in there.”

This finally unglues Rain’s feet. He nods, thanks Aether, and heads for his own dressing room.

He ends up pacing around the room, and later up and down a segment of the hallway, while he waits an eternity for Swiss to finish showering. He takes his own shower as quickly as possible — normally he would be in there at least as long as Swiss was, if not longer — and finds himself drawn back to Dew and Aether’s dressing room when he’s done.

When he gets there, the door is propped open. Aether isn’t there, but Rain can hear the shower running. Dew is slouched in an armchair, curled up with his feet on the seat. He’s changed from his costume into jeans and a hoodie, and his hair is damp. As Rain steps through the door, he’s in the process of forcing down a minuscule sip of water. Dew looks up at him and offers what he thinks is supposed to be a polite smile but ends up more like a tight-lipped grimace.

“Are you feeling any better?” Rain leans against the makeup counter along one wall of the room.

Dew shrugs.

The two of them sit in relative silence for a few minutes, Rain tapping his fingers rhythmically on the laminate countertop and Dew fiddling with the lid of his plastic water bottle, before Dew leans over a strategically placed wastebasket — if Rain hadn’t walked him here himself he would have assumed Dew brought this one from the green room — and throws up the tiny mouthful of water from earlier. He sighs, quietly, turbulent air rushing out through his nose, and leans his head back against the chair.

Eventually a member of the venue staff arrives outside the room, knocking politely on the doorframe. She explains she’s here to escort Dew to where the doctor is set up. Rain hovers next to him as he stands, ready to steady him if he needs it.

The three of them zigzag through the backstage hallways. The trip isn’t far, but Dew is moving slowly, still wobbly. The staff member, seemingly stuck in a state of haste, has to stop and wait at each intersection for Dew and Rain to catch up.

Their journey ends at a door propped open by the tour manager. He waves them into a dressing room, the larger kind that might be used by an ensemble cast. It is devoid of everything but furniture, clearly not intended to be occupied tonight. There is a couch against one wall; two others are lined with makeup counters and mirrors. The doctor stands at one end of the counter, picking through a hefty bag of supplies.

They walk single file through the doorway, Dew first and then Rain. The doctor glances up at them through the mirror, then turns and introduces herself. She’s wearing inconspicuous, casual clothes, nothing that would explicitly indicate she’s a medical professional.

“Please have a seat.” She gestures toward the couch.

Dew settles onto one end of the couch, but doesn’t relax. He folds his arms loosely around himself. Rain considers his own seating options and decides to perch next to him on the couch’s padded arm in a pose somewhere between sitting and leaning.

At the counter, the doctor drapes a stethoscope around her neck and picks up a small collection of equipment.

“I’d like to start by checking your vitals,” she says.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” says the tour manager, taking a step toward the hallway while holding the door open. Rain realizes it’s a cue for him, that he is expected to leave as well.

He suddenly also realizes there was no real reason for him to have followed Dew here in the first place. The venue management had been considerate enough to find him a private room, and Rain had invaded that privacy without even thinking. He stands up from the couch arm, turning back towards Dew to tell him he’ll see him on the bus and —

Dew is looking back with his eyes wide and his shoulders tense. One of his arms is extended toward Rain from where it had been wrapped around his body, his hand resting limp on the couch in a noncommittal, minimal energy version of physically reaching out to him.

Dew has his mouth slightly open like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t.

“Should I stay?” Rain finally asks.

“If you want to,” Dew counters, not ready to admit that he’s the one who wants it.

“I don’t mind.” Rain settles back down on the arm of the couch.

Dew looks away from him and deflates, compressing back in against himself.

The tour manager just nods and waves goodbye, then lets the door swing closed.

—

The doctor crosses the room from the counter to the couch and hands Dew a digital thermometer. “Hold this under your tongue, please.”

Dew complies, holding it in place with one hand. She clips a pulse oximeter on the other.

The shrill beep of the thermometer breaks the silence in the room. Dew removes it from his mouth and hands it back to the doctor without looking at it.

She takes it and reads the glowing screen. “You have a fever. Are you having body aches? Chills?” She reaches to collect the pulse oximeter as well.

Dew lifts his hand slightly so she can unclip it from his finger, the minor exertion causing it to tremor. He shakes his head. Rain thinks about how he looked when he was flopped on the green room couch and wonders if they have different definitions of those words.

The doctor checks the measurement, hums quietly, then places the device on the couch and picks up a blood pressure cuff. She wraps it around Dew’s upper arm and then squats next to him, donning her stethoscope. She takes his forearm and flips it so his hand rests supine on his knee.

The room is quiet except for the rush of air as she inflates the cuff, then lets it slowly deflate again. The sound of the velcro ripping apart when she unwraps it echoes in the still room. Dew tucks his relinquished arm back around himself. The doctor stands and removes the stethoscope from her ears and drapes it over her shoulders again. She replaces her other equipment in her bag.

When she returns, she sits down next to Dew on the couch, perched close to the edge so she can turn to face him.

“Can you tell me more about your symptoms? The sore throat started tonight, after your performance?”

Dew nods. “I felt fine during the show. But then it was like I noticed…” He pauses, considering, as if he’s trying to string together the events. “My throat hurt a lot and I tried to drink water and I threw up.”

“Your body is full of adrenaline when you’re performing. It masks your symptoms and gives you energy, and then when it wears off you suddenly feel worse.”

Rain nods at this. It makes sense. He’s accustomed to that feeling after every show — being hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion when the excitement of the situation finally falls away. It’s absolutely never been this dramatic before, for any of them.

“Have you been drinking water since then?”

“Trying to,” Dew answers. When she raises her eyebrows, he elaborates, “It keeps coming back up.”

The doctor nods. She holds out her hand toward Dew’s. “Can I see your hand for just a minute?”

Dew offers her the hand that’s closer to her, which because of the way he’s folding his arms is actually the one from the other side of his body. She takes it and gently pinches his skin, then presses on his fingernail and watches it change color.

“You don’t seem too dehydrated right now, but it’s something to watch out for.” She releases his hand and he tucks it back against his side.

“I need to look at the inside of your throat.” She picks up a tiny flashlight.

Dew unwraps his arms from around himself, resting them in his lap instead. He sits up a little straighter, tilts his head back slightly, and opens his mouth.

She shines the light into Dew’s mouth. Rain can’t see what she sees because Dew is facing away from him. Whatever it is, her face doesn’t reveal anything. She doesn’t look for very long. Seconds later, she clicks off the light and places it on the couch. Dew closes his mouth and drops his shoulders.

“I’d like to feel the outside of your neck.” She’s paused halfway though the motion of reaching out to touch him. Her hands are palm-up, fingers curled loosely, nonthreatening. The gesture reminds Rain of someone holding their hand out for a cat to sniff before petting it.

Dew nods, staring over her shoulder at nothing.

She presses her fingers into both sides of his neck where it connects to the underside of his jaw. She walks them forward from beneath his ears towards his chin. As she feels, she asks, “Is that sore?”

“A little.” His brow is creased slightly and his mouth is drawn into a straight line.

She lowers her hands to her lap. “Have you been coughing at all?”

Dew shakes his head.

“Still nauseous?”

He pauses, then nods.

“Alright.” She sits back slightly. “Based on your symptoms it sounds like you have strep throat, but I want to run a test to confirm. It takes about ten minutes, and if it comes back positive I’ll give you an antibiotic which should have you feeling better within a day or two and also prevent you from spreading this to anyone else. Regardless, I can give you something for your symptoms so you get through your performance tomorrow night.”

She pauses. Her unasked question hangs in the air — is that okay? She’s giving Dew a chance to say no, or request another option, or do anything other than drift through this situation like an unmoored boat.

“Okay.”

“Great.” She stands up from the couch and returns to her bag on the counter. As she comes back to the couch, she peels open the paper package of a sterile cotton swab. She sits back down next to Dew, facing him like before.

“I’m going to take a sample from your throat. I need you to open your mouth and stay as still as you can.”

Dew sits up and opens his mouth again. This time, he closes his eyes.

The doctor pulls the swab from its packaging and inserts it through his open mouth and all the way to the other side of his head, rubbing it against the back of his throat. He gags, but doesn’t close his mouth. He reflexively lifts one hand from his lap like he’s going to grab her arm; it hovers for a moment before he pulls it back down.

“I know.” She keeps rubbing.

Dew lets out a tiny sound, a round, open-mouthed “ah,” and squeezes his eyes tighter shut. The flush in his cheeks spreads.

“Done, I’m sorry for that.” She stands and returns to her supplies, holding the swab upright like a lit match.

Dew slouches forward. His eyes are still closed. He sniffs once, quietly.

Rain rubs his hand back and forth along Dew’s shoulder blade. He feels the tension in his muscles ease just a little under his touch. His breaths are slow and intentional.

Rain pulls back his hand when Dew leans back on the couch, pulling his feet up in front of him. The two of them watch the doctor performing some alchemical ritual with the swab, combining reagents and swirling them in a plastic tube. When it’s complete, she pulls a laptop from her bag and types on it, which is less interesting. Rain lets his eyes drift shut.

He opens them again when Dew speaks.

“I’m sorry for making you stay. You didn’t have to.” His voice is quiet. He’s curled up now, with his arms draped loosely around his knees, leaning one side of his body against the back of the couch so he faces Rain.

Dew, in fact, didn’t make Rain do anything. He didn’t even ask him to do anything, really. But Rain knows what he’s trying to say.

“It’s okay, I wanted to,” is how Rain decides to respond. He cringes inside at the implication. He did want to stay, but it feels creepy to say it outright like that, like he had been selfish to intrude on Dew’s vulnerable situation, even though Dew just claimed he had asked him to. They’re both talking about an imaginary interaction instead of what actually happened.

If Dew hadn’t stopped him like that when he went to leave, if he had wanted privacy, Rain would have understood. He probably would have gone back to his dressing room and paced around, or made himself busy doing something useless. He would have been worried, but he would rather be worried than make Dew uncomfortable.

And if Dew hadn’t stopped him despite actually wanting him to stay, hadn’t been able to ask for what he needed in even the most subtle, minimal way — it makes Rain’s chest ache. He imagines Dew sitting in this unfamiliar room being touched by a stranger, wishing he was there with him.

But Dew looks almost comfortable now, all things considered. He’s resting the side of his head against the back of the couch, eyes closed. His face is relaxed except for a single crease between his eyebrows. Rain is nearly overpowered by a sudden instinctive desire to reach out and touch him again, to feel his forehead like Aether did, to press his hand against his flushed cheek, to tuck a strand of mostly-dry hair behind his ear. But he doesn’t want to violate the trust Dew is putting in him by simply allowing him to be here. Instead, he counts Dew’s steady breaths.

—

Rain shifts his attention to the doctor when she closes her laptop and moves back to her makeshift alchemy lab. She barely glances at the test before she’s on her way back towards the couch.

She sits next to Dew again. He pivots so he’s facing forward, but leaves his legs tucked up in front of him.

“The test is positive for strep,” she explains, “which is treatable with antibiotics.”

Dew nods.

“Because of the vomiting I would recommend an antibiotic injection. Given your schedule, I think it’s the most reliable choice. The other option is pills, but if you can’t keep them down you won’t see any benefit.”

Dew is staring at the carpet somewhere near the middle of the room. He nods again, slowly, like he’s on autopilot.

“It’s just one dose and it will start working right away. I really do think it would be the best way to ensure you’re feeling better by tomorrow night.”

Dew glances at her and nods again, a little more present this time.

“Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I can also give you a corticosteroid to help with the inflammation in your throat until the antibiotic starts working.”

“Okay.”

She nods. “I’ll be right back.”

She stands and crosses the room once again to the counter. She picks an assortment of sterile packages and medicine vials out of her bag. She unwraps empty syringes and plastic-capped needles.

Rain has gotten shots before — each of the ghouls had been vaccinated against earthly diseases soon after being summoned. He didn’t mind them. They hadn’t really hurt, though his arms were sore afterwards. The idea of something being injected into him makes his stomach turn, but he had made sure not to look when it was happening and the actual experience ended up being uneventful.

These syringes are significantly larger than any he’s seen before, though. He watches the doctor fill one of them at least two thirds of the way full in a single motion. It makes his stomach drop.

Dew, on the other hand, has never been squeamish about anything. Blood, gore, and other stuff like that doesn’t phase him whatsoever. He isn’t really averse to pain either. Rain wouldn’t expect needles to be an issue for him. Looking at him now, Rain can’t place the expression on his face. It’s not one he would have imagined.

Dew is watching the doctor closely. He looks exhausted, which is expected. His eyes are lidded and rimmed with dark circles. He still has that single crease between his eyebrows. He’s frowning, just barely, a slight deviation from his usual neutral expression that you might not notice if you didn’t know him. There’s something else in his face that, if Rain had to put a word to it, he would guess it was nervousness, or apprehension. It’s visible in the way he tracks the doctor’s every move despite his eyes clearly wanting to be closed. He seems to be carrying more tension than he can afford to right now.

The doctor has gone back to searching for something in her bag. “Okay,” she instructs, “can you lower your pants a couple inches and lie facing down on the couch for me please?”

Dew’s eyes widen just a bit, just for a moment. But he stands, unbuttons his jeans, and slides the waistband down slightly. Then he lowers himself back onto the couch.

He doesn't actually lie all the way down; his hips and legs are flat against the couch, but his head and shoulders are propped up with his elbows. Rain imagines he's ready to fling himself up from the couch and scuttle away. It’s at odds with how sluggish his movements have been since he came offstage tonight.

Dew turns his head to watch the doctor cross the room but looks down at the couch when she gets close. She squats next to the couch and places her supplies on the seat near his leg: two prepared syringes, two adhesive bandages, a few alcohol swab packets and some small gauze pads.

She pushes the edge of his hoodie up to expose the bare skin of his hip. She tears open the wrapper of an alcohol swab, saturating the air with its sharp smell.

“I’m going to start with the steroid.”

Dew nods without looking at her, plucking at a loose thread on the edge of the couch seat cushion. He flinches slightly when she wipes the back of one hip with alcohol. She picks up one of the syringes, pulls the cap off the needle.

Dew glances up at Rain with that same inscrutable expression — tired, apprehensive. He’s blushing, or maybe it’s just because he’s feverish. Rain smiles, tries his best to look reassuring. Dew’s flush deepens. He breaks away from the eye contact.

The doctor places one gloved hand on Dew’s sanitized hip. “Try to relax your leg as much as possible.” She taps her fingers against his skin a few times. Dew’s body is lean and wiry, but this is one of his softer places.

Dew wiggles his feet a bit to loosen the muscles in his legs.

“Good. Here we go.”

She sticks the needle in quickly like an animal striking its prey. Dew doesn’t react to this, but the sudden motion makes Rain flinch.

She presses down on the plunger of the syringe painstakingly slowly. Rain decides he can’t watch this part. He watches Dew’s face instead. His eyes are closed but he looks mostly the same as before. A muscle in his jaw flexes.

When the doctor withdraws the needle she immediately flips an attached plastic cover over it. She presses a folded square of gauze over the tiny puncture wound on Dew’s hip.

“Well done. One more.” She’s praising Dew for doing absolutely nothing, but Rain supposes that must be the point. He still looks like he’s considering in the back of his mind that he could get up and run away.

She removes the gauze and smooths a band-aid over the puncture. She selects another alcohol swab and unwraps it, renewing the lingering smell in the room.

“Relax,” she reminds him, rubbing his other hip with the swab.

She picks up the other syringe and removes the cap from the needle. This one seems bigger. Not the needle, but the contents of the syringe are greater. Rain is trying not to think too much about details like that.

She repeats the same procedure — hand on his hip, needle through his skin like a predator, slow pressure on the plunger. Rain looks away from it again.

Dew’s eyes are closed again, and his jaw is still tense. His fingers curl slightly against the flat surface of the couch seat cushion. He cranes his neck to look behind him at what the doctor is doing. The plunger has barely moved. He turns himself back around and lets his head hang forward between his shoulders. He pushes a slow breath out through his nose.

Rain watches Dew's hands close fully into fists.

Rain offers his hand to hold instead. He’s not sure if Dew would accept it. His understanding is that affectionate touch is a gray area for Dew. It’s more likely to be okay when it’s playful and unserious. And onstage, anything goes; it’s all a game. Rain would place hand holding firmly in mushy, lovey-dovey, serious territory, completely off limits. But his other supportive and even comforting touches tonight had been uncharacteristically tolerated, and it's not like anyone else is here to see them besides this doctor — who he's pretty sure they will never encounter again. Plus, it’s not necessarily romantic at all. He would do this for anyone, he tells himself.

Dew grasps his hand immediately, without looking up. He doesn't squeeze it tightly, but his grip is firm. Rain presses back with just as much force. He glances up at the doctor, unintentionally making eye contact. She looks away, back to her task, without saying anything. Rain looks back to his and Dew’s hands.

Dew is still looking down, motionless. It makes Rain think of the way a sick wild animal will shut down and hide from predators in some secluded place. Or, more broadly, the instinct of fight or flight. He already observed Dew’s desire to flee in his body language, and there’s clearly no fight in him right now. All that’s left for him to do is accept what’s happening.

Rain ventures a glance to the syringe again. It’s probably about halfway emptied. Which means half of what was in it is now deposited inside Dew’s flesh. He snaps his gaze away from it and tightens his grip on Dew’s hand — just sympathetically, he justifies, not because that makes him feel queasy.

Dew squeezes back a little tighter too.

“Keep breathing slowly,” the doctor encourages. “You’re doing great.”

This first comment makes Rain notice his breathing sped up just now, and he has to glance up at her to see if it was actually directed at him. It doesn’t seem to be — she’s looking at Dew — but he realizes that Dew’s breathing has been mirroring his. So maybe it was, in a roundabout way, an instruction for him. He focuses on setting a good example.

He counts eight measured breaths before it’s over.

“Good job,” the doctor says as she removes the needle. “You’re all done.”

Dew’s shoulders droop. Rain releases his hand. The doctor continues with the rest of the procedure from before — needle cover, gauze, band-aid. Then she gathers her discarded items and returns to the counter.

Dew rolls himself onto his side and gingerly sits up. He runs his hands over his face, pausing for a few seconds with both palms cupping his jaw, eyes unfocused. Then he stands and shimmies up his pants and fastens the button. Rain stands too, ready to support him if necessary.

The doctor is digging in her bag again.“You’ll be contagious for the next day or so, so try to avoid close contact as much as possible.” She returns to the ghouls with a small stack of disposable face masks and offers them to Dew. “You should wear a mask at least until your performance tomorrow.”

Dew nods, taking them and putting one on right there. The pastel yellow contrasts with his otherwise all-black outfit.

“Try to keep drinking fluids and get as much rest as you can. The steroid will give you a bit of a boost, so don’t overdo it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Anything else I can do for you?”

Dew shakes his head.

“Well, if you think of anything, you can have your tour manager get in contact with me. I won’t be able to see you again but I can answer questions or consult with any other providers you see."

Dew nods. He’s thumbing through the stack of masks like the world’s most boring flipbook.

“Alright, take care. Feel better.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks,” Rain echoes.

—

With that, the two of them wordlessly split to their separate dressing rooms to retrieve their bags.

After packing, Rain backtracks down the hall to Dew’s dressing room instead of heading straight to the bus. He checks the time on his phone. He’s cutting it much closer than he would ever consider doing on any other day. Their schedule is usually strict — the shows are the top priority, of course, and everything surrounding them is carefully arranged maximize their success — but maybe illness would be an extenuating circumstance. Regardless, he’s already decided he won’t let Dew risk getting left behind alone. If the bus leaves without Dew, it will leave without Rain as well.

In his dressing room, Dew is haphazardly throwing items into his bag. He startles slightly when he notices Rain through the mirror, but goes right back to packing his luggage. When he’s done, the two of them head for the bus.

Thankfully, the bus is still there when they get outside, parked just past the back door of the venue. Dew wobbles on the first step of the steep staircase, and Rain steadies him with a hand on the middle of his back. They proceed up into the warmly lit front lounge.

Everyone else is already there, and so everyone’s eyes are on them as they get to the top of the stairs. Swiss is the first to greet them.

“Hey, look who made it!”

Dew glares at him. “Back off, I’m contagious.”

“I see how it is,” Swiss says, looking pointedly at Rain, who is still following Dew closely.

Dew tugs at the top of his mask like he’s going to pull it down. Swiss raises his hands in surrender.

Dew and Rain continue through the tight space of the lounge into the aisle between the two rows of bunks. Rain lets the door swing closed behind them. It’s quiet, and darker than the front lounge.

Dew hurls his bag at the closed curtains of his bunk. It ends up halfway on the mattress, halfway on the floor of the aisle. He nudges it with his foot, to no effect, wobbling as he tries to balance on one leg. He grips the platform of the middle bunk to steady himself and kicks at it again. It remains stubbornly on the ground. He crouches and shoves it all the way inside.

He groans quietly as he stands back up, one hand against his hip and the other clenched into a fist. The sound makes Rain pause where he’s stowing items in his own bunk. He watches Dew stand there, unmoving except for the heaving rise and fall of his chest.

Then Dew moves the hand on his hip to one belt loop of his jeans and yanks the waistband down slightly. He hitches up the hem of his hoodie with the other hand, exposing the band-aid there from earlier. He cranes his neck so he can look at it. Rain isn’t sure what Dew was expecting to see, but it’s just a plain, unmarred band-aid, looking like it could be covering up nothing at all.

Dew prods at the flesh of his hip with one finger, pressing into a spot an inch above the band-aid. Facing away, masked, head tucked behind his shoulder, it’s the only part of him Rain can see.

Rain isn’t sure what comes over him, but this image of Dew metaphorically licking his wounds, with his frustration simmering over, pulls at his heart. He reaches out and places his hand over the band-aid.

Dew’s sharp inhale hisses through his teeth.

“Sorry.” Rain snatches his hand back.

“It’s okay. It actually feels nice. Your hands are cold.”

Rain lays his fingers over the spot again, touching as lightly as possible. Dew exhales, almost a sigh.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s okay,” he answers, too quickly, a question Rain wasn’t asking. “But yeah, more than I expected. Feels like I pulled a muscle.”

Dew turns around so they’re facing each other, but doesn’t make eye contact. Instead he looks down at the hem of Rain’s shirt, pinches at it, worries it between his fingers, not actually touching him but bridging an indirect connection between their bodies.

Rain lets his hand fall away when Dew moves, but puts them back, both of them this time, on Dew’s hips. He strokes his fingers up to his waist under his shirt, then back down again. The skin there is so warm.

“It’s not that bad. Everything is just, a lot. Right now.” Dew’s voice is so small. “My brain is frying.”

It sort of is, in a literal way. Dew leans forward and rests his forehead against Rain’s shoulder. Rain can feel the heat radiating through his shirt.

“And my throat really fucking hurts and now my ass hurts too and I still feel like I’m going to throw up everywhere.”

Rain thinks his chest might crack open and swallow him up.

“Oh,” is what he manages to say to express this feeling. “Can I get you something? Water? Tea, maybe?” He thinks. “An ice pack?”

Dew chuckles, or maybe scoffs.

“I don’t know,” Rain backpedals. “I’ll get you anything on this bus. Or I’ll make the driver stop somewhere before we get on the highway if you want.”

“I mostly just want to sleep right now.”

“Okay, well, text me if you need anything.”

Dew pulls back from his shoulder to look up at him. He’s smiling; the mask is covering his mouth but Rain can tell by the way his cheeks are raised near the corners of his eyes.

“Maybe an ice pack would be nice.”

#ghost band fanfic #raindrop ghost #fic i wrote #sorry this is an old fic again but i just need it on my blog #i almost made one single-word edit but i kept it as is #and did i change my fic posting format again? yes i did

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rmoonstoner · 1 year

Text

***

Poisoned Empanadas

***

Pairing:

Moon Knight (Jake Lockley) x Spider!fem!reader

Spider-Man 2099 (Miguel O'Hara) x Spider!fem!reader

***

18+

Warnings:

Violence, strong language, mentions of death, possibility of people dying, mentions of depression, sexual themes, smut, whump, love triangle, love competition, warnings will change as the story develops.

***

Summary:

You get bad news on your anniversary. Jake is moving away, and he ends the relationship. He does it to keep you safe, or so he says, but you know there's another woman. You don't know who it is. He had come home on too many occasions smelling like hard liquor, jasmine, and cinnamon, a scent you didn't wear. You would find hair on his dirty clothes in the wash bin that wasn't yours or his. Every time you confronted him, he said it was for his undercover job for some powerful guy, and he always had women in his cabs after the bars let out on nights he used his cab for stakeouts. Like was he supposed to refuse rides to paying customers? His excuse was his proximity to others, and he assured you he never strayed.

You didn't believe him.

That still didn't explain the suggestive stains in underwear he never wore around you, which you washed for him. It didn't explain why he would fuck off for days or weeks at a time, and he never would tell you where he went, or what he was doing. He never sent you texts, emails, or letters. He never checked in, and just showed up unannounced, fully expecting to be let back into your life without question.

And you let him, every Goddamn time, because, when he was actually around, he treated you so well. Like a Goddess. He lavished you with expensive gifts and took care of your basic necessities. He had paid for the house you lived in, and the car you drove. You let him, because you loved him.

***

Chapter 1 - Empanada Gallega - Galicia, Spain

This pastry is flour based, and traditionally it is filled with tuna or chorizo, but you can use other meats or seafood depending on your location. Onions, salt, and pepper are a must. Modern day versions favor adding tomatoes. It is square-shaped or rounded with doughy decorations on the top.

***

Today was your technical three year anniversary. Technically speaking, it was three years since Jake had asked you out. You had a rocky history together, with a bunch of breakups and getting back together.

Your boyfriend, Jake Lockley, had been squirrely recently. You knew what was coming, but you didn't think he'd pick today, of all days, to pull this kind of stunt.

He decided, yet again, probably for the tenth time since you started dating three years ago, that now was a great time to break off the relationship.

Why?

He claimed he was going out on a mission, on which he would be gone for at least six months, maybe a year. He refused to tell you exactly where, but he narrowed it down to England when he handed you a P.O. Box address at a post office in London.

What the fuck was this?

Was this his idea of a gift?

A fucking address scrawled on a sticky note?

You barely said a word to him as he kept explaining how this new mission would be too dangerous to have you around. You scowled as he spoke, knowing full well it was bullshit. He'd seen the news recently. He saw how you went toe to toe with many of Spider-Man's foes. He even witnessed in person, while cabbing of course, a few of your assists for the Avengers.

He knew he was spouting nonsense, but kept it up, mostly because you didn't say anything back. You had checked out and he didn't even see it as he wove his own web of lies of omission and half truths. You had decided that you had grown tired of his excuses that he would be back, even though he was now explaining the break up procedure to you, again.

You could go on dates and see people. If it ended up being a spicy night, you could pursue your interests and have sex and be guilt free. He was saying it like he was doing you a favor, or extending you some weird courtesy of freedom.

But even though he offered this every time, you never did.

You naturally assumed that the rule was always made for his benefit. He could go dick down someone, guilt free, and then you couldn't say anything, because he already laid out the rules and you didn't argue with him.

You knew, deep down, that you weren't the only person that felt those rough hands roaming and groping your body…

His thirsty lips kissing you anywhere and everywhere, taking and plundering whatever he desired as he played you like a fiddle.

And that well-endowed package of his that seemed to always make every nerve inside of you light on fire and make you soak the sheets like a puddle of quivering jelly when he was finished with you.

You shook your head to clear it of the heated thoughts. The signs were all there and they were all the small details that told you there was another woman he never spoke of.

Every time he came home, he was drunk or high as fuck on something, and he was sloppy about the evidence you found.

***

You once heard him come home at four in the morning and found him in the kitchen in a pair of boxers you don't ever remember seeing before. He was wasted, and he had white dust on his upper lip as he mucked around in the kitchen causing a mess. A mess you'd end up cleaning in the morning.

You watched him stumble about and make himself a plate of breakfast. He made bacon, sausages, eggs, and toast, then doused the entire thing in a bottle's worth of hot sauce. He left a mess on the stove, the pans in a horrible state, and the sink full of dishes and trash, like eggshells, packaging and bread ties. He didn't even offer you anything, and then when done, the man had the audacity to do rails of ketamine right off of the counter.

That was a shitty night for you. When Jake had eventually gone and stolen your bed, sprawled out like a starfish, and passed out, you went to work on cleaning up his mess.

You took the shells and meat packaging out of the sink and threw them away into the proper bins. You gathered the dishes, set them to soak in the sink, and then wiped the counters, the stove, and the fridge down. He somehow had got egg on the fridge handle, and you huffed while picking up shells from the floor. You swept and mopped the floors, then came back to do the dishes and clean the sink.

Just that alone took an hour. When it was done, you went and picked his stuff up off that he had just strewn about when he came in. His shoes looked brand new, as did his bags, except for one. One was purple, and it had a tag with a woman's name and address, her phone number, and an email address. You took the tag and put it away, then moved his shit to the closet.

One by one, you hung his dress shirts, and only two had blood stains on them. You set those aside to clean, along with a few t-shirts that stunk of cigars, liquor, and sweat. One in particular, a khaki short sleeve button up, had lipstick stains on the collar, and red blood stains on the back in the shape of long scratches. It even smelled heavily of a perfume you didn't wear, and it was a scent he always came back smelling like. Jasmine and cinnamon. They used to be your favorite smells, but now, you despised them entirely, knowing exactly why those scents were there in the first place.

You put that shirt away, keeping it as evidence, and switched it out for one of the same ones that Jake had left behind the last time he showed up. He never noticed. He never did, because he was just that comfortable with you. You went through his clothes, finding condoms in a pair of jeans. A pack of five, and three were missing, but there was one empty wrapper in there, signalling to you what he was doing. He wasn't just handing them out to people.

You found a wallet, which shouldn't have been a big deal, except for it was.

It really was.

Jake's wallet was a thick leather folding wallet and this was a thin card holder that folded. It was canvas, and held a few fake ID cards with the name of Marc Spector, but held Jake's face without his facial hair, his hat, or a smile. It was the first time you'd seen this wallet. It was going to be hard for him to explain that.

Jake also had a backpack and a laptop bag, which you decided to investigate as well. You found sweatpants, baggy shirts, and printed vacation print button ups. You had only ever seen Jake in the sweatpants. That was odd. These clothes were clean, unlike the rest you had found. You folded them up and put them back, only to find yet another wallet inside. It was leather like Jake's, but it had a faded gold Ankh on it and it wasn't as thick. Of course, the identification inside held yet another alias. It said Steven Grant, and that he was a professor of Egyptology.

Well, that explained the tattoos Jake had. Most of them were Egyptian, and the most intricate was the one on his left forearm. It was a series of hieroglyphics inside a white crescent moon with gold lettering. He had told you that he thought it looked neat and never explained it further. It also explained why he had all those books on the shelves, yet never spoke of it or his obvious love of Egypt.

So he had secret lives with secret identities and he didn't think to tell you about it.

You never said a word. You kept your mouth shut and hid your evidence. The shirts, the tag, pictures of it all, and pictures of his IDs.

***

You sighed as the memory passed and Jake was still talking. He was telling you that your car was freshly serviced and had a full tank of gas.

After a few times of him doing this breakup routine, you just waited for his return and picked up where you left off.

Again and again…

But this time around felt different. You felt detached and bored, not to mention numb inside. You needed something new, because you were trapped in a vicious cycle of being loved fully and truly, to suddenly have it wrenched out of your grasp, dangled in front of you, then given back.

You wanted to be happy, but all the time. You didn't want to be waiting on constant alert for Jake to up and leave again. You could never gauge how long he would be gone for, but you found that if you didn’t draw attention to it, he wouldn't go through all the trouble of breaking up with you. He would just leave and come back.

This time though, he was giving you an olive branch, a way to reach him. It was still a shitty anniversary gift in your eyes, when maybe if he had just asked you to come with him, you would have gone. He knew you could protect yourself, and he knew you wanted to travel the world.

Yet he was leaving you behind. Again.

You stared at the scribbled writing in red pen with the address. His words were a dull buzz as you barely paid attention to another excuse about his long haul undercover job, this time to take down an Egyptian cult. You didn't believe him, because he always came home without a scratch on him after he would tell you small details on what he did, which wasn't much to be honest. You did, however, believe he would go pick fights with people, because his clothes always had blood on them.

Lots of guns apparently, and lots of him getting stabbed or shot, beaten up and crashed into, yet he had no proof of such things ever happening, aside from the holes in his clothes that he could have easily put there himself, nor would he tell you how or why his wounds weren't there.

You just assumed he was a Mutant, or maybe one of those other super hero types. You knew he wasn't one of your kind, which was one of the Spider-Folk, and he knew about it. He knew, but never talked about it to your face. Because of this, you never talked about your assumptions, and just dropped any argument the moment it started.

To be fair, you did deserve to know what exactly he did. He had seen you in the news, passed you on the street in his cab while you were in uniform, or when he stood outside of it having a cigarette and just happened to be looking up at the sky at the time. You'd always wave at him, and he'd wave back. That was kind of how you two met…

***

It was a rainy night and you had been chasing a few thugs for a few blocks, when a cab suddenly came out of nowhere, effectively blocking off their escape route. It forced them to funnel themselves into an alley that was a dead end, and you caught them off guard. Of course there was a fist fight, because no self respecting criminal that runs away from you for over fifteen minutes ever just gives up without a fight!

You ended up beating the crap out of one of the guys, but the other two quickly interfered and got the upper hand. You got stabbed three times and slammed against a wall, beforeJake had stepped out of the cab and went full balls to the wall feral on them. You watched him beat a man's face into the curb, blood splattering everywhere. He hadn’t stopped until you pleaded with him not to kill the man.

And that's kinda when you became infatuated with him. He listened to you, did what you asked, and he happily called the authorities. The way he casually leaned against the wall smoking while on his phone, covered in blood, made your lower regions into a damp mess. He casually helped the cops with the criminals and then left.

You ended up seeing him a lot more. Almost every night. And every night, he'd have a bad guy, freshly beaten up for you to take into the police. Eventually he managed to worm his way into your pants while you were on duty, and you ended up getting the fuck of your life in the back of his cab.

From there, he eventually figured out who you were and just showed up and asked you out one day when you were having a coffee with Gwen. He never mentioned your night life, or the fact he managed to bag a Spider. He just simply put on the charm, impressed Gwen enough to get her to gush about him and stay for you, and then that was that.

Then you ended up moving in together in his house. He treated you like a queen, never missing an opportunity to dote on you. Plus, the sex was frequent and fucking amazing. It was refreshing to have that in him, because you could literally crush someone with your strength, yet he was always fine with it.

But that was a long time ago.

***

Now was the present, and the present wasn't making you feel good at all.

Jake was packing his trunk with his meager possessions as he smoked. You watched him, sighing gently as the rain started up. He made quick work of his belongings and slammed the trunk down, before trotting towards you with a sad smile and open arms. You allowed him the embrace, knowing how affectionate he was normally, but you barely hugged him back. He didn't seem to notice as he kissed you on both cheeks and then your lips.

With a wink and quick shove of a wad of cash into your hands, he turned around and left. You watched him drive away, then looked down at the money. He always did that, leaving you with something to help get you by. Usually you used it to pay the mortgage, but you were ahead by six months, something else that had tipped you off to Jake leaving before he told you. You had gone to the bank last week, and they told you it was paid up in advance.

This time you pocketed it and promptly turned around to change into your uniform. It was soothing to think about something else and not the man that just left you again on the day of your third anniversary…

You thought about the costume you were putting on. It was very similar to Gwen's, but in your own coloring. She had helped you make it. You had gone with sort of a space theme, like nebulae and galaxies for the print. The point was to look dark and kind of sparkly. You were a stealthy, yet flashy looking Spider, mostly for distractions and long range combat.

You had higher speed and greater dexterity stats than the other Spiders, but you were a bit weaker than them. They all could lift more, hit harder, and were more experienced, but you could outrun, out jump, and were outright more nimble in every way.

Your reflexes were sharp enough that you could shoot a lid off a drink container, without making it fall over. You could even hit any target at great distances, which impressed Hawkeye of all people. He was impressed enough that he gave you a few private lessons, and even let you use his bow. He reminded you of your brother a lot.

That little kindness Clint had provided made you preen for weeks. At that time, Jake was jealous of the fact another man had made you happy with a simple and platonic compliment and basic archery lessons. Jealous enough to drop out of existence for three weeks, the exact amount of time you had been happy because of the comment. Real fucking mature, Lockley.

You also had the benefits of being able to produce your own webbing naturally, but yours was ten times stronger than that of the original Spider-Man. There was a small problem though. Your webbing took far too long to dry out, so you couldn't exactly use it to make makeshift bags, slings, tarps, safety nets, or instant temporary clothing. That was the price of being able to shoot long distances and still have the webbing stick when it finally got to your target. On the other hand, that made your webbing stronger, because it was basically perpetually moist enough to keep its strength, and not crack under pressure.

The only other thing you could do differently than the others, was that you could control and project lights and use them to stand on, which mostly came in handy at night. It confused the bad guys a lot, which was good, because that meant you were doing your job as a good distraction. Nothing confused a super villain more than a spider using the beam of light from a lamp post or a flashlight to literally stand on air. It was even more confusing to them when you could essentially blind them with just a thought, and be gone a moment later.

But that also had a price. You had a high metabolism, and you were always ravenous after using your powers. That's why you kept a bag with you at all times. It had snacks and drinks inside.

Right now you were going to go meet up with Gwen and the boys for a team patrol to take your mind off of Jake. With a quick text and a thorough lock up of the house, you left with a hoodie, a pair of runners, and your bag.

***

It didn't take long to swing to the meeting point, which was the Sanctum's roof. Peter claimed it was a safe space where everyone would be less likely to be ambushed, due to the fact he personally knew the owner. All that you knew about the man was that he was some grumpy doctor of magic or something and he was an Avenger.

Oh, that, and the man was the last father figure in Peter's life.

You never actually met the man. Sure, you had worked some of the Avengers through Peter, but never this doctor. Maybe it was a good thing. He was an Alpha Level protector of the cosmos and multiverse with powers beyond your comprehension. That, and he was constantly busy. It made it hard for even Peter to gain an audience with him.

Peter was sitting on the roof with Gwen and Miles, all with their masks off and sitting to the side. You landed and rolled towards them, ending up in a sitting position beside Gwen and Miles.

"Heya! Glad you could make it tonight!" Miles giggled and gave you a high five.

"There's our little Galaxy Spider." Gwen chirped happily as she tugged you into an embrace.

"Hey guys." You said weakly while trying not to look so down.

Unfortunately they all noticed, and they all immediately knew why.

"Did that asshole dump you again for one of his stupid trips?" Gwen asked. You nodded with a deep sigh.

"Thought so. Fuck him. He doesn't deserve such a catch as you, anyways." Gwen sounded sassy.

"That guy is nothing but trouble. Yesterday, I saw him threaten a mobster down in Hell's Kitchen, and he didn't bat an eye when he had a gun shoved in his face." Miles offered up.

"Yeah, that's Jake alright." You replied flatly as you brought out a few cans of pop and handed them over. Everyone thanked you and cracked them open.

"So how long do ya think he'll be gone this time?" Peter asked as he fiddled with the tab on the can.

"He said at least six months, a year tops." You said, and everyone made a horrible face of disgust.

"Oh that's so cold. You should just drop him completely. Move out of that old house and go somewhere else." Gwen suggested as she pointed in the direction of said house.

"Yeah, well… This time feels different. I don't care as much. I think I might move on." You shrugged and chugged the rest of your soda down.

"That's good! It will be easier to detach yourself from that gong show." Gwen said as she handed you a protein bar. She was already shoving half of hers down her throat. You giggled and felt a tap to your shoulder and turned to look at Miles.

"I think Gwen is right. Sure, everytime he comes back, you're happy, but the second he leaves, you're a mess. Your crime fighting suffers, too. You almost got yourself killed by Rhino. That guy hates your guts." Miles moved his hands about to express his worry and dismay.

You sighed and hung your head. He was right and you knew it.

"You deserve someone who loves you enough to tell you all their dark secrets. We all know the guy is volatile and flaky. He's definitely hiding something big from you. You don't deserve that kind of treatment. You deserve open communication." Peter piped up as he stood and walked over to you.

"Yeah, you're all right. I need to let go of him. He's just going to keep doing this over and over to me. I have enough shit to worry about with my night job." You sighed and rubbed your face.

"We can help you move, too! We know it's his house you're in." Gwen offered and you smiled.

"Thank you. I just might take you up on that offer." You nodded and went about eating your bar and talking with them for a bit, before the patrol began. The night went on smoothly, with nothing more than a purse thief and a grocery store robber that tried to use a bubble wand as a hidden gun.

***

Series Master List

***

Notes:

Jake leaves a bunch, because Marc is with Layla. Every time Jake breaks up with the reader, Marc has gotten back with Layla. These breakups and returns always happened in America, up until the last one, where the boys fuck off to London to run away from all their problems.

Yes, I found out after giving the reader a galaxy print costume that looks like Gwen's, that Fortnite has a galaxy print for Gwen. I don't play this game. I found it while trying to see if there is a species of galaxy- themed spider. But there is a galaxy named the Spider Galaxy, so…

In this fiction, Stephen knows Peter is Spider-Man.

Actual quote from one of my editors: (@howaboutcastiel )

Them: I'm sorry. I told you I was going to rip into you.

Me: That's okay. I needed it.

***

Tags: If you want to be updated, let me know.

@theaussiedragon @autismsupermusicalassassin

#jake lockley #mcu moon knight #moon knight #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x y/n #smut #jake lockley smut #spider man 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #love triangle #spider reader

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