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bitterrfruit · 2 months ago

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southpaw

boxer!Ghost x reader, ghost is lefthanded and i won't argue about this cw: dubcon - 18+ mdni So this was supposed to be one long fic but then i got carried away, here's part one of two. forgive me. [read on ao3 if you want]

You met Simon at the pub, on a Wednesday.

It had been an arduous day at work, and a long week, despite having only made it halfway through - and you were on a knife edge, exhausted and sour. It was visible at first sight of you, you wore it like a greasy, raggedy cloak when you leaned slump-shouldered over the bar.

He had drawn your attention like a magnet the moment you spotted him, the towering buzzed-blond behemoth standing alone at a tall table, a half-empty pint glass in his thick fist. You’d shoot furtive little glances in his direction, and each time they were caught.

Caught being the operative word - when you met his eye you were trapped there, forcibly hooked on him as he glowered at you like he was angry. His eyes were shadowed from where you were perched - requesting a gin and tonic, short - and you should have found that frightening. Instead the adrenaline in your belly fizzed like a pinger, a girlish buzz that made your hairs stand on end and your cunt all warm.

You would not have begrudged any male attention, in fact you were long starved of it; but you felt guilty, in a way, subjecting a man to the state you were in. Short-fused and frazzled, thin knitted scarf wrapped tight around your neck, autumn coat slipping from your drooping shoulder. You dug around in your bag for your wallet when the bartender handed you the card reader, scooping frantically through the piles of receipts and hairclips and loose tampons. Offered sheepish apologies to him; so sorry, it’s definitely in there. I’m a mess! Long day, sorry. So sorry. Sorry.

You jumped when you heard the thud of a light slap on the counter, the low huff of an exasperated man, sick and tired. Looking up from your bottomless satchel, you saw the tenner left beside the card reader, and the bartender nodded in thanks before taking it swiftly.

“No problem,” came the gruff voice from above you, implicitly chastising your lack of thanks when you tilted your head upward to blink at him.

He was pretty - your first thought - in a dirty, brutish sort of way. Heavy-browed and amber-eyed, with thick blond lashes and a deep golden stubble. He was adorned with freckles and little scars, slivers of pink and white, some fresh and some old. And when he smirked knowingly at your silence, a dimple pulled in his cheekbone, the crater of an injury once sustained.

He had just been to the gym, you could smell it on him; ripe and heady, a musk you should have been more repulsed by than you were. Instead you savoured it like some little animal, turned your head at the raw pheromones as though a doe sniffing out her stag during the rut. You could also tell as much from his gym gear, grey marled wife-beater under his unzipped black hoodie, stained with dried sweat, navy blue sport shorts that sat high on his hefty thighs and strained over their magnitude.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you said abashedly, giving him an awkward smile in the hopes of concealing your flustered embarrassment.

“I didn’t,” he agreed, and he leaned on the bar by his elbow to get a shred closer to your height. Through a haughty growl, he insisted, “You gonna thank me?”

His brazen arrogance should have put you off. You quickly got the sense he was well used to these encounters - a presumption that you’d be grateful for his interest, a raffish ease that reeked of habitual sex. You wouldn’t have called him well-practised, nothing about him was suave or carefully preened. No, instead, he was viciously masculine in a primal sort of way, rugged and unkempt around the edges. A cold gaze and a serrated smile. The kind of man that oozed testosterone and potent virility without needing to utter a word in his own favour. The unashamed lack of effort was bait in itself.

You might have dismissed him if it were a Saturday, and you had friends to discourage you and drunkenness to embolden you. But, worn-out and sober, you felt obliged to entertain the man that had paid for you. Besides, something about him gave you the impression his attention was non-negotiable.

And once you had thanked him as requested, soon followed a superficially understated conversation, though every word felt laden with some lude prescience. A simple question, then a simple answer, each delivered with more weight than the last. I’m a mechanic. Was in the army. This one’s from a scrap, got hit with a chair. From Manchester. Don’t normally come here on Wednesdays, maybe I should more often. No, not married. Yourself?

Minutes bled quickly to hours, and you didn’t spend a cent on your own alcohol. Soon you had migrated to a booth, and your sticky table became the graveyard of three gin and tonics, tired lime slices floating in the melted ice as you mindlessly prodded at them with a soggy straw. You ogled him shamelessly from the other side of the table, resting your tilted head in your palm, elbow extended on the wooden tabletop.

He was a gladiator. Broad shoulders, pure meat - every part of him was thick with muscle and padded with a warm layer of fat. Winter bulk. You imagined his mammoth arms would be soft and pillowy if you were to squish them with your hungry hands, but that they’d turn as solid as rock if he were to engage them more forcefully.

You asked him if he normally did this, went to pubs on weekdays to prey on bored working women and got them drunk so he could fuck them.

He shrugged, shook his head. “Don’t need to get ‘em drunk.”

His tone was cocksure but insincere, and you didn’t yet have a good enough read of him to determine whether or not he was joking. It wouldn’t have surprised you if he were something of a lothario, given how quickly you had been sucked into his orbit despite his astonishing apathy - and yet, something told you he was more of a prowling wolf than a peacock. The kind of man that sets his eyes on his quarry and is unsatisfied until he has her between his teeth. It made your heart shiver to imagine yourself that meal.

“Just me, then?” You bit back, thanking the bartender when he brought over a fourth gin for you and a third pint for the Mancunian.

He dropped his pint glass down hard after he took his hefty swig. “You’re putting up more of a fight than they usually do.”

“Fighting the inevitable, am I?” You teased, facetious but not entirely unserious.

“You tell me.” Is all he said.

When you checked the time and decided it was far past your bedtime, seeing four fuzzy hands on your watch, he offered to walk you home - never know who’s out this time o’ night. You decided to take him up on it, the plentiful alcohol pumping through your blood blurred your already dubious sense of self-preservation.

His vast hand travelled boldly down your back while you walked, and in a more sober state you would have told him off. Instead you giggled demurely, flicked his hand away half-heartedly just to test how quickly he’d put it back. And when he took an audacious and greedy handful of your ass you yipped at him, falsely agog, but you did nothing more to stop him. He grinned as he did it, sharp teeth, kneading your soft flesh as though evaluating how it felt in his thick fingers. Determining its adequacy.

Arriving at your door he stood behind you like a shadow, watching you key the lock and breathing down the back of your neck. Such a lecher, already so bold as to assume you’d welcome him inside, spread your legs for him after so little effort. When his hand slithered to your waist and took a presumptuous grip, so confident, you felt your fortitude begin to waver. Would it hurt?

But as you spun on your heel you blocked him out with your body in the frame, and gave him a sweet and hazy smile. A chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Not lettin’ me in?” He asked, a grumble, with just enough mirth for you to lower your hackles.

You traced along the jamb with your fingernail. “Maybe next time.”

A test, you drunkenly thought, for if he were really an unashamed cunthound you’d expect him to sulk, or to get grouchy, or to call you a fucking bitch for leading him on. Maybe, you wondered, he might dismiss your refusal entirely, shove you into the apartment with an angry paw and make you fulfil your unspoken proposal. Not much of a fight you could put up, if he were such a beast.

Instead, he merely gave you a rakish grin, and brushed your chin with his thumb. “Next time, then.”

Next time came unexpectedly on the Friday, shortly after you had come home from work; freshly showered and lotioned, you answered the knock on your door in only a blue towel wrapped around your torso. Confronted immediately by the gargantuan man on your doorstep, you stepped back in fright.

There were smudges of oil on his ruddy cheeks, grime embedded deep into the fibres of his black work jacket. With his fists in his pockets, a cigarette jutting out of his pursed lips, he sniffed brashly in the cold. “You busy?”

Your eyes scanned him shrewdly for a short moment before the memory came speeding back to you, flew across your face like a slap, and he gave you a fleeting smirk when he saw your eyes widen and your cheeks go red. The stranger from the pub remembered your address. Not something you considered as you stupidly welcomed him to walk you all the way home.

“I’m not inviting you in,” you murmured, adjusting your towel higher on your chest when you felt his gaze warm the cleavage it failed to conceal.

“Come out, then.”

His imperious persistence was another warning you should have heeded, bright red and clear as day. Not often a man so obstinate is worth pursuing. Better avoided. His resolute silence compelled you, though, made unspoken demands that you dared not refuse. He wasn’t asking, he was telling.

You didn’t recall his name until he reminded you, after you had already gotten yourself dressed and met him out the front of your apartment; Simon. You smothered your more rational counterpart with a pillow, shutting her up when she warned you about going out with the man that showed up uninvited on your doorstep - particularly this one, who had your intuition screaming at you so ferociously. Play stupid games.

He hadn’t planned a date, no prior effort had gone in beyond the sudden compulsion to come and try his luck.

“Didn’t want you to forget me,” is what he told you when you asked.

You went with him to get fried chicken - his choice, an option wasn’t given - and ate it together on a park bench. Unsophisticated and to the point, a din of crunching and sucking on toothpick bones, broken up occasionally by your coy laughter. He made no effort to conceal a potently authoritarian nature, one you had as yet only caught glimpses of, and you were ruefully drawn to it. Reared its head when he told you where to sit, how fast to walk, what not to talk about. When you had demurely requested a single small punnet of hot chips from the food truck, and he had snorted at you; “Don’t take the piss. More than that.”

You shared a cigarette with him, sat under the bare elm tree and observed the chipmunks that came to feed on the crumbs of fried batter. Talked about nothing until the sun had set and the frost began to settle.

After returning you home he quickly had you trapped against the front door of your flat, laving your flushed neck with his ravenous mouth, tongue under your jaw like he was tasting you. Palmed your cunt through your jeans with a thick hand, uncaring of passersby, and you let him persist, just for a little bit - selfishly, you thought, because you weren’t going to let him sink his cock into you yet.

It was simply an experiment, you told yourself. Some part of you was well aware of the fire you were playing with, warning you vociferously about what happened to the curious cat. And that you were - dangerously eager to know for how long he would pursue you if you abstained from presenting your cunt to him off the cuff. What might happen if you dangled your prizes in front of his nose and continued to withhold them.

His hand was so big, warm, strong like he might lift you up by it. He knew exactly where to press the heel of his palm to push a needy whine from your throat, right at the throbbing crux of your heat. If you had let him continue kneading you unfettered you’d have pathetically come inside your jeans before you had even taken him inside.

You clutched his wrist to thwart his efforts, flustered and out of breath. Sheepishly warned him; “I - I don’t put out until the third date.”

Not a conviction you’ve ever held firm on, but it has been a long while since the last time you had taken a man home. You were slightly fearful that the second you let him fuck you, he’d be satisfied and spent and move on to the next helpless woman at the pub who couldn’t find her wallet. And, in truth, you relished in starving him. Delighted in the appetite you could see swelling in his belly, frothing at his jaws when he glowered at you under dark lids.

He huffed mournfully, patience waning, as he removed his hand from between your legs with a purposeful swipe. Grumbled huskily, “You’re really testing my strength o’ character.”

You chuckled breathily as you fondled the door handle behind you, letting out a puff of relief when it gave way to you and you stumbled onto your back foot into the foyer. You could guess what he implied from his crude remark - barely a veiled threat, and yet you were only more eager to peer under the shroud.

“Mustn’t be very strong if you can’t wait a little longer,” you prodded, emboldened by the false safety of being indoors.

He nodded, gritting teeth as he adjusted his jacket. “You make it weak.”

Your throat nearly closed at that, the air suddenly warm and acrid. “Well, I hope you can hold strong till then.”

He let out a hoarse groan, rubbing his neck with stiff knuckles. Dints pulled in his temple as he clenched his jaw, exerted no effort to mask his frustrations.

“Wednesday count as date one?” He asked stiffly.

You pursed your lips as you thought of a response, conscious that if it were the first ‘date’ - in heavy quotes - he’d expect your cunt on the next. You would likely not have bemoaned that, given the thumping you felt already in the peak of your swollen bud, the slick that you felt soak into the gusset of your underwear after such moderate attention. But it was a bit of a game, now, wasn’t it? A creature within you, one whose nature was perhaps a cause for concern, wanted to see if he would crack. Wanted to know what he would do to you if he did.

“No,” you told him.

With a terse nod, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and left.

Date two came to pass on the Sunday, as presumptuously as the first, but he had at least sent you a text from an unsaved contact beforehand; picking you up in 10.

You didn’t recall giving him your number, but wistfully assumed you must have put it in his phone on the drunken night you met him.

With nothing better to do, you replied, what am I wearing?

Dress.

Following his blunt text like it were an instruction from your manager, you dug through your closet for a dress that would suffice - nothing too dressy, you didn’t want to expend too much effort - and nothing too provocative, lest you provoke him. Settled on something plain and black, dense cotton with a bit of flow and sat low on your neckline, but not too low. Once you were dressed you snapped a photo of yourself in your floor-length mirror, concealing your face with your phone, and sent it to him for his approval.

He replied after a few minutes; No stockings.

You frowned as you typed out your answer. It’s cold though.

He never followed up, and you took off the stockings.

When he arrived to pick you up in his black off-roader pickup and you hopped inside - he didn’t open the door for you - you immediately spotted a big purple welt protruding from his cheekbone, fresh and throbbing and speckled with broken capillaries. You asked him if it was the result of another ‘scrap’, so he called it, and he shook his head.

“Match last night,” he told you, before shrugging it off. Then joked - or, intended to joke; “You should see the other lad.”

“Match?” You asked him to clarify, perhaps stupidly, as he revved the rumbling engine of the four-wheeler and drove off like he was in a hurry.

The cab of his truck smelled like tobacco, and the redolence of old sweat embedded in his seat; from how often he’d hop in unshowered after working out, you guessed. There was a tired old Evian bottle in the cup-holder of the centre console, next to it a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a clear orange lighter. The passenger seat was stiff and dusty, you must have been one of very few people to have sat in it.

“Boxing,” he answered.

A boxer, you thought to yourself, eyes clinging to his bulky arm as it gripped and shoved the gearshift; forearm turning stiff as you had imagined it would, where it peeked out from the rolled sleeve of his black crewneck. Thick veins ran in webs under his skin. Tendons bulged in the back of his hand. Now that you looked more closely, you could see the bruises on his knuckles - some turned ochre yellow with age, others fresh and plum and looked tender to the touch. He’d have to have been a heavyweight, given the fucking size of him. Built like a bear, wide set and heavy and so comically tall that he looked too large for the cab of his own truck.

He took you out for dinner, a proper date, he called it - a hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant with four tables and a single waitress. Far more of a date than his last two attempts - you briefly considered counting this as date number one. He ordered himself two meals, an unsurprising quantity, and requested that both be as hot as the chef could make them.

You asked him about his boxing, and he said that he made some money from it but not quite enough to live on. That you probably wouldn’t have seen him on the telly, because he usually fought in the undercards and didn’t like the cameras.

Told you under his breath that he made more cash when the games were ‘under the table’. What that meant you weren’t certain, and he kept it thrillingly vague. “No gloves,” was how he explained it, “and no referee.” You told him that sounded illegal and he only gave you a shrug.

“Are you any good?” You asked with a kink in your brow.

He smirked at you, mouth full of rendang. “I’m alright.”

Something in his tone told you he was being humble. You felt a little giddy. “You ever knocked someone out?”

“Did last night,” he admitted indifferently.

You questioned him a little more. “Are you a violent person?”

He tilted his head either way as though considering his answer, shovelling a hunk of beef folded in naan into his mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. “Not all the time.”

A little shaken, you asked if you should be worried.

“I can be gentle,” is what he answered, with a lidded glare and the faintest smirk that flickered in his lips. You didn’t believe him.

After he paid for your meal - told you crudely to shut it when you offered to split the bill - he put you in his truck ostensibly to drive you back home. But when he missed the turn that he should have taken, you shuffled disquieted in your seat, lacking the bravery to mention it just yet. Perhaps he was simply taking an unfamiliar route.

He must have noticed your unease, because he turned his head to look down at you, but he did little to assuage your discomfort.

“Takin’ you to mine,” he declared bluntly, as though reminding you of a fact you already knew.

You blinked at him, felt the prickles of adrenaline creep down your neck like a nettle sting, an alert from your primal subconscious to a looming threat. “This is only the second date,” you diffidently reminded him.

“I know,” he said, through a toothy grin, apparently amused by your skittishness, “‘m not ready to let you go just yet.”

You nodded stiffly, chewing on the inside of your cheek and picking your nails in an anxious habit. You weren’t frightened of him - despite the awareness that you should be - if you truly were, you’d kick up much more of a fuss. But he was quite unreadable, purposefully so, and what could you possibly do if he decided he wasn’t interested in waiting any longer? Win stupid prizes.

“Don’t panic, love,” he asserted, reaching his burly arm over and taking hold of your knee, thigh dwarfed by his hand as he gave your meat a quick squeeze. “Not interested in takin’ what I haven’t earned.”

His terraced flat was modest and unadorned, a skinny three-storey house sandwiched between rows of similar boxes. Two windows per floor. A layer of tan stucco smeared over its brick. No garden, only some moss and a few sprouting weeds, and a wrought iron fence that lined the sidewalk out the front.

He pulled his pickup to a stop on the side of the road, killed the engine and barked an order at you as he opened the door, “Out y’get.”

The street was barren and dark, and every breath you let out echoed in the lifeless silence. Not even after nine in the evening and the neighbourhood seemed to be devoid of inhabitants, only one or two windows glowed from within - an indication of at least some life. You felt a chill as you stepped out onto the road, tightened your arms around your torso as you wandered bashfully behind him to his front step. He huffed impatiently as he jammed his keys in the lock, shoving and shimmying them loudly until the door reluctantly gave way to him.

He marched into the depths of his flat, swallowed by the darkness within - didn’t bother to turn on the light. You only saw which direction he had headed once a yellow light flickered on in a distant room down the hall. Shutting his front door behind you, leaving it unlocked, you quietly walked in the direction of the light.

His flat was painfully undecorated. Raw, messy with clutter and miscellaneous belongings, in stacks and piles, on tables and chairs. Torn open envelopes, old socks, misplaced boots. Jackets hung over the bannister and sweaters over the backs of his seats. You found yourself in an open kitchen and living room, bare save for the odd piece of secondhand furniture and empty bottles of beer dotted about the place.

You found him leaning into an open fridge, illuminated by its dim bluish light. “Can I getcha somethin’?”

“Um,” you pondered, failing to conceal your unwelcome nerves, a shiver in your voice. “No - thank you, I’m okay.”

He shrugged as he shut the fridge door with his elbow, a bottle of Carlsberg dwarfed in his hand. Stuck the top in his open mouth and popped off the cap with his teeth in a horrid crack, spat it aimlessly into the kitchen. “Suit yourself.”

He left you standing like a fool as he went to sit himself down on his sofa, landing in it with a gruff and satisfied sigh. Sunk into the cushions and spread his knees to make himself comfortable, big enough that he took up two seats of the three-seater. He reached for the remote and turned on the telly, volume low, but audibly some football game or other.

His eyes fastened on you, though - narrow and pointed as though you had been caught in his crosshairs. He tipped his beer into a jutted jaw, took a noisy and insouciant sip.

“All shy now?” He asked.

A defensive no caught in your throat and it emerged as a quiet hiccup. You wanted to smack yourself. “I just - I’m not sure why I’m here.”

He huffed testily. ”Want to go home, do you?”

You knew you should say yes. “No - no it’s not that. I’m - I’m okay.”

He cracked a grin, a flash of teeth before it vanished. “Do I make you that nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” you retorted, voice higher-pitched than would otherwise be convincing.

“C’mere, then.” He gestured a lazy hitherto with three fingers, an edge in his glare.

Your feet were moving before you disputed. “What for.”

“Siddown,” he grunted.

Better judgement hammering at you, you hesitated before you obeyed, standing in front of him but just out of reach.

“What’re you so afraid of, sweethear��,” he asked richly, and you blinked at him before looking down at your hands.

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Just not - not really used to this sort of thing.”

“No?” He questioned with aplomb, pride oozing from him like crude oil. “Been a while, has it?”

You fawningly shrugged. “Guess so.”

“Am I taking you home, then?”

The second time he had offered it, though this time there was something discerning in his tone; cocksure yet challenging, a last call. Resolved, you sat down mousily in the cushion next to him. Shrivelled so that you took up as little space as possible, held your arms tight to your body.

You shook your head, steadfast. “No, that’s okay.”

He let slip a grin at your answer, canines sharp and catching the glint of the dim television in front of him. You thought he might hang his mammoth arm over your shoulder, or rest a hand on your thigh; might test the waters with a noncommittal touch to see how you reacted to his crossing of the boundary.

But he had no such subtlety nor restraint - instead he slipped his hand behind you and hooked you by the waist, hoisting you one-armed from your distant spot with the ease of picking up a house cat. You let out a sharp gasp as he plonked you on his left knee so that you straddled it, back firm against his side as he riveted you in place with his forearm.

You yelped as you were made to forcibly bestride his thigh, left tongue-tied in your shock and momentarily unable to utter a word of dispute. Heart set to panic, scarcely able to subdue your hurricane of thoughts, you exerted all effort wriggle out of his grip - bucked and twisted and pulled, all painfully futile.

His strength was unfathomable and frightening, the muscles of his only restraining arm hardly even tensed to hold you in place. It was easy for him. He briefly leaned to the side to dump his beer on the side table.

You barked; “Simon - let go of-”

Me was muffled by the right hand that swiftly sealed over your mouth, fingertips burrowing into your cheeks, the top of his hand tucked under your nose and barely allowed you to suck in a breath.

He shushed you quick and sharp, and you let out a defeated moan as you persisted in your attempts to writhe free. You clamped your legs closed around his thigh as if you might seal off your cunt from him, but he simply let out a breathy chuckle - lightly bounced his knee to remind you that he had you wedged open as he pleased, and the force beared down on your centre with each jolt had you squeaking like a mouse into his palm.

“Settle down,” he chided, stern-toned, you felt the coarse stubble of his jaw scrape down the side of your face as he craned his head beside yours. “Don’t you kick up a fuss now.”

His colossal paw raked up your thigh, hitching the forgiving fabric of your skirt along with it and leaving pointy gooseflesh in its wake.

Still you squirmed, but your defensive tenacity was rapidly fizzling away - doused with the sobering knowledge that you had made the very bed he was now forcing you to lie in.

“You knew what you were after when you came out, didn’t you,” he snarled, accusing, lifting the hem of your skirt up to your belly.

You shook your head as ferociously as he allowed you to, his suffocating hand stifling both your movement and your breathing. You whined into his clammy palm, hoping he’d be able to translate the sounds you made in place of words; not yet.

Whether or not he understood, he ignored you; his fingertips clawed over your mound, catching in the thin fabric of the plain underwear you wore under your dress - dug into the leg hole where the hem sat against your groin, before yanking it to the other side. He tugged at the elasticated cotton, shimmying the gusset so it was entirely out of his way; cunt bare and exposed, your vealy lips rubbed raw against the rough denim of his jeans.

“Like a cat in heat, eh?” He grumbled, feeding his imperious hand between your legs where they were held open by his titanic thigh. Jammed his thick fingers into your folds without hesitation, indifferent to your whimpering.

His solid nose buried under your ear, right into the underside of your jaw, and he took a deep and wolfish sniff. “Can fuckin’ smell it on you.”

You winced as he pressed the pads of two fingers against your twitching opening, not yet slick; nudging at the precipice as though hoping to milk you of your nectar - but he didn’t puncture you. Instead, he languidly dragged them back up to your timid bud where it was hidden under its hood, used your scant fluid to barely lubricate his incursion.

He bucked his knee, making you bounce into a better position for him. Began chafing circles with the tips of mean fingers, kneading out your clit with a steady pressure that made you sob into the palm of his restraining hand.

He was deft, knew how to make quick work of you - you felt your watery blood turn viscous and hot, it flooded down the middle of you as though spiralling an open drain. Pumped warm right into the centre of your bud and made it shudder and swell, twitched with hypersensitivity.

Morally, you spurned it, fought against it viciously - the man so arrogant and cruel as to forcibly pleasure you despite vehement protest. But your feeble body spoke far louder, betrayed you with its carnal appetite. Your acrid resistance turned to pudding under his abrasive hand.

No longer wrestling, your hips leaned into him, spine arching and curling, flesh so pathetically desperate for purchase that it begged implicitly in spite of your expressed dispute.

He sensed your blossoming acquiescence, heard your grunts and moans of defiance melt into high-pitched, needy whines; you felt his wrenching grip of you soften and a rough smile curl against your cheek.

“Tha’s it,” he purred, low voice thrummed directly into your skin. You could only mewl into his palm like a trapped animal, his hand growing wet against your mouth. “Tha’s what you were after, eh? All that whingeing.”

A wanton oh, fuck, was muted by his palm as he slowed and eased his pace, no longer toiling to subdue you. With two fingers flat against the crux of your folds, he ran them up and down your seam - uncovering your puffy clit with each upward stroke and making you flinch with the shock.

You tightened your legs around his thigh on reflex, curling your pelvis away from his touch as you grew so sensitive it began to burn - but your range of motion was sorely limited, and relief you could not find.

He removed his smothering hand from your mouth and smoothed it down your waist, finding the meat of your hip and taking a fastening grip. Anchored your pelvis still and held you down, exacerbating the pressure on your cunt; parting it like a butterfly and grinding his coarse denim against flushed lips, you felt your slick seep out of you and soak the fabric underneath it.

You rocked your head back against his collarbone, feeling its rigidity at the back of your skull, and your eyes fluttered shut; you felt his hot breathing on the side of your head, an airy chortle at your whimpering capitulation. He only slowed his infliction, gently grazing your yearning clit as though to tease it, to force you to debase yourself as you pleaded for his brutality.

“F-fuck-” You mewled, face flustered, skin febrile - you were suddenly so infuriatingly close, wracked by a surging current that shuddered into your core and made you spasm and shiver. The dawning heat was abruptly overpowering, and you leaned desperately into his hand to chase it. “Simon - Please - I-”

Every attempt you made to speak or complain was bitten off by an indulgent sob, weak and pleading cries, begging him to release you.

“Please, what?” He gloated deeply, you could hear his smug grin without having to see it. “Speak up.”

Your mind was frayed, and your tongue was fat and heavy in your mouth. You squeezed out your answer through a strained whine; “I’m - I’m going to-”

“Y’gonna come, are you?” He mocked, voice rumbling and cruel. Seemed to find immense satisfaction in your pathetic desperation.

He pressed down on your scalding clit and forced a pained cry from your throat when you failed to answer him.

“Y-yes,” you bawled, driven close to pitiful tears.

He pinched your plump and angry bud between his fingers and made you jolt, before he let out a chuckle, and his hand glided out from between your legs. Left glossy trails of your syrup up your mound, your belly, as he abandoned you.

An agonised groan lept from your chest as you buckled forward, wrecked with desperation, suddenly and brutally hollow.

“Taste o’ your own medicine, eh?” He crooned, haughty, he smacked the side of your thigh with two firm pats as if to reassure you. “I don’t put out easy, either.”

You only sobbed, deafened by the thunder of your throbbing blood in your ears, cunt still so ravenous you were rendered a slave to it. You were unconsciously grinding your cunt on his thigh, rocking your hips, hissing at the abrasion of the denim on your clit - but it was better than nothing.

“Look at you,” he snorted, leaning back on the sofa with his arms hung over the back, as if to enjoy the show. As he reached for his abandoned beer, he chided; “Fuckin’ needy slut, aren’t you?”

He glided a hand up your spine as you rode his leg like a little animal, and maybe you could finish yourself off like that, if you tried hard enough - but his claw settled at the back of your neck and took malicious hold. He yanked you back by it so that your head knocked against his shoulder, the angle he had you at starving your clit once more.

“‘Nuff o’ that, sweethear’,” he muttered into your temple. “You can wait, like me.”

You whimpered, the humiliation finally having caught up to you - it rained over you cold and bitter, and you suddenly wanted to run and hide.

He put both paws on your hips, then, and hoisted you up and off of him - dumped you into the sofa cushion beside him and you landed with a bounce.

You grunted bitterly, still panting. “You’re such a-” you breathed, twitching. “Prick.”

“Careful,” he grumbled, scolding you, and you sealed your lips.

After a short and breathless silence, you heard him chuckle to himself as he stuck his beer between his lips, swallowing a frothy sip as if he hadn’t just left you a wreck.

You glanced at him, to see what was so funny - and you saw him swipe his thigh with his thumb, a mortifying patch darkened by your slick, more than you had thought, soaked through.

“Fuckin’ mess you made,” he jeered, voice low and harsh as though distracted. He grunted out a tiresome sigh. “Gonna be tough to wait for date three, eh?”

You only nodded, mind blunt and blurry, suddenly remembering the rule you had set.

“What’ve you got in mind,” you puffed, shimmying your dress back over your thighs to regain some of your stolen decency.

He sucked his teeth, rocked his head as he took another sip of his Carlsberg.

“Come watch me fight,” he said.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #bitterfruit fics #bitten-fruit

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sanarsi · 3 months ago

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Favourite Lamb

post-Jackson!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel finally has what he wanted – a quiet life, a farm, and you. After a hard day at work, you're eager to take care of your man. Warnings: +18, MDNI, porn with a little bit of plot, old man!Joel, soft/rough throat fucking, soft!dom!Joel, blowjob, post-Jackson!Joel, age gap (not specified) Wordcount: 2k An: We love taking care of our man so it's nothing more than giving him pleasure. Music I worked with: Sweet - Cigarette After Sex

Masterlist

A quiet noise woke you from your sleep. You looked around the dark room, noticing that the other side of the bed was still empty. You frowned, realizing that Joel still hadn't joined you even though it was late and he should’ve been home by now.

Another noise caught your attention, so you slowly stood up and quietly opened the door. The dim light reached the hallway from the living room where a quiet curse had come from. You recognized the voice, so you headed towards.

A loud sigh echoed off the walls as you peeked out from behind the wall.

“Joel?” Your soft voice caught the attention of the man sitting on the couch.

He looked up in shock to see you up at this hour. “Shit,” he cursed, realizing it was probably his fault. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, baby, sorry.”

You smiled softly as you walked deeper into the room. He didn’t take his eyes off you as he placed the glass of whiskey on the table and held out his hand so you can walked over and let him pull you onto his lap.

“Where were you?” you asked, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and snuggling into his chest.

"Detector at the eastern border has stopped working," he explained, sighing quietly with tiredness and wrapping arm around your waist, hugging you tighter. “I know it's late but I just wanted to get this over with,” he added before you could point it out. He hated when he gave you reasons to worry and you hated it too.

Now, that you lived far away from everything and everyone, you worried about him more than ever. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to look away from each other as you tended to your little farm. Sometimes it scared you that you didn't see him for more than ten minutes. It was hard to get used to this kind of life after having eyes in the back of your head every day.

“And you fix it?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

At first, silence answered you, and then a quiet snort. “No.”

You laughed quietly and rested your forehead against his temple, allowing yourself a moment of closeness you had been missing all day.

“We’ll take care of it tomorrow,” you suggested, and Joel knew very well that there was no point in arguing with you about it. "And now I will take care of you," you added, nuzzling his cheek. You felt his muscles relax beneath you before he smiled in amusement.

"Yeah? You want to take care of me?" He glanced at you and grabbed your chin between his fingers to pull you in for a soft kiss. You purred contentedly and without hesitation, you pressed yourself harder to him, deepening the kiss. Your tongues lazily played with each other as you slowly adjusted your position until you were straddling him.

“Mhm,” you murmured against his lips. “How does that sound?”

Joel looked at your delicate features and innocent smile and his heart immediately skipped a beat.

“Perfect, baby,” he whispered as his hands began to smooth over your bare thighs.

The rough touch of his warm hands sent shivers through your body, encouraging you to grind your hips against his. His quiet sigh echoed against your lips before you leaned in for a kiss again. The taste of whiskey on his tongue brought you a familiar feeling of safety, and the grip of his hands on your ass ignited your core.

Cock in his pants was getting harder with every passing minute as you pressed your warmth against his. In moments like these, he was reminded of how much he hated being away from you for so long.

You moaned as he dug his fingers deeper into your flesh. The lazy kisses grew deeper with each passing second making the material of your panties wet.

“I missed you, baby,” he whispered against your lips before letting his hands disappear under your tank top.

You sighed as you felt his large hands on your breasts. He began to tease your nipples with his thumbs, drawing a soft moan from you. He loved the sounds you made just for him.

His sweet little girl…

"She missed me too?" he asked, starting to plant kisses on your neck. His thick stubble teased your delicate skin, making you shiver as another wave of arousal soaked your underwear.

“Always,” you gasped under his touch.

You let him take off your top, which landed on the other end of the couch. His attention immediately focused on your tits, he began massaging one and with a quiet growl began kissing, sucking, and nibbling on the other.

You could feel his movements becoming more and more needy, and even though you wanted to give in, you had other plans for him.

“I was supposed to take care of you,” you reminded him, running your nails over his scalp.

Joel pulled away from your nipple with a smack, looking at you with a drunken gaze. He was breathing heavily and it was possible that if he wasn't as tired as he was at that moment, he would have started arguing with you about it. But today was your lucky day because he gave in without resistance, leaning comfortably against the back of the couch.

"Right," he nodded. "Go ahead."

You laughed under your breath and leaned down, placing a sweet kiss on his lips before you started moving lower and lower, to his neck and the exposed part of his chest. Your soft lips made him unable to resist the bliss that began to take over his senses. He closed his eyes, relaxing under your touch as you started to unbutton his shirt, kissing every exposed part of his chest.

The lower you were, the more you had to retreat until you finally ended up kneeling between his legs. He couldn't deny himself this sight, so he began to watch as your fingers easily managed to fasten his jeans. Without a word, he lifted his hips so you could slide the material down his thighs. His cock was already standing stiff, showing its shape under his boxers.

You unconsciously licked your lips as saliva began to flow into your mouth. It had been a while since you had the chance to look at him from this perspective. Joel would rather make love to you than see you kneeling in front of him. Maybe he was really getting old and would rather see you cry with his cock inside you than you choke on it.

“Not too deep,” he reminded as you began to slide his underwear off.

You looked at him with a sweet smile and rolled your eyes at his protectiveness. “I told you, I don’t mind.”

“I know, baby,” he sighed and clenched his jaw tighter as you cupped his base. “But not too deep,” he repeated gently, with concern.

You nodded quietly before your tongue met his tip. A familiar taste took over your senses as you slowly began to wet his head. Joel moaned softly as he felt your tongue gently caress him, up and down and around, until you sucked on him, letting a line of saliva run down his length, stopping at your fingers. He hissed at the sudden surge of pleasure, watching your lips wrap around his thickness. You didn't even give him a moment to breathe before swallowing him halfway.

"Oh fuck," he gasped and twitched as his balls tightened painfully.

You began to work on his cock, taking one half into your mouth with wet sounds and pumping the other with your hand. A shuddering breath left his lungs as he realized why he didn't like it when you gave him a blowjob.

One answer – he always came too quickly.

Then he heard the first choking sound and his cock throbbed dangerously. "Easy, baby, easy," he tried to calm you down, slow you down. But despite his words, you did it again.

You knew the effect you had on him, the way you choked on him, he was experiencing fucking nirvana. He didn't want to admit it, but you had already witnessed him come in mere minutes. And now you were going to do that again.

He couldn't control his moans anymore as you swallowed him deeper and deeper over and over again. His hips were thrusting towards you as if he couldn't control his own body. His mind was saying something different than his balls, that were dripping with your saliva. He wanted more but at the same time he didn't.

You felt his cock harden, heralding the approaching fulfillment, so you only sped up your head movements. Loud gasps mixed with growls, and while he fought the pleasure, you sucked your cheeks in contentment, licking the sensitive flesh at the tip.

“Baby…” he gasped in warning.

You moaned with your mouth full and his cock twitched deep in your throat. The next sound of you choking was like a red rag to a bull for him, he couldn’t help himself as he placed his hand on the back of your head. You didn’t protest as he began to hold you in place, your nose pressed against his mound, and began to thrust his hips upward. You relaxed, letting him go as deep as he could and the sounds leaving his throat were enough payment for the tears in your eyes.

“Yes, yes,” he hissed, “you’re such a good girl.” His cock slowly took your breath away and you instinctively tried to pull back but he wouldn’t let you. “I know, baby, I know.” And he kept pushing until his breathing couldn't keep up with his movements and his cock began to throb.

You moaned tearfully, to which he responded with a blissful groan before hot cum shot straight down your throat. You swallowed everything that leak out of him as he came down from his peak, fucking your mouth slower and slower. Finally, he sighed in relief and let you pull away for air.

You almost choked on your own tears as you straightened up and began to wipe the drool from your chin. Joel looked at you with a drunken look, bliss written all over his face while you looked like a disaster, crying with red eyes and swollen lips. A feeling of regret appeared in his chest as he realized the state he had brought you to.

"I'm sorry, baby," he said worriedly, leaning down to you. His warm hands found their way to your cheeks, wiping away the traces of tears. He hated that he was losing control with you, but as much as he tried to fight it, he just couldn't. He hated the sight of you in such a state, but he loved the feeling of your lips around his cock. "I didn't mean to—"

"I liked it," you interrupted him with a gentle smile. Joel blinked a few times, not being able to tell if he heard you correctly.

“You… like it?” he asked in disbelief. You barely had time to nod before he pulled you up onto his lap and hugged you to his chest. You licked your swollen lips and rubbed your eyes to get rid of the last traces of the glass effect. His strong arms wrapped you in warmth as you pressed yourself deeper into him. He watched your innocent smile with a tender gaze and allowed himself to press his cheek into your palm as you began to stroke his stubble.

"Like I said, I don't mind." You leaned in to steal a gentle kiss. Joel, eyes closed, smiled at the tender gesture and nuzzled your nose.

"I love you, you know that?" he whispered, running his fingers over your skin.

"You have no other choice," you smiled wider, to which he snorted with laughter and pulled you in for a kiss.

Tags some babes @bbyanarchist @xdaddysprincessxx @yorksgirl @joelssluttyknee @amyispxnk @21stcenturywitchcraft

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #sanarsi fic

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whytheylosttheirminds · 2 months ago

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LUNCH

(rafe cameron blurb)

pairing: waitress!reader x rafe cameron

content: smut, 18+ minors do not interact!

‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

You usually liked your job. Being on your feet all day sucked, and some of the members here were assholes, but they were rich assholes and you never left without your purse overflowing with tips.

It only took a few weeks of waitressing at the Island Club’s restaurant to learn what kinds of things had you clocking out with pockets full of twenties and fifties. You weren’t even from North Carolina originally, but you adopted a sweet, southern drawl to match your fake smile. When you were back-of-house waiting on food for your tables, you’d drop the act, fucking around with the cooks and swearing like a sailor, immediately codeswitching to an angelic southern belle when you were back on the floor.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” the old men would say when you dropped off their burgers.

“You’re welcome, hun,” you’d say to their face, followed by “get fucked, creep,” once your back was turned.

Somehow, the younger guys were even worse. At least the older men had some subtlety, but the twenty-something, trustfunded Kook boys that would come in had absolutely no tact, and they tipped like shit.

Today, none of your work friends were scheduled with you, your new manager had laid into you about your dress being too short for a professional environment, and to top it off, you were working a double. You were actually considering quitting when a herd of local boys came barrelling into the restaurant, fresh off of making fools of themselves on the golf course - all swagger and no skill. You groaned when they sat themselves in your section.

You had absolutely no patience left in you. Instead of your usual chipper greeting and the list of today’s specials, you arrived at their table snapping, “you’re supposed to wait to be seated.”

The guy closest to you looked up under the shadow of his Titlest hat, a smug glint in his eyes as he said, “y'know, you’d be prettier if you smiled. You’d make a lot more money too.” His buddies erupted in laughter, as if he’d just brought the house down with his wit.

You were so fucking done, not even caring if you lost your job.

“Eat me,” you bit back at him. A casual flick of your middle finger in his face as you spun and sauntered away. He watched your hips swing as you left.

‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Your dress was bunched up around your waist and apron thrown on the club’s bathroom floor. He kneeled behind you as your nails dug into the marble countertop. Fingertips digging into your ass cheeks, he shook his head back and forth rapidly, dragging his tongue all over your pussy. His pornographic slurps made you whimper helplessly, so incredibly frustrated and turned on. He turned his hat around backwards so he could get deeper.

His big hand came down hard on the side of your thigh with a loud thwack. There would be a red handprint at the hem of your dress when you returned from your 15-minute break. If your boss wasn’t pissed at you before, you were in for it now. But you were too fucked out to care, forgetting all about your bad shift. You let him devour you, your whole body shuddering with every precise flick of his tongue against your clit.

He nibbled at the skin of your inner thighs as he hooked his fingers into you skillfully, drunk on the sound of all the pretty profanities that flowed from your lips.

You came so hard he had to hold you up against the bathroom sink, your knees shaking as you struggled to pull your panties back up. He stood behind you, wiping his mouth sloppily with the back of his hand. He caught your eyes in the mirror, smiling arrogantly at your bright red cheeks and smudged makeup.

“Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart.”

‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Your legs wobbled as you walked back to the table with only his drink on your tray. His friends were already getting up to leave, complaining about how long their food was taking. You'd forgotten all about their orders. He took the cold glass from you with a wink, throwing it back before following his friends to the door.

“You gonna pay for that?” You scoffed.

“Put it on Cameron!” He called back.

You rolled your eyes.

Maybe you’d keep this job a little longer.

#rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #obx fic #rafe obx #obx smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfic #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron blurb #rafe fic #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine

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yeonzzzn · 5 months ago

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pocket full of sunshine ; choi soobin

oh shit, we’re soulmates?! part one / five

pairing: soobin x afab!reader word count: 12.6k

synopsis: the last thing soobin expected was a stranger to sit beside him on the bus full of empty seats and clinging to his arm. due to a toxic ex, you beg soobin to come on vacation with you as your step in boyfriend for the week.

genre: fake relationship trope, soulmate!au, strangers to lovers, fluff, smut.

warnings: swearing, soobin and reader share a bed, alcohol, making out in public, dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex, MINORS DNI!

𖤓 soobin(1) | yeonjun(2) | beomgyu(3) | taehyun(4) | huening kai(5) 𖤓

Fake relationship trope? Are the fates fucking with him or could he simply just not read correctly?

Eighteen-year-old Soobin stared up at the acolyte standing before him, a massive smile on their face as they outstretched their arms, “The fates have spoken, my child!”

Utter bullshit.

Soobin has always been skeptical about this special moment all the adults growing up would talk about and be excited.

“It’s one of the best moments of your life!” “There is something so great knowing how you’d meet your soulmate!” “It’s one of the gods greatest gifts!”

And what god, exactly, decided to drop these “gifts” to everyone?

But he still couldn’t help but feel even the tiniest bit of excitement to see what this fated trope of his would be. And obviously, to his disappointment, it was utter bullshit. Fake relationship? Yeah right. What a fucking joke.

Or so he thought.

Now at the age of twenty-three, fate really has a way of continuing to fuck everything over. Because here you were, plopped next to him on this shady ass bus going Northbound into the city and hugging up on his arm.

Soobin tried to release from your tight grip, pulling the strings of his earphones to release the music blasting in his eardrums, and glared down at you, “Excuse me?”

“Please, just play along.” You quickly said, pleading with him with your eyes. And that’s when Soobin noticed how badly you were shaking.

Your eyes quickly whipped to the front of the bus, Soobin’s eyes following yours, a scoff released from his mouth following up with, “Ahh, I see.”

You squeeze his arm tighter, “Please,” you beg again, “I’ll explain later.”

Now what kind of guy would he be if he turned down someone so desperate?

So he forced his arm free and locked his hand with yours, rubbing his thumb over the top of your hand as he squeezed his fingers against yours, eyeing the man who now stood in front of the two of you.

“Guess you weren’t lying,” the dark hair male said, “That your new boyfriend was waiting on the bus for you.”’

And thank the gods it worked out.

In all honesty, you were afraid this little lie of yours wasn’t going to play out well. With your luck, you’d have a bus filled with old creepy guys and would have to make up another excuse. But thankfully your stars aligned and saw the perfect dark brown-haired male slumped in the seat and staring off into complete space. And thank whatever god was listening that he decided to play along.

“Of course, I’d be here waiting for her,” Soobin said with a sly grin, “Can’t let her take the bus into the city alone, what kind of gentleman does that?” Soobin then reaches across the seat with his free hand and cups your cheeks between his thumb and index finger, “Can’t let my sweet bunny go off all alone.”

Now you were the one glaring up at him as his stupid ass smug smirk grew ever wider. Did you make the right choice with this one? There were plenty of other cute guys with empty seats beside them you could have chosen.

You dug your grave and guess you gotta lay in it.

He finally released your face and stared back up at your ex, his eyes now narrowing, “And who are you? Sorry for my lack of manners, I just don’t recall who you are, exactly.”

The male let out a scoff, eyes darting to the floor, “Must really be over me, YN, if you aren’t even speaking about me.”

Ahhh, so this is what the situation is.

You roll your eyes and lean a bit forward, clenching the brown-haired male's hand tighter, “I’ve been telling you that since you started stalking me about the bus stations, Sungchan!”

Oh, so this guy is an asshole.

“You’re stalking my girlfriend?!” Soobin snapped, standing up quickly in the seat, you tried hard to pull him back down. You had to admit, he was playing this part perfectly.

Sungchan held his hands up in defense, “I wasn’t stalking her! I just happened to be walking past and noticed her. If I knew she had a boyfriend I wouldn’t have even made the stop.”

It took everything in Soobin to not roll his eyes and throw a punch. He actually hated this guy already. Like who the fuck give that as an excuse when it’s so clear he was stalking YN?

“Can the young man standing in the aisle please sit down for your safety.” the bus driver announced over the speakers.

You glanced out the window, seeing the bus was in full motion. You didn’t even realize it started moving.

Sungchan tucked his tongue into his cheek and nodded, “I don’t want to cause any trouble,” his eyes then whipped over to Soobin, “I am assuming you’re coming to the beach with us next week, ya?”

At this he fell silent, not knowing how to answer his question. How could he just say—

“Of course he is,” You shrugged, “There’s still that open spot from Chaewon backing out.”

Before Sungchan could open his mouth to speak, the bus driver once again was snapping at him to take a seat. So without another word, he moved to the back of the bus.

You relaxed into the seat, quickly pulling your hand out of the stranger’s, “Thank you for that,” you whispered, watching as he sat back down into the seat, his eyes studying you hard.

“I don’t know what kind of load of bullshit this is, but you’re awfully brave. I could have been a serial killer. Like Ghost Face type shit.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the man, turning away to face forward, “I’ll explain everything to you at whatever stop you’re getting off at,” Soobin went to protest, but you stopped him, “I need to make my lie look believable. Sungchan is a very smart man, he probably already assumes what it was I was doing. So just let me get off at the next stop with you,” you looked down at the dusty and gross floor of the bus, “He isn’t going to get off this bus until we do, I can promise you that.”

Soobin wanted to snap at how this wasn’t his problem and a massive case of baggage that you need to clean out yourself. But when he looks at you…all he can see and feel is how badly your body was shaking earlier. So he sat back in the seat and stared out the window.

Thirty minutes of silence passed before Soobin flagged the driver to stop at the next upcoming bus stop. You quickly stood from the seat and let him move in front of you, leading the way. As he walked passed, he hooked his pinky finger with yours, pulling you along behind him.

You both could feel Sunchan’s glare as you stepped off the bus, not once turning around as the doors of the bus closed, and the sounds of it drifted off down the street.

Once the bus was no longer in view, Soobin dropped your pinky and shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, “Want to explain yourself now, YN?”

Something about the way your name rolled off his tongue sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. You settled with a maybe both.

You sighed and looked up at him, seeing his cocoa eyes staring back, “That guy,” you started, breaking your gaze from him, “Is my toxic ex-boyfriend.”

“Well, yeah,” Soobin shrugged, “It was kind of obvious, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, “He and I broke up months ago, caught him cheating on me with one of our friends.”

Soobin hung his head low, closing his eyes, “I’m assuming that friend was…Chaewon? Wasn’t it?”

You hated how this male was able to piece together everything so quickly. You nod again, “As you can probably tell, my group of friends planned a vacation with each other to the beach last year. But found out he was cheating on me and welp, Chae dipped out after I discovered she was the other woman,” you cross your arms, letting a shrug form, “I wanted to back out too, but my best friend is still going and he begged me to go still.”

Soobin felt bad for you. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how terrible this all was affecting you. How terrible you must feel.

“I’m a hundred percent sure he was looking for me,” you twisted a piece of string hanging out of your tee shirt, “There’s no way he didn’t know I just got off work and was heading back home. I live near my place of work, I didn’t even need to get on the bus. But he was begging for me back and I panicked.”

Soobin believed you. Your shaking body still feeling fresh against his body, “I’m sorry this is happening to you, YN.”

You glanced back into his eyes, seeing the true apologetic gaze in them. You shrug again, “Thank you for playing along, I don’t know what I am going to do abou—“

An idea hit you just then. Soobin could see the gears turning in that brain of yours.

“No,” he laughed, waving you off before you could even speak, “Absolutely not!”

You walked up to him, being inches away from his face, standing right up on your tiptoes, “Please! It’s just for a week and you’ll never have to see me again!”

Soobin took a step back, needing to create that distance. His heart was racing, hands were shaking. You were literally asking him to be your fake boyfriend for a week. His trope rang in the back of his head, there’s no fucking way.

“You’re awfully brave asking a complete stranger you just met to be your fake boyfriend,” Soobin scrunched his nose, trying to play this off, “I’m not doing it.”

You were desperate, and you didn’t care how badly you looked it. This was the only way you could think to get Sungchan off your ass and finally get the hint that you DON’T want him anymore. So you pleaded with the man in front of you, “I know we just met, but I’ll repay you for this,” you stretched your hand out, him raising a brow at it, “Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in and if you decide to go, give me a call. We don’t leave for another four days.”

Soobin looked away into the distance at the setting sun. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it.

Before he could stop himself, his hand was reaching into the pocket of his jeans, pulling his phone out, and placing it into your hands, “I’m not going to make any promises that you’d even hear from me.”

And that was enough for you, quickly creating your contact in his phone, “All I could ask for is you consider it.” He took his phone back from you, and you waved him goodbye, “Thanks again… uhhh??”

“Soobin,” he said, studying you as you walked backward away from him, “I’m Soobin.”

You smiled at him. A smile that shot right to his heart. He didn’t move from his spot until you disappeared from his sight.

“You what?!” your best friend snapped, brows creasing inward as he looked at you with pure disbelief.

All you could do was look at him, blankly blinking, “Hoon—“

“Let me get this straight,” Sunghoon said, leaning against the countertop in your shared kitchen, his face being dropped into his palms as his elbows turned red from being leaned on, “You ran into Sungchan, jumped onto a random bus and sat next to a complete stranger and begged him to be your fake boyfriend until you followed him to his stop and then begged him to continue the web of lies you dragged him into and then invited him to the vacation? YN that’s fucking stupid!”

Stupid was one word for it. You sat back in the chair, staring down at the marble of the countertop, “I was desperate. I didn’t even know what I was doing until the words were leaving my mouth.”

Sunghoon looked up at you and let out a sigh, “Did he even agree to go?”

You glanced over at your phone, still waiting for a call or shit—even a text from Soobin on whether he was going, or not. Sunghoon followed your gaze down to your cellular device and let out another sigh in response to his question.

It’s been two days since you’ve met Soobin. You couldn’t help the anxious feeling settling in your gut at the possibility of having to expose your lies once it’s time to meet at the beach house within the following days.

“YN, you need to be careful with your—“

“Please don’t bring up my given bullshit trope.”

You had to be honest, you didn’t believe in fate or tropes or whatever type of bullshit the gods “graced” the world with. Your trope, you’ve tried experimenting with multiple times and it’s gotten you nowhere. It doesn’t exist.

Sunghoon tilted his head, “I was just saying,” he leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes locked on you, “You’ll believe in it once it happens for you.”

Your best friend had found his soulmate. She’s a cute girl, very witchy and into the occult things. Sunghoon calls her a hex girl and she calls him a bloodsucker. You never understood their dynamic, but they are cute, nevertheless. Their red string of fate tied them perfectly together. She also adores you and never once had a problem that her boyfriend’s roommate was a female and his best friend. Even with him having a soulmate, you still weren’t convinced. Mostly just for yourself.

“Speaking of,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest, “Why can’t __ come along?”

Sunghoon shrugged, “She has work. And since she took off when she and I went out to that cabin, she wasn’t able to take more time off.”

It made sense. You were lucky your boss even let you have the entire week off for the beach. It took a lot of convincing.

You stared at your phone again.

“Well,” Sunghoon said, standing from his seat, “I’m going to finish watching this Sci-Fi movie about this guy in space who gets his memory wiped.”

You raised a brow at him, “That’s an interesting-sounding movie.”

He nodded, “I’ve seen it multiple times before, can’t get enough of it!” he slapped his hand to the counter with excitement, “The movie is in a whole time loop! I won’t spoil too much.” He smiled wide, his natural fangs on display.

You looked at him with endearment. You truly loved Sunghoon and his geeky ways.

He gave you a knowing look, “Want to join me? We can restart it from the beginning,” You looked back at your phone, debating if you needed the distraction, “I’ll brush your hair.”

You jumped up from the seat and tossed your phone into your pocket, “Say less!”

Sunghoon followed behind you into the living room.

“Fucker!! I said COVER ME!” Beomgyu screamed through the headset, nearly making Soobin fling them off his head.

Kai’s laugh filled the headset right after, “Bro, I was covering you, I can’t help you decided to rush in and half the team was in there.”

Yeonjun sighed then, “Unlike you idiots, I’m playing it safe and staying on the high ground.”

“Sure,” Soobin rolled his eyes as he rushed into a building and unloaded his shotgun into the “half of team” that took out Beomgyu and Kai, taking down all of them, “If you want to call camping on a rooftop with a sniper playing safe, go ahead.”

Yeonjun scoffs, “I haven’t died—FUCK!”

Soobin smirked and the others laughed at the kill feed, seeing Yeonjun’s gamertag displayed at the top of it.

“Haven’t died yet? Right. Safe? Right.” Taehyun teased him, making more giggles fill the earpieces.

“Fuck you guys,” Yeonjun snapped, the sounds of his fingers smashing his keys in the hope of a faster respawn, “Gyu has no room to talk, homie is in a gaming unit and still has died more than the four of us combined.”

“I’m not playing for real,” Beomgyu countered, “This is all just fun and games, baby.”

“Then why bitch about Huening not covering you?” Taehyun countered back, “Sweats don’t yell like that when they are just having fun and games, baby.”

Beomgyu scoffed over the mic at his friends teasing, “Old habits die hard—KAI WHAT THE FUCK!”

“They sure die hard alright,” Yeonjun laughed.

“Anyway!” Beomgyu cleared his throat, “Shouldn’t we actually be discussing Soobin’s situation?”

“Oh, yeah!” Kai exclaimed, “Have you figured out what you’re going to do?”

Soobin shrugged as if his best friends could see, “I really haven’t decided.” The truth was, he hadn’t even really given it a lot of thought. Work has been killing him lately and even when he has thought about it, it was only for a short couple minutes then he shoved it back to the back of his brain. This wasn’t his problem to fix, you got yourself into that situation.

“I totally think you should go for it,” Kai said, rushing into another building and getting shot down immediately, “Damnit! But, who knows? Maybe this will be your soullllmmmaaaattteeee.” Kai teased.

Soobin couldn’t help but scoff, “My trope? It’s bullshit. Always has been.”

Soobin had plenty of fair share of fake relationships to help make exes jealous on both his and the other female’s side. Random hookups for the night to play along after a drunken night out partying. Never came out to anything. This was no different.

“Plus we don’t even know her trope,” Yeonjun added, “This very much could just be a normal “I got myself in a sticky situation, please help dig myself out” situation.”

None of Soobin’s friends believed in soulmates or their tropes. Every single one of them thought it was bullshit. Like the acolytes picked a trope out of a hat and called it a day.

“Well, all the soulmate bullshit aside,” Taehyun sighed, “It is a free trip. You wouldn’t have to pay for anything. Just literally show up and enjoy a free vacation.”

Soobin raised his brows and cocked his head to the side, “That is true. Unless YN slaps me with the bill at the end of the week.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Beomgyu said, using an emote as the round ended, “She told you she would repay you. I doubt she’d make Soobin pay up his half for a trip that wasn’t even his doing in the first place.”

Soobin sighed, rubbing his eyes with the pads of his middle and index fingers. This was a hard situation to deal with. Not only would he be missing out on a whole week's worth of work—which means less money in his bank account, he would be having to call out at the last minute AND be dealing with people he doesn’t even know all because you had to lie.

But then again—it would be a free vacation. Nothing would be coming out of Soobin’s pocket. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the loading screen as the game went into another round, his trope rushing through his mind. He couldn’t help but feel this was way too convenient. He bit at the corner of his lip, really putting thought into this.

“Don’t think too hard over there buddy,” Kai teased, “Just say YOLO and go. It won’t kill you to go hit up the beach for a week. Plus, she said you wouldn’t have to see her or her friends after that, it would be a win.”

Soobin nodded. He did truly feel sorry for you. Having to deal with Sungchan and even being put in that situation to begin with. Just thinking of Sungchan and what he did to you made Soobin’s blood boil. A smirk curled at his lips.

“You know what, Kai is right,” Soobin sat up straight, reaching for his phone, “You only live once.”

His friends had a mixture of words and cheers. Soobin pulled his headset down around his neck, found your number, and pressed the call button. He leaned back in his chair, biting at the skin on his cheek, waiting for you to answer.

After four rings, you picked up, “Hello?”

Hearing your voice put a smile on his face, and he couldn’t explain why, “YN, It’s Soobin.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when he offered to be the one to drive the two of you to the beach. But it sure the hell wasn’t what was currently in front of you.

Soobin parked as close as he could to your apartment. He stood outside, leaning up against the front end of his pretty fancy black SUV. His hands are in the pocket of his jean shorts and his head facing off into the distance with sunglasses resting against his nose.

Your heart skipped a beat. Why was this person you barely know making your heart flutter like this? He’s just standing here.

He finally turned his head, looking up at you and the corners of his lips curling upward, “You going to come down or do I have to drive to the beach without you?”

You returned his smile, “Chill out, I’m coming down!” You rushed down the stairs to see he now moved from his car to the foot of the stairs, hands reaching for your duffle bag. Normally you would have snapped your hand back to keep your stuff with you, but you let him take the bag. He took off to the side, another arm stretched out as you stepped down to the ground, his hand placed gently to your lower back as he gently moved you in front of him to walk towards his car.

“We have a three-hour drive, so there is still time to back out of this,” Soobin said, now removing his hand from your back and placing it on the passenger side door, “If you don’t want to do this, I am giving you that last chance to take your bag from me and go back into your apartment.”

You understood what he was doing. He was giving you a way out of having to deal with Sungchan altogether. The weight of that option was tempting, but you shook your head in a no, “Everything will be fine,” you didn’t know if you said that more for him or yourself, “Plus, Sunghoon already left for the beach. I’d be here alone and honestly, I need a vacation.”

Soobin nodded, opening the door for you, “Well, let’s hit the road then, princess.”

“Such a gentleman!” you teased as you climbed into the seat.

Soobin gave you a smirk and leaned into the car, “My mother raised me right, what can I say?”

After tossing your bag into the backseat alongside his, you both hit the road. You did have to admit, you were nervous. What if something goes wrong? Or everyone finds out about this lie you’ve conjured up? Sunghoon was the only one who knew the truth. But you were almost positive that Sungchan knew–or suspected–the truth.

Soobin could tell you were nervous. He could see it in your body language and the hint of your voice that was slower than what it was when you and him sat on the phone to discuss plans for this entire trip. He’s only known you for a short few days, but he felt he already knew parts of you that no one else did. And he couldn’t place why that was. So he reached across to the radio, turning up the music in the hope it would ease your nerves. And oh boy did it. You were able to sink back into the seat and focus on the music.

The three-hour drive wasn’t actually terrible. You and Soobin made only two stops, one for a bathroom break and snacks and the other for a quick lunch. Soobin also drove the entire time and wouldn’t give up the driver's seat no matter how many times you offered to drive. “I’m going on this trip for free. It’s the least I could do to make up for that part.” But did he forget you’re the one who owes him for even agreeing to this trip?

It wasn’t too much longer before the beach came into view. You couldn’t help but roll the window down and lean your head out, taking in the sights and smells of the ocean and the sand. The sounds of the waves crashing against the sand and birds chirping as they flew by. You don’t get to come out to the beach often, so when you do, you take in everything.

Soobin took his eyes off the road for a few short seconds to look at you then out to the ocean, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nodded, “I can’t remember the last time I got to see this view.”

Soobin rolled down his window, letting the full sounds and smells fill the entire car. He leaned his elbow onto the edge of the window and propped his head into his palm, “The last time I was here probably had to be about two years ago? My friends and I all came for a day trip.”

You sat back in the seat and glanced over at him, loving the small smile he had on his face, “You’re a group of five right?” You thought back to the conversation you and Soobin had a few days ago about the trip, him fully admitting his friends helped push him into even coming along, “Pretty close?”

Soobin’s smile lifted more, “Close isn’t even the right word to describe what we all are. Brothers would be a more fitting term.”

Hearing Soobin talk about his friends reminded you of how you felt about Sunghoon. Close wasn’t even close to being the right word. Soobin was right about that.

Thinking about friends made the nervousness settle back into the pit of your stomach, “How are we going to pull this off?”

Soobin’s smile faded, “You’re still worried about that?” You nodded. How could you not be? “It’s just for the week, YN. Then you can make up some story on how you got rid of me and everything will go back to normal.”

All you could do was nod again, leaning your head back onto the headrest and staring off into the distance of the open sea. The truth was, you felt comfortable with Soobin so far, what if you want to keep him around as a friend by the end of this trip? Would he even be okay with that?

You could only hope.

Soon enough the beach house came into view and the cars of your friends piled up around the parking station around the house. You pointed out Sunghoon’s car and Soobin parked beside it.

Well, here goes nothing.

You and Soobin climbed out of the car at the same time, him already reaching for both your and his bags, carrying them over his shoulder.

Sunghoon was the first to pile out of the beach house, his arms stretched out wide as he ran towards you, “You guys finally made it!”

Your best friend's hug gripped you tight as if he hadn't hugged you in years, “Hoon, I saw you this morning!”

He finally pulled away, resting his hands on your shoulders, “I miss you all the time! Even when you’re right beside me!” You rolled your eyes at his separation anxiety he has towards you but still smiled anyway. You took notice his eyes were no longer on you, but locked onto Soobin who stood behind you, “That’s Soobin?” You nodded, a new fear prickling up your shine that maybe Sunghoon doesn’t approve of this even more, “He wasn’t what I was expecting.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, because what exactly was he expecting?

Sunghoon finally moved around you, reaching his hand out to Soobin, “Good to put a face to the name I’ve been hearing about lately.”

Soobin took his hand, assuming this guy was your roommate and best friend. Soobin smiled, “Same to you, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon smirked and leaned closer to Soobin, becoming only a few inches away from his face, “I know about this whole situation,” Sunghoon’s voice dropped deeper and his eyes became serious. Soobin just stared back at him, locking his jaw tight, “While I didn’t agree with her even doing this, I am glad you decided to play along. But if you hurt her..”

Soobin forced a smirk of his own, “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m just here to piss off Sungchan.”

Sunghoon widens his eyes, “Ah! So you also hate the dirtbag?” Sunghoon took steps away from him and placed his hands on his shoulders, “Glad we are on the same page.”

You sighed, fanning yourself with your hands, “Can we go inside now? This summer heat is killing me!”

Sunghoon turned around and smiled at you, “Of course! But umm…I need to let you know something.”

You stared at your best friend, “Wha—“

The beach house door busted open and the voices of your friends had you turning around and smiling wide. Jake, Jay, Yunjin, Sakura, and Shotaro all shuffled out the door, immediately rushing to you.

“Where is this new boyfriend you never told us about?!?” they all asked in unison and then their eyes caught Soobin as he stood behind you, resting his hand on your lower back and introducing himself.

Your friends surrounded the two of you, complimenting how cute he was and how cute the two of you looked together. Even though this was all a lie and an act, you couldn’t stop the slight pink filling your cheeks.

“Oh!” Yunjin said, pulling her red locks behind her ears, “Sungchan…he…”

Before she could finish speaking, you saw what she was going to tell you, and saw what Sunghoon was going to tell you.

Sungchan stepped out of the house with Chaewon at his side.

You weren’t sure if pissed off would even be the correct emotion to describe how you were feeling right now staring at your ex-boyfriend and your ex-best friend.

“They showed up together,” Yunjin whispered, “We didn’t even know she was still coming. Apparently, he paid for her at the last minute.”

The last you heard, Chae wasn’t even speaking to any of us anymore, that included Sungchan, after the truth got out.

You didn’t speak to either of them as everyone pushed back into the beach house. It was a massive house, super cute and very beachy. Enough rooms to hold at least two people per room. And that’s how you got stuck sharing a bed with Soobin.

Chaewon piled in with Yunjin and Sakura, while Jake and Sunghoon shared a room, and Sungchan with Shotaro.

Plus Soobin and you were a “couple”, it really only made sense you’d have to share a room with him.

The first day was spent heading into town for food for the house and any beach toys or items that any of you all might need. The males took to the kitchen to cook the food that night, while you females sat outside on the sand watching as the sun set until dinner was ready. So far, everyone was getting along, even you and Chae to an extent, even if you two weren’t speaking.

Once night fell, you stood at the edge of the bed while Soobin climbed in and made himself comfortable, “I can always sleep on the couch,” he said with such calm, “If it would make you feel more comfortable.”

You quickly shook your head, “No! They would suspect something if you did, it’s just…” You haven’t shared a bed with another male since Sungchan.

Soobin didn’t need to hear you say it to understand what you were getting at. The scars Sungchan left from his betrayal ran deep within you.

Soobin smirked, deciding to try and make light, “I don’t bite, YN.”

You scoffed at him with a roll of your eyes, “Why did I invite you again?”

Soobin patted your side of the bed with his hand and scooted closer to the edge of his, giving you more space and without hesitation, you climbed in, “I’m here because you need me.”

You tried hard to not scoff again but failed. You wanted to fight him, but settled on, “Goodnight, fake boyfriend.”

Soobin was glad you were facing away from him so you couldn’t have seen the look on his face when hearing you say that. It pulled at him in ways he fought hard to push down. It made his trope push to the front parts of his brain in flashing bright letters. He flipped over to his stomach and squished his face into the pillow, using all his strength to push down the thoughts of his trope.

Tropes were stupid and didn’t exist. It was all fake. All fake.

He repeated those words over and over again until sleep finally took him.

The first couple of days went on like normal. On the second day of this vacation a storm hit, so everyone was forced to stay inside the house. Sunghoon brought his Nintendo Switch, so everyone took turns playing Smash Bros and Mario Kart. Soobin dominated everyone in both games. Come to find out, Soobin is very much a gamer and one of his friends is even in a unit. It was very interesting to you and made you want to learn even more about Soobin.

On day three, the sun and summer heat were back. You and your friends didn’t hesitate to jump into the water to cool off.

“Jake mentioned a bonfire tonight!” Sakura said, dipping herself down to your chin into the water, “I say we do it! We can go buy stuff for s’mores!”

“Alcohol too please!” Yunjin groaned, “I need it after how long my last few weeks have been!”

You agreed. What was a vacation without it? Plus it would calm your nerves about this whole Sungchan situation anyway.

You looked up to the sand, seeing how Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay seemed to have adopted Soobin into their little circle, tossing around a baseball, all four of them smiling. Your eyes drifted off closer to the house, Shotaro, Sungchan, and Chae stood around the picnic table and grill as Taro grilled the meat for lunch. Your eyes lingered on how close Sungchan and Chae were sitting together, Sungchan turning his head to look out into the water, making eye contact with you.

He shifted a bit closer to Chae and on instinct, you whipped your head in the other direction, “Soobin!” Sungchan shifted his gaze to Soobin as well.

Soobin looked away from the other three, giving you a smile that melted your heart, “What is it, my princess?!” he shouted back. You said nothing, just gave him a big smile and waved for him to join you in the water.

Soobin wasn’t stupid. He saw how close Sungchan was to Chaewon. Soobin could smell the bullshit from miles away. He knew Sungchan only invited Chaewon—or well, begged her—back on this trip all because of him. Sungchan trusted Shotaro with this information thinking he wasn’t going to slip it up to everyone else, especially Soobin.

“I tried to talk him out of it,” Taro had said, “He kept saying it was just to make sure the friend group was made whole again, but I know that isn’t the case. He was so hung up on getting YN back, but after meeting you…I think he did it to try and stick it where it hurts. Or make her jealous. He won’t accept she’s over him.”

Pitiful.

Soobin tossed the ball over to Jake, “I’m going to jump in the water with YN, you all want to come too?” Soobin had to admit, the one good thing that came out of this trip was gaining these guys' friendship.

Jay was practically already tearing his tank top off, “Hell yeah! Let's cool off, this sun is brutal!”

Soobin followed the others down the beach, gripping the ends of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head.

Your heart nearly stopped. Your eyes drag along down his body. Trailing back up over his abs, chest, shoulders, and arms. Craving the metal image in detail of every curve of his biceps. He was beautiful. So beautiful.

Soobin was now in the water and standing directly in front of you, a smirk on his face as he leaned close to your face, being inches apart, “Close your mouth, you’re drooling.” he whispered.

You didn’t realize your mouth was open and immediately closed it shut. Soobin stood up straight and sank down into the water, his hands finding yours as he was chest-deep, gently pulling at your hands to lower yourself too.

It honestly took a lot for Soobin to keep his eyes locked on your face. Your body was gorgeous, all of you were. He couldn’t and wouldn’t deny that. Mostly with the way the purple bikini complimented your skin and the curves of your body. He did take a few glances down to your breasts and shot his eyes right back up to your face. He wasn’t ashamed of looking, you were just gawking at him a few minutes ago.

Once you were at eye level with Soobin, his hands left your hands and found their place at your waist, pulling your body to him, “I hope this is okay,” he whispered, “Just trying to play my part.”

It was natural at how you wrapped your arms around his neck, how you seated yourself on his lap and wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing your chest to his. It felt so natural that it scared you. Even with the cool ocean water warping around your bodies, you still felt way too hot and prayed that if your face was red, everyone would assume it was from the hot summer sun.

“No, it’s all okay,” you whispered back, pulling him closer to you, leaving your bodies completely flushed against one another, “We both have to play this part.”

“Hey!” Jake chuckled, “What you lovebirds whispering about over there!”

Soobin chuckled back, tilting his head back to look at Jake, “I’m telling her all the positions I’m going to put her through tonight!” He teased, earning Jake to scrunch his nose.

“Man, we don’t want to know that!” Jake held up his index fingers into an X, “Keep that to yourselves!”

Soobin just smirked, wrapping his arms around your frame, “Hey man, you asked!”

You couldn’t help but smile at them, at all of them, really. You were truly happy that Soobin was fitting in with your friends and they all seemed to love him. Sunghoon—even with his nasty side eye at the two of you—was warming up to Soobin little by little the last few days. You listened to them all banter back and forth and you couldn’t help but wish that this all could last past this week.

Soobin then touched his cheek to yours, squishing your faces together, “Dude, you’re just jealous that I have a pretty girlfriend!”

Your friends collectively all “ooooo” at Jake from Soobin’s diss, causing Jake to smirk and start splashing water at everyone.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Sungchan said suddenly, standing at the edge of where the water meets the sand. His arms were crossed and eyes locked onto Soobin, “Taro finished lunch, let’s all eat.”

After lunch, everyone headed back into the house to take turns showering and then headed into town for alcohol and items for s’mores.

Once the sun started to settle over the horizon, it was time for the bonfire.

The owners who rented out the house to you and your friends for the week really knew what the people wanted. The firepit was beautiful. A beautiful smooth white stone was built around the pit and perfectly carved benches sat around it. Sunghoon and Yunjin were the ones most excited about the s’mores, being the ones to poke the soft squishy balls of sweetness onto the metal rods and hold them over the fire, and passing them around to everyone once they were burnt perfectly and smooshed between chocolate and graham crackers.

Jay sat off to Soobin’s right on another bench with his acoustic guitar in his arms, playing a pretty tune that matched the soft crashes of the waves and the breeze of the wind. You swayed back and forth slightly, not wanting to spill any of your beer.

“Having a good time?” Soobin asked, smiling down at you as he sipped his beer, “You look like you are.”

You nodded, leaning further a bit to your right to nudge your shoulder against his, “I am,” you lift the can to your lips, taking a sip, “You?”

Soobin glanced over to the firepit and took another sip, “I am,” his eyes shot up to Sungchan, catching him staring back, “But Sungchan has been eyeing me down since before lunch. It’s making it hard for me to really enjoy myself right now.”

Soobin honestly was enjoying his time here so far. It was a vacation after all and having to play the part of your fake boyfriend wasn’t difficult either. The only hard thing was the glare Soobin always felt from Sungchan. He understood why, he had something the other wanted. It wasn’t Soobin’s fault the male fucked everything up. Nor was it his fault that you were completely over Sungchan to begin with. Soobin truly believed if you still had feelings for Sungchan, you wouldn’t have even come on this trip.

You carefully and quickly passed your eyes over Sungchan, catching how hard he stared at Soobin. Even when he lifted the beer can to sip and drank. His eyes never left Soobin. You also noticed how close he was sitting to Chae. Chae just stared off into the distance, hands clasped together. You couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t want to be there.

You finished off your beer and tossed it into the plastic bag at your feet, “I’m sorry he’s being that way towards you,” and you really truly meant it. Soobin didn’t deserve it, “I wish I could make him stop.”

Soobin also finished off his beer and tossed the can with yours, keeping his eyes locked on Sungchan. You finally decided to let Sungchan know that you saw him staring. Glaring at him with your jaw locked and eyes narrowed. It didn’t take long for him to notice your stares and for him to scoot closer to Chae, dropping his hand to her thigh.

You rolled your eyes and faced Soobin, “He really thinks doing that will do anything but piss me off.”

Soobin chuckled at your words because it’s true, the man truly thought getting closer to Chaewon was going to change your attitude towards him. Sungchan pulled a smirk at Soobin, thinking he won.

Oh, but isn’t that further from the truth.

“Want to piss him off back?” Soobin asked, turning to face you.

You raised a brow, “And how exactly, do you plan to piss him off?”

Soobin said nothing as he moved in, connecting his lips to yours. Your surprise must have been way too obvious because Soobin was now tracing his lips from yours and down your jaw and to your ear, whispering, “Play along.”

You knew what he was doing. Knew what it would cause with Sungchan. Knew all of it and yet once his lips found yours, you kissed him back something fierce. Both your eyes flutter closed and embrace this moment.

You expected just a few kisses and then Soobin pulling away, but the longer your lips lingered, the more you prayed he wouldn’t move away. Soobin did, in fact, was only planning to plant a few kisses and then pull away and go back to being normal. But…

He couldn’t stop.

His brows furrowed as he leaned into you more. His hand reached up and cupped your neck, his thumb rubbing softly against your jawline.

What was he doing? Why couldn’t he stop kissing you? Why was his free hand now reaching for yours and his fingers intertwined with yours? Squeezing your hand hard.

He slowly pushed his tongue past his lips, licking your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You parted your lips without question, letting his tongue slide in and explore your cavern. The soft groan that escaped his mouth sent chills down your body. If he didn’t have his hand placed on your neck keeping you pressed to him, you would have long fallen over.

Kissing you felt…natural. It felt like his lips were always meant to kiss yours. That…he was meant to be here with you. Soobin had come to the realization that you both were making out in front of everyone and he did not give a single fuck. Sungchan no longer mattered. Pissing him off no longer mattered. The only thing that did was your lips against his. Your hand in his. You. Only you.

His heart pulled to you. It was chanting your name over and over and over. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to. He felt the little red string of fate tie itself to you. His trope rang in the back of his mind.

“Hey!” Someone finally snapped, “Get a room, love birds!” To both your and Soobin’s surprise, it was Sunghoon who said it.

Soobin smiled against your lips before slowly pulling away, resting his forehead on yours. His heart was racing and he was fucking terrified to open his eyes and look at you. Scared at what he might find.

But he opened them anyway as he pulled his head away from yours. First, he stared at your swollen kissed lips, then slowly looked up to your eyes. One look and it was all it took for everything in the world to make sense. One look in your eyes and he knew.

It was you. It was always going to be you.

You thought going to bed that night would have been awkward. Why wouldn’t it? You and Soobin made out in front of all your friends in a play to piss off Sungchan, it should have been awkward to go to bed that night. Except it wasn’t. You crawled into bed next to Soobin like it was a routine. He rolled onto his side facing away from you and fell asleep quickly as you did the same.

You oddly felt at peace. You barely knew him and only knew a handful of things about him that you’ve learned on this trip so far, but you couldn’t help that pull to him. And as you drifted off to sleep you repeated the thought over and over on how easy all this was with him. How from the moment you first laid eyes on him in that bus you felt that pull. You weren’t sure what to make of this, mostly when everything would be coming to an end once this week was over.

When you woke up Soobin was already out of bed. After getting up, brushing your teeth, and throwing on your swimsuit and beach clothes, you trailed into the living room, everyone sat around somewhere in the kitchen or living eating breakfast.

“About time you got up!” Sunghoon teased, shoving a piece of bacon in his mouth, “It’s almost eleven am!”

You raised a brow at your best friend, “Yet you guys are still eating breakfast? When it’s literally lunchtime?”

“Hey,” Jake groaned, whipping his head up from his plate and leaning against Sunghoon, “Never too late or early for a breakfast meal!” You couldn’t argue with that, “Besides,” Jake continued, “Soobin mentioned for dinner to head out into town and try one of the restaurants, so we decided on a later breakfast.”

“Makes sense,” you mumbled, looking around the room, “Speaking of, where is he?”

“Your boy toy already went down to the water,” Sungchan murmured, poking his fork at his eggs, “Missed him by ten minutes.”

You narrowed your eyes down at him, “Boy toy?” you scoffed, whipping your head away with a roll of your eyes, “Funny shit to say coming from the likes of you!”

Not another second was wasted on him as you quickly made your way to the front door and opened it.

“YN!” he called for you, but you didn’t turn back around as you slammed the door behind you.

Sungchan stood from the table, just causing both Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon to stand on their feet from the couch. Shotaro was even at Sungchan’s side, placing his hands on his shoulders.

“Let go, Taro!” Sungchan snapped.

“Nah, keep him there,” Jake gave him a narrowed look, “You need to cut this shit out, Chan.”

Sungchan opened his mouth to fight, but Chaewon stopped it, “Chan, that is enough! Seriously!” All eyes went to her, “You need to accept the fact that YN has moved on and she is happy! I’ve never seen her this happy before…” Chaewon looked down at her plate, “I don’t know what you were hoping for with this trip, but you really need to know your place.” Without another word, Chae picked up her plate and rushed into her bedroom.

You kicked off your sandals at the edge of the steps to the house and stepped down onto the warm sand. Hovering your hand over your eyes to help see down the way better. Damn, the sun is so bright.

You found Soobin standing in the water facing towards the infinite ocean. His shoes and tee shirt were discarded at the edge of the beach right before where the water touched the sand. The waves crashed against his waist and the breeze blew his brown hair to the side. The sun illuminates his perfect honey skin, outlining the muscles of his back. Even from his back, he was a sight to see. So beautiful.

Soobin woke up earlier than everyone today and decided to be the one to make breakfast today. He had to admit, he was using it as a distraction. A way to get him out of the same bed with you. You looked so peaceful while you slept and it took everything in Soobin to not pull you toward him and wrap his arms around you. So he forced himself out of bed instead and made everyone breakfast. It wasn’t really early, the night before obviously made everyone sleep in a bit longer, but Soobin pushed the idea of trying out a restaurant later that night, ate his breakfast, and quickly left the house.

He needed to get out of that house and put more distance away from you. Not because he wanted to be away from you, but because he couldn’t think straight around you. Not after last night. The feeling of your lips lingered on his. The touch of your skin in the palm of his hand as he held you close to him. The way your fingers fit perfectly together with his.

It all rang in his head. Along with his damned trope. Soulmates didn’t exist. It was just a ploy to keep the population in control. To give the people something to believe in. It wasn’t real.

Yet Soobin knew he felt that red string of fate tied his heart to yours. He might not know what your trope is, and frankly, he’s terrified to find out. What if your tropes don’t match? Or what if your trope is whatever Soobin isn’t? He’s never once in his life ever thought about these questions. He’s spent those years after receiving his trope not believing in a damn thing about it. But you changed everything. One look in your eyes after that kiss and he was on his knees.

Soobin guessed the whole reason he needed to be officially alone right now was to sort out his thoughts and decide whether he wanted to accept his fate. Regardless of what he decided to do, you now had him wrapped around your finger and he was stupid if he’d let you go once this trip was over.

He heard shuffles of sand and already knew it was you standing at the edge of the water behind him. After his heart was tied to you, he swore he could hear your heart beating. He knows the sound of your heart.

You knew he knew you were there, you couldn’t explain how, but you just knew. You took one more step, letting the ocean take up to your ankles. You kept your eyes locked to his back, your heart racing.

Soobin chuckled, “It’s just me, YN, no need to be nervous.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but stopped the moment Soobin turned around slightly to look at you. The way the sun was shining down on him…the look of endearment and the soft smile he was giving you. Your eyes widened, the red string fully tying your heart to his.

“Sunshine!” the acolyte cheered, her hands clasping together and smiling wide down at you, “Your trope is sunshine! How wonderful!” Wonderful? What the fuck kind of trope is sunshine? What the fuck does that even mean?

You had hope for your trope. You really did. You spent all that time as a child counting down the days until your eighteenth birthday and marched right to the church to receive yours. But the moment your trope was in your grasp, everything failed you. You stopped believing. Yes, you tried experimenting with your trope, but it failed you every time.

You tried meeting people with sunshine personalities, tried going to bright sunny places, and each time, it failed. You gave up and believed soulmates didn’t exist. Or even if they did, you didn’t have one.

You held that statement as true until just now, staring into Soobin’s eyes.

The world finally all made sense to you. Sunshine. Soobin was sunshine. He’s your sunshine. Your trope wasn’t about the sun or the personality of someone. It was both. It was Soobin. The embodiment of sunshine with the sun shining down brightly on him.

You could hear his heart beating in your ears, its steady pace mixed with a hint of nervousness. And he told you he had no reason to be nervous?

He turned fully toward you, walking up and closing the gap between the two of you. He lifted his hands from the cool water and rested them on your biceps, the corners of his lips curling up more.

“Soobin,” you whispered, “I—“

The echoes of your friends' laughter filled the summer air, each of them pushing out of the house and in their swimwear. Jake held fishing poles in his hands, “Soobin!” he yelled, “Come spend time with the bros!”

Sunghoon held up a tacklebox of fishing items, “Yeah! Jay is bringing his expensive alcohol too!”

Jay was now holding up his bottles of whiskey, “I’m being forced to bring them, but I’ll share nevertheless.”

Soobin’s smile grew more and it only made your heart flutter. This was his real smile, not the fake one he’s been acting out with the last couple of days. This was his true show of happiness.

Soobin glanced away from your friends and saw the look of confusion on your face. Soobin knew that look without even having to ask you what was wrong. He cupped your face and placed his lips to your forehead, “We can talk later, okay?”

You nodded, quickly wrapping your arms around his body and pulling him close, resting your head on his chest, “Have fun stealing my friends from me.”

Soobin chuckled again, and leaned into your hug, holding you against him, “Too bad, they are my friends now,” You went to protest, but he was pulling away and splashing you with water, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You said nothing as you watched him run out of the water, stopping to grab his shirt and shoes and jogging up to Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon. Shotaro and Sungchan slowly followed behind them.

The rest of the day became busier than you were hoping for. Once the boys were back from fishing and everyone showered off the sand and salt water, it was time to hit up the restaurant.

It was within walking distance from the house, so Taro was really big on saving up everyone’s gas and suggested just walking. No one was against it.

But that meant moving in a pack. Everyone surrounded you and Soobin and it left no chances to talk. Even after dinner, Yunjin and Sakura wanted to stop for ice cream, and again, no one rejected it.

Soobin was kind enough to buy your ice cream for you and even shared some of his. It only made the need for you to talk to him run so much deeper. This couldn’t just be the behavior of acting like your fake boyfriend…was it?

Little did you know Soobin was also dying to talk to you as well. He tried to find any opportunity to pull you to the side and talk but the odds just weren’t in his favor.

But he was nervous and the closer the beach house came back into view the more his heart pounded. It only got worse once he was alone with you in the shared bedroom.

You looked exhausted. Soobin definitely was. It was a busy and exhausting day. Not just because of your friends, but the endless thoughts that circulated both your minds. It was hard to tell if talking about whatever this was, was a good idea at the moment.

But you also knew it couldn’t wait.

Soobin sat down on the bed, facing himself toward you. You tried to fight back a yawn as you climbed into the bed. He tilted his head, “Do you want to talk? We could always talk in the morning, YN.”

Hearing those words honestly made you feel better. It meant not having to address everything right here and now but also gave proof that Soobin still wanted to have that conversation. You stopped fighting the yawn and nodded, pulling the covers back and laying down on your side, facing away from him.

The bed shifted as Soobin turned the lamp off, the room now being lit by the moonlight that peeked through the curtains of the windows. The bed shifted more and you could hear Soobin’s heart, “Can…” he sighs, “Can I hold you?”

“Yes,” you replied quickly. Already scooting yourself to the middle of the bed, your back meeting Soobin’s chest. He pushed his arm underneath the pillow and wrapped it around your chest and hand linking to your shoulder while the other hung over your waist, his hand resting on your tummy.

Holding you was everything he could have hoped it would be. Your body is the perfect fit against his. You shifted a little in hopes of getting closer, only to rub your ass against his crotch. His fingers at your shoulder gripped your shirt while the other squeezed your tummy, “YN,” he said in a soft warning tone, “Please don’t move.”

You didn’t mean to grind against him, you just wanted to be more comfortable and closer to him. But now with the growing hardness against your ass and the sound of his heart racing in your ears, your own pool of desire is raised.

Soobin was now squeezing your frame tightly, using all his strength to not start grinding his cock against you. To keep himself under control. But it was so damn hard when he could hear how your heart was fluttering. Could feel how your body was now shaking. He squeezed you tighter, his arm squeezing your breasts and a soft gasp let your lips. It was enough to send a chill down his spine and for his hips to buck without his permission.

You softly giggle, “And you told me not to move.” Your teasing just then flipped a switch with him.

Soobin was smirking and tucking his face into your neck, pressing his now hard cock against your ass, “Maybe if you’d stop wiggling, I wouldn’t either,” he whispered to your skin. The brush of his lips as he talked had goosebumps raised on your skin.

You rocked your hips, grinding on his clothed cock, “Stop rubbing against me, and I’ll stop rubbing against you.”

A chuckle left his mouth but he didn’t stop moving and neither did you. The two of you kept moving, rocking your hips back and forth against each other. Soobin’s hand on your belly moved lower and lower as time progressed. You’ve done things like this before with other guys, same with Soobin and females. But with the way you both were breathing, how in sync your hearts were beating, the feeling of being this close…It made everything ten times better.

Was it because…it had to be.

Soobin pushed his fingers down to the band of your shorts, slipping his fingers underneath it, “Can I touch you?” he whispered in your ear, placing a kiss on the shell of it, “Please, can I touch you?”

You nodded, placing your hand on top of his and pushing it down, guiding him slowly to where you need him the most right now. And once his fingers cupped your heat, you flung your head back onto his shoulder.

“Shit YN,” he breathed, “So wet, and I haven’t even fully touched you yet.”

You lifted your leg up and over his legs, giving him more access to you. His index and ring fingers spread your lips apart, the middle slowly rubbing at your clit.

You softly moan, arching your back. But Soobin’s hold on you with his other arm around your chest kept you from moving too much, holding you tightly to his chest.

You started once again rocking your hips, doing it in hopes he would move faster, and slid his fingers into you. Soobin wasn’t stupid, he could tell you wanted more, “What do you want?” he whispered, biting at the shell of your ear, “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“L-lower,” you whimper, “Faster, please.”

Soobin hummed, sliding his middle finger to your entrance, “Is this what you want, baby?”

You nodded, bucking your hips. Soobin smirked and slowly pushed his index and middle fingers in. You both let out a breathy groan as his fingers slid in all the way to his knuckles, your cunt squeezing around them.

Soobin pushed them in and out, in and out, starting at a slow pace and slowly picking up speed. Your body was shaking against his, his cock growing more needier by the second.

He wanted you. Oh, good gods he wanted you.

“Baby,” he shifted a bit, his body slightly towering over yours, “Can I have you?”

You nodded frantically, your hands reaching for him and pulling him into a kiss, “Please,” you whispered against his lips.

Soobin completely shifted himself over you, hovering just the right amount to keep his fingers filling you while his other hand reached for the ends of your shirt, “I want this off.”

You smirked, “Take it off me yourself.”

Soobin chuckled on your lips, removing his fingers from your cunt and sliding his hands up your body, taking your shirt with them.

It didn’t take long for all of your and Soobin’s clothing to be thrown in all different directions of the room, leaving you skin to skin.

There was something so beautiful about being connected to you like this. The way your skin felt on his. How your bare legs wrapped around his waist and lips kissed down his neck. It was something Soobin wanted to be painted into his memory forever. It wasn’t even just about the sex you were about to have. It was all about you.

Soobin couldn’t stop the gasp that let his mouth as his cock slid deep inside you, the tip kissing beautifully at your cervix. He held you tightly to him as he started moving, keeping one hand gripping your thigh, “Fuck, YN. YN. YN. YN.” Your name chanted from his lips. It flowed out so easily. Like your name belonged in his mouth.

“Soobin,” you whispered, pulling your face from his neck and laying down on the pillow, cupping his face between your hands, his pretty brown eyes staring back at you, “I think…no, I know it. You’re my soulmate.”

Hearing those words had Soobin melting. His face fell to your neck, hand squeezing your thigh tighter, “And you’re mine,” he whispered back, “Oh gods you’re mine.”

With all your strength, you rolled him over onto his back, straddling him. You took his hands in yours and you rode him, squeezing his hands with each roll of your hips. You don’t know what came over you, but hearing how you were his, it did something, “Say it again, please.”

Soobin squeezed your hands tighter, “You’re mine.”

“Again.”

He smiled, “You’re mine. You’re my soulmate. Mine. Mine. Mine.”

The words came out so easily for someone who didn’t believe in them at first. But looking at you like this, all on top of him, riding his cock, how could he not believe in it? Your hearts were now tied together. He belonged to you. You belonged to him. And he had no problem chanting out those words until he was cumming deep inside you. Continued chanting them as he flipped you onto your back and his fingers once again found their home inside you, chanting them as you came around them.

Soobin used to curse his trope, but now all he could do was thank it. It gave him you.

“We’ve been out here for an hour,” Sunghoon groaned, throwing his head back over the chair, hands gripping the fishing pole, “Jake, why did we have to come fishing again?”

Jake glared over at him, “Because we had massive luck yesterday. Figured we would today as well,” Jake shrugged and glanced back out into the water, “Not my fault you’re being crabby today.”

Sunghoon groaned again as he lifted back up his head, tilting it to the side to look at Soobin, “Try sharing a room next door to them at night and tell me if you wouldn’t be crabby.”

Sunghoon’s words went in one ear and out the other, he was too busy staring down at a text message from you. But Sunghoon’s clearing his voice brought him back to the guys around him, “What?”

Jake scoffed with a smirk, “You know what. The whole house heard the two of you last night.”

Soobin grinned as he shifted his gaze off to the water, “And that’s my problem how?” he said in a teasing voice.

You and Soobin continued your sexual activities after the first round. Neither of you could get enough of the other and eventually, you both stopped caring to keep quiet. It was just unfortunate for those in the house.

Jay nudged Soobin’s shoulder, “Am I going to have to buy some earplugs tonight?” he joked.

Soobin shrugged and smirked at Jay, “Possibly, we do still have one more full day left to cause some chaos.”

“Please don’t,” Shotaro chuckled, “I enjoy my sleep.”

The males all laughed and continued their teasing, except Soobin noticed Sungchan being awfully quiet and staring down at the docks they all sat on.

Sunghoon nudged Soobin, leaning closer to him and whispering, “I’m actually really glad you and her have something. She seems so happy being with you.”

Soobin knew that Sunghoon was aware that at first, this was all an act. So honestly hearing those words made him happy. You and Sunghoon had talked with each other during breakfast this morning, so Soobin more than likely knew you confessed what was actually happening now. Soobin opened his mouth to reply back to Sunghoon, but a loud scoff following a chuckle had everyone turning their heads towards the direction it came from.

“Happy? She’s happy to be with you?” Sungchan laughed, turning to face Soobin directly, “You think I buy that? That you aren’t just some random guy she met on the bus that day? This is all an act. I know YN! Better than—“

“She’s my soulmate,” was all Soobin said. He had no desire or even the need to confirm nor deny Sungchan’s suspicions, “She’s my soulmate and I think you need to accept that and learn your place.”

Everyone fell silent, the only sound was the waves crashing against the wooden columns of the dock and the wind blowing past.

“Look man,” Soobin sighed, “I don’t know what you were hoping for with this vacation, but I would really appreciate it if you backed off my girl,” Soobin looked back out to the water, gripping at the handle of his fishing pole, “You’ve hurt her enough, let it go.”

Soobin was fueled with anger, so distracted he had no clue the line of his pole was being tugged, “SOOBIN!!” Jake yelled standing up to his feet and pointing at the ripples of the water, “YOU CAUGHT ONE! REEL THE LINE BACK!!!”

With the excitement of possibly catching a fish, Soobin threw his anger out the window, deciding it wasn’t worth worrying over Sungchan. Everyone was now aware that you were tied to him, and that’s all Soobin cared about at this moment.

Besides, of course, pulling his first fish of the day on the docks and cheering along with his new friends, “I have to show YN!” Sunghoon said, pointing at Soobin to lift up the fish and smile wide for a photo, sending it directly to you.

You sat on the couch with Yunjin between your legs on the floor in the middle of braiding her hair when Sunghoon sent you the cutest photo you’ve ever seen of your soulmate holding up his first catch of the day. It was adorable. You couldn't help but laugh and save the photo to your gallery, “Want to see the fish Soobin just caught?” you asked her and the other girls, turning your phone around to show them.

“He really is a cutie!” Sakura clapped her hands, “Fate was really on your side when picking out your soulmate!”

You didn’t even have to tell the girls that information, they just kind of guessed at it. Your smile wasn’t doing much justice for you. You’ve been smitten ever since your first kiss with Soobin, “Fate really was on my side, wasn’t it?”

You felt Chaewon’s eyes on you, a small sad smile on her face. The two of you have barely spoken to each other this entire trip and you could tell since the night of the bonfire, she’s had words she kept locked in her throat.

“Hey!” Yunjin sat up, her long red hair falling between your fingers, “The boys are still busy fishing, why don’t we go shopping? There’s a cute surf shop down the beach towards the pier I want to check out!”

Everyone agreed. As the girls stood up and rushed out the door, Chaewon gripped your wrist, “YN, can we talk first?”

You nodded, slowly turning to face her, “What is it?”

She let go of your wrist, “I am truly sorry! For everything!” You blinked at her, not expecting this conversation right off the bat, “Chan and I were drunk, we weren’t thinking straight. It only happened that one time and I promise you that. Chan got confused about his feelings, and that’s how it blew up as badly as it did. I wanted to tell you from the beginning, but Chan said he would take care of it and I was stupid to believe him on that,” she reached for your hands then and you let her, “I removed myself from our group because I thought you’d hate me. Sunghoon said you needed time and I wanted to respect that. But I miss our friendship, I miss you. I came on this trip wanting to fix our friendship, not because Sungchan told me to.”

You had to admit, you also missed her and your friendship with her. This trip hasn’t been completely the same because of the distance it put between the two of you. You already knew Sungchan was just trying to pull some fast moves, but Chaewon was being true from the beginning.

So you hugged her tightly, “I forgive you. I’ve missed you too so please don’t run away from me anymore, okay?” Chae nodded, hugging you tighter, “Now, let’s go get caught up with Sakura and Yunjin.”

With a giggle, you and Chae rushed out the door.

Before you knew it, Soobin was packing up your backs into the backseat of his car as you hugged your girlfriends tightly, “We need a girl's day soon!” You said, “I’ll kick Sunghoon out of the apartment for a day.”

Sunghoon sighed, crossing his arms, “You act like I don’t have a soulmate, other friends, or even Soobin I could hang out with for the day.”

Soobin wrapped his arm around Sunghoon’s shoulders, “Yeah, babe,” he said sticking his tongue out at you, “I’ll just steal your best friend.”

You glared at your now boyfriend, “You’d steal my best friend from me?”

Soobin shrugged, “If you’re going to kick him out, ya.”

You rolled your eyes and continued hugging your friends, deciding to fight your mate and best friend later at the apartment.

After all goodbye had been said, everyone piled into their own cars and drove off, leaving the beach house in the distance.

Soobin reached over and placed his hand on your thigh, squeezing the plush, “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You nodded, leaning back in the seat, “I really did,” you shifted your eyes to him, “Wasn’t expecting to gain my soulmate out of it though.”

Soobin chuckled, rubbing his thumb against your skin, “You and I both. By the way,” he glanced at you quickly, then back at the road, “What was your trope?”

“Sunshine,” You whispered, “It was sunshine.”

He smiled, biting at the corners of his lip, “Sunshine, huh.”

You sat up and leaned over the center console, poking your finger in his dimple, “And what was yours, my sunshine?”

Soobin took your hand in his, “Fake relationship,” your eyes widened at his trope, “Yeah,” he chuckled, “It wasn’t exactly the best.”

“You must have been freaking out when I asked you to be my fake boyfriend for the week, I’m so sorry!”

Soobin shook his head, “I…I didn’t believe in tropes or even soulmates. I thought it was weird and a coincidence. I’ve had many fake relationships before, so I thought this was no different,” he lifted your hand to his lips, playing a few soft kisses to the palm of your hand, “But you changed everything, obviously.”

You smiled, “It’s funny you say that, because I didn’t believe in tropes of soulmates either.”

Soobin quickly looked at you again, then back at the road, “Sunghoon literally has a soulmate!?”

You sat back in the seat and stared out the window, “Trust me, I know. Right in front of me and I still didn’t believe a lick of it.”

Soobin smirks, “Do you believe in it now?”

You giggled, squeezing his hand, “I do. How could I not when I have my own pocket full of sunshine?”

—p.tlist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @jwnghyuns

@in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi

@eneiyri @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty

@ladyartemesia @criminalyun @enhaverse713586 @wondipity @lhsvibez

@jaeyunq @rikizm @kaykay11sworld @pockettwinzz @vixialuvs

@seunghancore @enha-cafe @ppanghoon @sunpov @zeeloveshee

@hxxsxxng @moonrisearies @brownsugarbaybee @nshmrarki @vveebee

@teddybeartaetae @kookify @abysofsteel @aileeeeeeeeeeeee

@hee-lvrr @1309zip @moon0fthenight @jakeflvrz @021894s

#myhome #ohsh!twesoulmates #soobin #choi soobin #soobin x reader #reader x soobin #soobin smut #txt #tomorrow x together #txt x reader #reader x txt #txt fanfiction #txt fanfic #txt fluff #txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt smut #txt suggestive #yeonzzzn writing

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boltwrites · 4 months ago

Note

logan absolutely acting like a starved man eating your pussy PLEASE i’m taking whining groaning BEGGING for you jesus christ

A/N: hello yes. also love that out of the 6 requests i received, 2 of them are about logan giving oral. we have Expectations for this man.

anyway, i'm kind of out of practice when it comes to smut, apologies lmao

By clicking read more you verify that you are at least 18 years old

"Come on-"

You stumbled back, shins colliding with the foot of the bed as you fell flat on your ass, scrabbling against the sheets to prop yourself up on your elbows. You didn't want to miss a damn second of this. It was your fault, anyway - why Logan was acting like this, why he looked like a man starved - you'd been teasing him all night. Not even subtly, like you enjoyed at times. No, this had been filthy. Scandalized. It had left him open mouthed, practically panting. Sending you hungry, sinful looks from across the room. Shifting his weight from one hip to the other as he tried to look casual adjusting his jeans. And you just kept pushing.

Well, he'd pushed back. Pushed you right through the door of your room, until your ankles smashed into the box spring and your ass hit the bed.

You couldn't help but stare at the man. His pupils were blown wide with lust, chest heaving and hair rumbled at the front, little beads of sweat gathering at his brow. If you didn't know him better, you could have mistaken it for anger, for rage -

But you knew better. You knew that look for what it really was - pure, feral lust.

He stalked forward, with all the danger and power of a predator. The door slammed behind him - when had he grabbed it? - and he didn't even bother to lock it. Trivial things like that - he didn't have time for them. Not when his gaze was locked on you.

You pressed against the rumbled bedcovers with the flat of your palms. Even if logically you knew he just wanted to fuck you, you still responded instinctually to that primal urge inside you to put distance between yourself and danger. Your heels dug into the edge of the bed, to try and crawl further back - but Logan cocked his head to the side, eyebrow raised and gaze narrowing.

"Now... where do you think you're going?"

This was about the time of the night when all your bravado flew straight out the window. All the tools you'd used so far tonight - a tactical flutter of your lashes, the drag of your instep across the seam of his jeans under the table, a filthy, depraved scene whispered against the shell of his ear - they all shattered in an instant when he finally, finally got a chance to act on those fantasies. Because you knew it would be better.

You stilled - you likely looked every bit the deer in headlights as he closed the gap between you with two measured strides, calloused hands wrapped around your calves and tugging.

You gasped, ass dragging along the bed until you were flush with the edge, Logan looming over you like an oncoming storm.

His eyes locked with yours, fingers squeezing tighter as his jaw clenched, flexing the muscles there as his gaze flit from your lashes to your lips, then, to the anxious, excited bob of your throat.

"All night whispering filthy shit in my ear and now you're speechless. That's how it goes, isn't it?" he smirked, then. A devilish, wry thing that stirred something low in your stomach.

"I-" you started, and he shook his head, nudging your knees apart with his own.

"Oh no, you don't need to start now," he chuckled, low and conspiratorial. "You just need to do what I tell you to. Take your pants off."

Oh god. You shivered - you recognized that tone, the glint in his eye. You'd pushed him just far enough for this - for a side of him you only glimpsed on the rarest of occasions.

Usually, when you teased him, he'd rip his shirt off and toss you onto the bed, tug your hair and handle you with that sweet, rough touch. You craved from from him, when he'd been gone for too long or you'd been too caught up in your own work to care for either of your needs.

Rarely, you'd push some invisible button and he'd channel that energy into torturing you with the concept of pleasure - nudging you to the precipice of release and pulling you back over and over and over until there were tears running down your cheeks and it was all you could do to cry his name, beg for that release.

But this - this was more. You'd pressed further, led Logan through the thralls of insatiable carnal desire and set him down just beyond that. Here, the heat of his own desire had been dulled as you teased and taunted and smirked, denying him the attention he needed over and over until the craving for his own release had been pruned, supplanted with the bone-deep hunger for your pleasure, to leave you ruined, so drunk on his touch that you'd wonder why you would have ever chosen social norms over his fingers, his tongue, his cock.

Obviously, you played this game because you were a gambler. Rolling the dice hoping you'd come across the very same looking in his eye you were staring at in this exact moment.

Jackpot.

You nodded - hands shaking with anticipation as you unlatched the button of your jeans, unfurled the zipper after. You sat eye level with his belt buckle, the denim below it straining with how hard he was for you. Maybe if you just reached out and -

"Off," he hissed. He was in control here. You'd had that chance earlier tonight, and you'd squandered it on dirty talk with no destination, no point or purpose.

You obeyed his request instead - slid your hands under your clothes, wiggling your way out of everything that covered you -

And Logan fell to his knees - no grace, no poise as he gathered the fabric that had pooled around your ankles and threw it to the far side of the room, eyes dark and determined.

Oh, was he -

He clawed at your thighs, your ass - dragged you to the edge of the bed before he splayed his hands flat against your thighs, strong fingers spreading open your legs as his focus narrowed down to the slick mess you'd become.

Oh, fuck.

He breathed, ragged - shoulders shaking as took a last, gasping breath before he dove into you.

You cried out - how could you not, as his nails dug against the flesh of your ass, damn near lifting your hips off the bed. You fell back, spine arching as his sideburns scraped the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, at the junction of your legs and core. But that was nothing compared to his tongue - the tongue he use to carve his way inside you, lapping at you like you were all that could sustain him. It massaged you from the inside out, laving along your walls like some insane perversion of a kiss.

You keened into his touch - tried to use what little leverage you had to roll your hips against his lips - only to be stopped by his fierce hold on your ass, your thighs. It was all you could do to dig your nails into the sheets, your other hand threading through his hair and scraping along his scalp, tangling in those tresses and tugging, as if you could bury him inside you like this.

And he did his damndest. He was ravenous - you couldn't tell through your own cries of pleasure, but you could have sworn you heard him growl. He kissed and suckled against you, pressing himself ever closer -

And you keened as his nose grazed against your clit, thighs shaking with need as his eyes - that had previous been closed in reverent, absolute focus - snapped open to find your own as he leaned against that hand in his hair, and ground his nose to your throbbing clit.

You damn near screamed, bucking against his lips, his vice-like grip on your hips, his damn nose - as he all but nuzzled you to completion, drinking in your release like a fine wine even as you twitched and gasped for air in his hold.

But he wasn't anywhere near done. The noise he made as he dragged his tongue out of your folds was absolutely obscene, and you damn near sobbed at how, even though you'd just come, you still ached for him.

And he knew it. He hummed - low, pleased, as he removed a hand from your shaking thigh to trail through the wet mess he'd left, teasing them just at the edge of your entrance so you could feel every ridge of his callouses. The texture of those fingers had a soft, desperate noise leaving your lips as he finally dipped them into you - so slow that you could sob from it.

And you did sob - more like you screamed when hot breath washed over your clit, followed by the flat drag of a tongue.

"Fuck! Logan-!" You cried, thighs clenching around his jaw, heels digging into his back. You didn't know if you wanted to pull him closer or kick him square in that adamantine skull. You squeezed around his fingers, tight and needy, but that attention on your oversensitive clit sent sparks of pleasure-pain up your spine, your core flexing as you tried to take it.

But that was the thing - he knew you could take it. Knew that with his fingers inside you, with his lips wrapped around your clit, that soon that little flicker of pain would fade to crashing, blinding pleasure. He knew you loved it when he ate you out like this - lapped against your clit, sucked it until you were spiraling over again. That the first round was just a test to see how easily he could get you off. He had you now. And he wasn't letting you go.

He hummed against you, tongue narrowing to a point as he curled it around your clit, peppering you with sloppy kisses as he worked you through the sparking fire of too much, too soon. His fingers helped to calm the sting - he massaged against your walls, rocking in and out until he found that spot inside you with a slightly altered resistance, and then he set to work.

His free hand vacated your hip. Instead, he splayed it low across your stomach as he curled those fingers inside you. You cried his name - needy and desperate as he somehow managed to make two fingers feel like so much more.

All that, even while those circles he was drawing with his tongue tightened, adjusting to the way your hand pressed over his on your stomach, how the fingers curled in his hair loosened just slightly, drifted lover to scratch along the scruff of his jaw as you relaxed under him, until the little jitters of that muscle in your thigh were few and far between.

Then he wrapped his lips around you and sucked.

You screamed - actually, truly screamed his name. Your hips jolted, your nails dug into his skin as his tongue ravished you, cheeks hollowed as he worked you over like a practiced musician at his preferred instrument. His fingers curled - oh god, when had he added a third - and your back arched, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

It wasn't frantic and ever present, like your first orgasm - that had been simple work after a night of teasing, of purposeful denial. That had been a foregone conclusion. But this - this was careful, calculated, expert - and the pleasure built like floodwater against a dam, as he worked you just so he knew when you did come, your vision would blur at the edges and you'd shake apart harder than anything else.

His fingers curled, his wrist snapped as he thrust them into you, as his palm flattened against your stomach, his tongue flicked over your clit, his lips so tight, so perfect -

You don't remember what you screamed. It might have been his name, it might have been a plea for mercy - or maybe it was just a scream.

No matter what it was, he worked you through it with his tongue, his fingers, his lips.

And when you blinked up at him, bleary, corner of your mouth wet with either spit or tears - you caught that look. That feral look.

He wasn't done with you. Not even close.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #mine

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housetargaryenloyalist · 4 months ago

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From a seed grows

Chapter I: Thyme

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Synopsis: To claim a dragon one must be prepared to give up their life, yet this is the one thing you never wished to give up.

Wordcount: 3.5K

Warnings: implications of death, mentions of death, but really light nothing graphic.

Author's note: It's done, the first chapter! Fun little fact: every chapter will be named after a plant/flower that represents an emotion/theme of one of the characters :) I put a lot of thought into this story, the chapter names, and the character so I hope you will feel that as you read.

One last thing, a huge thank you to @madame-fear for showing interest into the story which prompted me to continue working on it! I adore her and her work, you should check out her blog!

English is not my first language, apologies for any mistakes.

Happy reading <3

‎⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡Masterlist♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Blood dripped from your hands, the dagger clattering to the floor. The sound echoed through the dark, empty alleyway and reverberated in your head. Soft, sharp gasps left you as you staggered backwards, your legs struggling to keep you standing as you buckled to the ground.

“What have I done?” your voice whispered to the night, your hands gripped the stone of the street as you struggled to regain your breath. You couldn’t stay here; staying here meant getting caught, getting caught meant being punished, and the punishment would most likely be death.

A life for a life.

You looked around you, hoping you were concealed enough that you wouldn’t be recognized. The only light was a single street lantern at the entry to the alley and the moon. You knew you had very few options: leave the city, leave and hope you’ll never be found out, be found out and flogged, tortured, flayed, or hanged. None of them sounded particularly great, but one sounded the best.

You crawled to where you had dropped the dagger, knowing you couldn’t leave it behind, no matter how rusty or stained it was. You took out an old handkerchief you always carried and wiped the blood off the blade, before stuffing the dagger in its holder. You sat there for a moment, trying to regain your breath before forcing yourself upwards and onwards. You prayed as you walked towards your home, prayed for forgiveness, prayed for mercy, prayed for help.

Prayed to all the Gods you knew of, old and new, to grant you safe passage out of the city. You passed people and shops, pleasure houses and closed homes, you passed by your life, your dreams and hopes. All to be left behind.

A moment later you were at the humble shack you called home, or at least your home was one of the rooms within the shack. Fleabottom wasn’t known for having particularly good real estate, but you and all the others made do. You went to your room, unlocking the shabby door that had seen too many beatings to really be considered safe and entered your little haven.

It was by all accounts small and in an abysmal shape, mold decorated the bleak walls alongside various other stains whom you did not wish to identify. Your bed was on the left side of the room, with a clear view of the door (just in case) and your small, very small, dresser was in front of it.

You dug through the room searching for a bag of any kind, when you found it you filled it with anything that could be considered even remotely valuable. It may have been little, but it should allow you to buy a one-way trip on a ship. The destination mattered little, as long as it wasn’t King's Landing.

As you ruffled through the top drawer of the dresser you stumbled upon what felt like a button. In all your years of owning it, you had never once felt this weird object hidden amidst your possessions. Curiosity beguiled you to push it and a latch opened on the top of the dresser, revealing a small hidden compartment.

Although curiosity had won the first battle, you were unsure if you wanted it to win this one. Alas, you had dipped a toe in the water and the waves were now too strong to get out. A hidden compartment was no novelty, many stories started with the protagonist finding an object of great significance in such a place and then embarking on an earth-changing adventure to save all of mankind.

You, however, felt like quite the opposite of such, even when your fingers felt an object hidden in the dark, hidden place. You almost laughed at the absurdity of this day, perhaps the Gods above were in a jesting mood. Slowly, carefully, you pulled the strange object from its hiding place, and soon you were face to face with something you had never seen before.

It looked to be a necklace, a simple silver chain with a simple pendant, it looked much like the necklaces you saw people wear around Flea Bottom. There was truly nothing notable about it, except for maybe the seven-pointed star of the Seven decorating the front and the small engraving on the back.

An engraving that had faded badly, presumably from the necklace having been worn a lot. It could only be seen when held at a certain angle, with ample light to decipher the words: Naejot issa byka zaldrīzes.

You rolled the words over your tongue, trying your hardest to grasp whatever language it was. It sounded oddly familiar, as if it were something from a dream, a memory unclear and nearly forgotten but now resurfacing. Whatever the words may mean, you presumed them to be words the previous owner must have cherished when taking into account how faded they were.

As you looked at the words more closely you noticed small initials beneath them, your eyes lit up slightly. This necklace must have been a gift. The initials were vague, two letters common enough they could belong to anyone.

A.T.

An odd feeling washed over you as you imagined what must have happened to the owner of this beautiful piece, how it ended up hidden in a dirty old dresser, in a shabby room in an even shabbier house. You did not have much time left to waste pondering the necklace’s history, dawn was creeping up into the sky, you could see small streaks of early morning light on the horizon.

In a hurry you put the necklace around your neck and hid it under your simple clothes. You braided your hair, in a quick manner, so it would not hinder you as you hurried through the maze of Flea Bottom.

You arrived at the harbor quickly through some risky but effective shortcuts, nearly avoiding a drunken brawl. At last you had made it to what would hopefully lead you to safety, or close to it. Sailors were moving around you carrying various sizes of knapsacks and their fellow sailors who had partaken too much in cheap ale. Dockworkers were starting their morning shifts as they moved to unload the various ships laying in their docks.

They carried crates filled with the finest fabrics, with spices you could not pronounce nor taste for they would surely cost more than you’d ever be able to afford. Your eyes wandered around to find someone you could approach and soon enough you spotted a young man with silvery blond hair and shabby clothes moving towards one of the ships. As you looked to see where he was going, you noticed some others moving towards the same ship. All sporting that same silvery blond hair.

You jogged towards the man who was surprised to see you approach him, “excuse me,” you smiled at him as he came to a halt, a silent invitation for you to continue, “where is that ship headed?”

The man furrowed his eyebrows at you, as if you just asked the most idiotic thing known to man. “To Dragonstone,” was all he said before he took off, increasing the speed in his step, almost as if to deter you from following.

You pondered to yourself for a moment, as you watched more silvery blondes approach the ship. There had been rumors, for there are always rumors in Flea Bottom, about the Black Queen looking for Targaryen bastards. Anyone with either silvery blond hair, lilac eyes, or both or even neither was urged to come to Dragonstone for an opportunity to bond with a dragon. Perhaps it was more than a rumor as you saw more and more people board the ship.

It was foolish, really, truly, well and wholly foolish, you thought to yourself as you stood in front of Dragonstone, the holdfast large and formidable. Guards escorted the large group to a small courtyard, as you looked through the crowd most of them had silvery blond hair, some light, others dark. There were a few on the other hand who had come with brown hair, red hair, or even black.

All had come to stand before the Black Queen, to serve her cause by potentially claiming a Targaryen dragon. On your journey, the people had been speaking of nothing else but the dragons, their size, their coloring, their behavior.

Much regarding the opinions of dragons had changed after the Greens paraded Meleys’ head around King’s Landing for all to see. There used to hang an air of unspoken devotion to dragons, they were to be feared, regaled, and not opposed, unless one wished for imminent death.

They were gods flying high above men, and the people who rode them were their only link to humanity. Now the smallfolk knew dragons were mortal, killable, vulnerable, and that the very house who rode them also killed them, paraded them, and unlike the small folk, did not worship them.

People whispered of killing dragons, where before those words were said in bouts of drunken foolishness, they were now said with drunken confidence. The people were hungry, and the dragons were potential food. Food for the stomach of starving men, ailing peasants, and also food to fuel a rebellion.

So now, for one of these dragonriders to actively seek out Targaryen bastards and lure them with a possibility of becoming equals, many could not resist. Not even you. You knew the dangers involved in claiming such a phenomenal beast, knew it most likely meant your death if you truly tried to claim a dragon. You also knew that you were now away from King’s Landing, in what could possibly be the only place safe for no one would dare attack this stronghold with all the dragons that lay within.

A guard came up to you as you were letting your eyes wander, his Kingsguard uniform reflecting the sun caught your attention, “Hoods down,” he commanded as he reached over to pull it down himself.

Before you could stop him, you could already feel the wind tussling your braid and tickling your ear. Now, with your hood down and hair a mess, you were just like all the others.

A silver-haired bastard.

A dragonseed.

What a cruel fate you had.

Not long after, a young man strolled up to a platform in the courtyard, silence befell the crowd as they realized who he was.

Clad in the dark red and black of the Targaryens, his hands crossed on top of the pommel of his sword, brown curls whirling around his face.

Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne, daughter to Rhaenyra Targaryen, and he was a beautiful, beautiful man. He addressed the crowds, warning them of the danger, thanking them for their arrival, yet it all felt weirdly aggressive. There was no thankfulness or appreciation to be found in his tone, his brows furrowed and his lips downturned.

You heard a man behind you whisper that he was just a coddled princeling and another chuckled in response, you looked behind you briefly hoping that a stare would silence them. As you looked up back to the prince, you noticed him looking in your very direction. It almost felt as though he was looking directly at you, into your own eyes.

Others who had the same notion as you lowered their heads in reverence, in respect for their prince albeit that some carried an air of reluctance to them as they did. You felt no such devotion, felt no such need and your actions reflected that. There would be no bowing to a man meters in front of you, who spoke to you with contempt, as if your lives meant nothing at all.

His speech was over quickly, and he was gone with a few guards following in his steps. Another guard stepped up and made one last declaration before the group was to go into the dragons’ lair. “All those who wish to leave may leave, no harm shall befall you. You will be escorted back via ship at the earliest possible moment. All the others-” he signaled another guard who opened up the barricades put in place earlier, “follow me.”

Many of the crowd left, deciding that the threat of death so brutal was too large to face in comparison to the one they would face in King’s Landing. You supposed you could not blame them, a death by dragon fire or dragon stomping didn’t sound pleasant, however the fate that would no doubt await you in Flea Bottom sounded worse.

The ones left over were escorted to the inner parts of the castle, staircase after staircase, never once allowed to dawdle or gawk. The Queensguard were strict and didn’t hesitate to employ certain tactics to keep all in line. You winced as one of the guards struck a young man for touching a statue, the guard said nothing as he did so, only pushing the lad back into the line when he was done.

Tears pricked in the corner of the boy’s eyes, his hand cradling his hurting cheek. He had been pushed right in front of you, almost causing you two to collide. You tapped his shoulder as you procured an old handkerchief from your pocket, “here” you said as you practically shoved it into his non-occupied hand. He smiled a soft smile at you in thanks, before taking the fabric and dabbing at his eyes.

He didn’t seem much younger than you, perhaps he wasn’t. You didn’t ponder it too much however, chances were that he would die in the dragon pit just like many others. There would be no benefit in cosying up with the others, knowing that after this most of you will likely be dead or have risen too far in station to consider yourself with your lessers.

You cursed yourself and your cynicism often, however, today you proved yourself right. You were clinging to the walls of the dragon’s cave, hoping for dear life he had not seen you. The only light source you had were the flames that had come from Vermithor as he erupted in a fury that made him worthy of his name.

By now he must have devoured nearly all of the bastards that came to try and stake a claim. You pitied all of them, they tried to improve their standing however now all they were were ash and bones. Growls followed by screams were heard in the distance from yourself, perhaps the distance was large enough for you to get out and run, flee, escape, whatever the apt word might be.

An escape would be difficult, were it not for the fact that Vermithor was deeply engrossed in hunting a few people in the opposite direction of where you needed to go. You stalked through his enclosure with practiced ease, you tried to remain calm with your heart pounding in your chest, clouding your hearing and making your breath erratic. You refused to die here, you refused to be a burned corpse or some dragon’s dinner. No, you wanted to be more, so much more.

You wanted to be more than a peasant from Flea Bottom, a silver-haired bastard, a woman, you wanted to be more than all that. You wanted to be more than a dragonseed, more than what your parents doomed you to be. In order to achieve that, you would need to rise to the occasion and escape. With every ounce of strength, willpower, resentment, and fear you had in you, you ran towards the exit.

As you reached the opening you noticed it didn’t lead to solid ground, no grass or rocks to greet you. As you smelled the fresh air you also smelled the unmistakable smell of the sea. A salty fishy smell filled your nostrils and consumed your lungs.

Into the sea you soon jumped, a stupid, reckless idea, but far better than trying to climb down a mountain. All you hoped for was that the Gods would show you mercy and carry you to shore. The sea was cold, colder than you had expected, it took you great power to swim close to shore and drag your body through the sand before collapsing.

Your chest moved up and down in quick succession, desperate for air, as you tried to regain your strength you closed your eyes, letting the happenings of the day pass through your mind.

Sleep tried to claim you, alas, it was to no avail, for soon thereafter a loud roar resonated into the sky causing you to bolt upright from where you laid. A winged creature flew above you. It was large and formidable, you believed it to be even larger than the dragon you had seen in the Dragonstone caves.

The formidable beast’s shadow covered you as it flew over the sun, for as far as your eyes could see the world was now shrouded in darkness, only in the far distance could you see the sun rays touch the ground once more. The roars it let out were bone-chilling, a feeling of dread had washed over you from the moment you rose but now you were rooted to the ground with the fear of death settling in your veins which ironically left you unable to move. You had never imagined your death this way. Where nobles imagined dying in their canopy beds on silken sheets, you would be lucky if you died by a clean cut to your neck.

Now, however, it seemed you would die from this dragon thinking you made a decent hors d'oeuvre, before finding something larger or more plentiful to truly fill its stomach. Gods you really had a most cruel fate.

Once more a deafening roar resounded to the sky, causing your knees to buckle in fear as your hands shot to your ears in a vain attempt to dampen the noise. You kept your eyes locked onto the large figure as it soared through the sky, going higher and then lower, as if taunting you, playing with you, truly regarding you as prey.

In an odd way it frustrated you, standing there, waiting, baiting your breath as to when the dragon finally decided to end you. Anger rose through you more and more the longer this cat and mouse dance continued. Fear became an afterthought as your anger of a futile death overcame you.

“I’m here!” You screamed at the sky “Kill me! I dare you!” If anyone saw you, they’d be regarding you as a madwoman, which admittedly you were. However, it seemed as though no one was there, on this vast beach with waves continuing their cycle of ebb and flow, you were alone. Alone with the dragon. One last attempt you thought as you opened your mouth to scream, yet no sound could come for that very moment the dragon chose to descend onto the ground.

Your frozen feet suddenly could not move any faster, the large dragon got closer as you scrambled to get away, the sand making for incredibly difficult terrain when you want to be quick. One wrong step and you were sent tumbling down, face first in the sand. With the thought of impending death overtaking your mind, you found the tiniest bit of energy to turn around. In doing so, you were facing the dragon as it descended, shielding your eyes as sand was blown in all directions from the beating of the wings. A loud thud echoed on the empty beach as the beast finally stood on solid ground, its large body covered you in shadow.

Its snout was so close to your face, you could feel the puffs of hot breath. Bright, emerald green eyes were in stark contrast to the pitch black of its scales. The dragon was magnificent as it was terrifying, you gulped and took rapid breaths. Panic had settled in now, panic, fear, and anger, none were a pretty feeling. One of your hands went up to clutch your new necklace as you closed your eyes.

Waiting for the inevitable.

On a distant dune stood a smaller dragon, much smaller than the one hovering over the young woman. Upon that small dragon, with scales of olive green and wings decorated with a pale orange, sat the young prince, a spyglass held to one of his eyes as he witnessed the scene.

A part of him felt a great sense of pity for the woman. She looked young, perhaps around his age, and she had showed great courage in fleeing from Vermithor. A pity she would die so soon, yet at the same time. A bastard less or more would not make any difference

He closed his spyglass and pocketed it inside his tunic. There was no need to watch the scene unfold, he thought. He buckled his saddle tighter and spoke to his dragon, “sōvēs Vermax.”

#house of the dragon #jacaerys valeryon #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #hotd jacaerys #jace targaryen #jace velaryon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen

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ckret2 · 2 months ago

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Chapter 70 of human Bill Cipher pretending he's not the Mystery Shack's captive for ten minutes:

This happens!

Whoops, sorry, zoomed too far in.

This happens!

Way more important and exciting.

####

Bill lasted—based on the sun's position—about a couple of hours before this body's needs knocked him out of his meditative mindset. He sat up with a sigh, checked his tanlines—the stripes he'd drawn across his abdomen were already darkening into a nice, angry burn—and glanced over at the lake to see what the Pines were up to.

At the moment, Mabel was holding a foot-long wiggling, glittery, gold-scaled trout in a net and grinning proudly. Stan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pointed at her in excitement as Dipper snapped a picture of them. Stan opened a cooler for her to drop the fish in. Mabel's face fell, and she hugged the fish protectively. Stan's shoulders sagged; but after half a minute of unsuccessful negotiations, he relented and pointed at the lake. She dumped the trout back in the water.

Bill clicked his tongue in disappointment and muttered, "If I'd thought they'd catch the golden trout, I would've told 'em that thing's like the holy grail to the Fishmasons." Stan probably would have insisted they keep it just so they could get something on Eugene. Bill wasn't emotionally invested in their feud; but the trout did grant three wishes. Bill could use that kind of power.

Oh well, he could tell them later. Maybe they'd get lucky and hook it again. Bill got to his feet. "Hey, old lady. I need to stretch my legs." Stretch his legs, look for entertainment, and forage for food—they were planning to be out here all day, but there hadn't yet been a grocery trip to properly stock his new fridge chest and he didn't trust Ford's nutrition pills, so he'd only brought along a bottle of hot sauce and a bottle of sprinkles and hoped he'd manage to find some food once he was here. (And if he didn't find any—well, at least he had hot sauce and sprinkles.)

"Okay," Abuelita said. She turned a page.

He put his slippers back on, dug his condiments and eye patch out of Abuelita's bag—his eyes were getting tired—put on the patch, and scanned the beach. "Hey. Looks like somebody's grilling hot dogs over there."

Abuelita made a noncommital sound of minimal interest.

"Hot dog might be nice," he said. "Looks like the grill's a biiit over thirty feet away, though..."

"Okay," Abuelita said again.

"So." He waved his braceleted hand demonstratively. "Shall we?"

"Eh. I don't want a hot dog." She slid the enchanted bracelet off and dropped it in the sand.

Bill stared at the bracelet, then stared at her. "What, that—really? You're just... really?"

"What am I, a cop?"

Good enough for him. "You're all right, lady." He wrapped the extra thread around his wrist, put on the second bracelet, and glanced at the Stanowar again to make sure the Pines weren't about to catch him off his leash.

The family was crowded around watching as Ford reeled in something heavy. He grinned excitedly as the hook dragged up a patch of soggy khaki fabric; and his smile vanished when his coat grabbed the boat with a furry hand. As the family scrambled to the far end of the boat, Bigfoot—wearing Ford's lost coat and a full set of scuba gear—climbed aboard the boat.

Ford punched Bigfoot in the face.

"Oh," Bill said. "Bigflipper. That'll keep 'em distracted for a while." Satisfied, he meandered up the beach.

He plastered on a bright smile as he approached the family with the hot dogs, veered around the husband working the grill, and walked right up to the wife sitting on a beach towel, eating a hot dog, and watching her kids play in the water. "Heeey, Wanda! What are you doing here! Look at you, you look terrific!"

The woman looked up at Bill from under her sunhat in bafflement. "I—hi? Sorry, do I...?"

"Sure, it's Goldie! Washington State! Fifteen years ago! We were in the same study group, remember? East Asian history? Honestly all I remember about the class is the other girls and that fifty percent of it was about Confucianism."

Wanda's eyes lit up, and then un-lit as she realized she still didn't recognize Bill. "Oh—heeey! Wow—sorry, guess I've slept since then."

"Don't worry about it, I'm just good with faces. Anyway, from what I remember," he jabbed a thumb toward the man at the grill, "at the time most of your attention was on Danny."

Wanda laughed again, a little more easily. "Right, god. I can't believe I made it through that semester with passing grades."

"Hey, you were still the only one in the group who could remember what order all those dynasties came in..."

Bill kept Wanda distracted for another couple of minutes with small talk about the study sessions he'd spied on out of boredom from a library stained glass window; and then, when he saw one hot dog had been set aside fully grilled and mustarded but as-yet unclaimed, he said, "But hey, I won't distract you anymore! Those kids look like a handful." While both parents turned to look at the kids, Bill snatched up the unclaimed hot dog, strolled down the beach, and called back, "It was good catching up!" That whole performance probably hadn't been necessary, he might've been able to time his loitering to swing by just as the hot dog was left unguarded; but it had been more fun this way. He didn't get to have a lot of conversations these days. Less where he felt like he was the one in control of the conversation.

He soaked the bun in hot sauce, dumped some sprinkles on the mustard, and took a bite while he glanced out at the lake again to see how the Pines were doing.

At the moment, Ford had Bigfoot in a chokehold from behind. Stan hit him with a right hook. Bigfoot kicked Stan in the chest with one immense flippered foot, and he tumbled backward into the lake.

Looked like none of them would be paying attention to anything on the beach any time soon. No need to go straight back to his cell. He scanned the rows of beachgoers sitting out by the lake, looking for fresh entertainment.

Bill's gaze fixed on one of the humans. One of these things is not like the others, one of these things doesn't belong. Amongst all the tourists in their swimsuits, one man—standing ramrod straight, dressed in a black suit, holding a heavy black device with an antenna—stuck out like a sore pale thumb in a pitch black bandaid.

An agent from the Bureau of Covert Investigations. The "eagles." The same guys that had covered up President Quentin Trembley's existence, a brief sightseeing trip Bill had taken to Roswell via nuclear testing-induced dimensional rip, and the miraculous and disgusting resurrection of cult leader/possession puppet Silas Birchtree; and, the guys that had been trying to find Bill's portal in Gravity Falls since they'd detected it in the '80s. Bill wasn't the eagles' biggest fan.

But they'd never been a big enough potential threat or a big enough potential help for him to intervene in their operations. In the mid '80s, when the lead investigator in Gravity Falls had been putting together his case, Bill had considered pulling some strings and manipulating them into taking over the portal from Stanley, before concluding they'd be more likely to disassemble the portal than activate it and it was better off in Stan's clumsy care. But all the same, he'd kept watch over their operations.

And this, if he wasn't mistaken, was the lead investigator himself. Agent Powers. What was he doing here? Bill had thought the case was closed last year after Ford wiped their memories and sent them packing. Maybe Powers was here about Trembley? Depending on what the Pines had entered into the memory gun, the eagles might still remember that part of their operations in town.

Bill would kinda like to know where Trembley was these days. He studied the agent as he slowly finished his hot dog; and then he moved in.

"Hey there, agent!" Bill clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him start, and beamed brightly. "Welcome to town! What brings you to Gravity Falls?"

"Pardon?" Agent Powers gave Bill an appraising up-and-down look—threat assessment, probably—caught sight of his bikini top, and quickly looked him in the eye. "How did you know I'm an agent?"

"Oh, that's easy! I'm psychic."

Powers opened his mouth, paused, and then squinted skeptically at Bill.

"Just kidding. You've got an earpiece, a business suit at the beach, and the government's favorite car."

"Oh." Powers turned to glance toward where he'd parked. "Yes. I suppose so."

"Say! If you want a more covert vehicle, you oughta go to Gleeful Auto in town. You'll blend right in. Just tell 'em Mr. Locke sent you."

"Who's Mr. Locke?"

Right, Bill supposed he didn't look like much of a "Mr." at the moment. Humans didn't consider bikinis gender neutral for some reason. He took a split second to decide whether he'd get any practical benefits from trying to push past the agent's initial perception of his gender, and couldn't think of any. "Friend of mine!"

"Ah." Powers nervously looked Bill up and down again; then cleared his throat and glanced away, cheeks flushed faintly pink in the heat. "Right. Thank you, uh, citizen."

"No problem!" If Bill remembered his suits right, this agent was an easy target. Believed in "collaborating" with "local informants"; wasn't very good at the covert part of the Bureau of Covert Investigations. "You don't look like you're in town on vacation! Investigating anything interesting at the lake?"

"Well..." Powers flashed Bill a quick sideways glance before nodding vaguely toward a couple of people in dive suits further up the beach. "If you must know, we've picked up some evidence of the lake recently flooding its banks. Which is strange, because the amount of rain this area's received can't account for how high the water climbed..."

Not here about Trembley, then? "Flooding? Think there's any danger, agent? In our quiet, harmless little town?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Powers said quickly. "But, I've said too much. I should go." He shifted his footing anxiously. He did not go.

What was that about? Bill glanced down at himself; he still looked perfectly human, didn't see anything that should make a government agent nervous. Was it the lack of shaving? Was that too Seventies Feminist for Mr. Government Suit? Was the eyepatch setting off his secret agent "Soviet supervillain in a spy movie" instincts? He couldn't have noticed Bill stealing a hot dog.

Should Bill press his luck? (Stupid question—of course he should.) "Say, you keep giving me these odd looks, agent! Anything you wanna say?"

His pink cheeks flushed darker. "Er, no, no ma'am. It's just, I uh..." He gestured vaguely toward Bill, "I... couldn't help but notice that your... sunscreen is a bit streaky."

Bill glanced down at his tan lines. Streaky? He thought the burn lines were coming out pretty crisp.

The agent went on, "I was wondering if you needed help applying it more evenly." It took a split second for him to realize what he'd just said; and then he went even redder.

Bill raised his brows. Huh. "Nooo, I'm great, thanks. It's supposed to look like that."

"Oh." Powers's brow furrowed in confusion. "All right." He nodded. "In that case, I really should be going, then."

"All right!"

But Powers hesitated again for a moment before finally moving up the beach away from Bill.

Well. Interesting. Interesting reaction.

He checked on the Stanowar again to make sure the Pines hadn't seen anything. At the moment—he squinted—they seemed to be playing poker with Bigfoot. He must not have liked Mabel's playing (unsurprising; she was an incorrigible cheat), because he picked her up and chucked her in the lake.

"She's fine," Bill muttered. "She's got her life jacket." They were good about that in this town.

He watched as Powers met up with the divers farther along the beach; and then he headed back to his towel.

####

Bill had decided his front was sufficiently roasted and was struggling to apply new sunscreen stripes to his back so he could flip over, when he overheard somebody say, "Oh hey, Toga Lady?"

Bill twisted around, already grinning in greeting before he'd even seen who was talking to him. "Heya!" It was Broken Heart and two of the others. Wendy's gang. Robbie, Tambry, and Nate. "What are you guys doing out here! You don't look like the beach types!" (In deference to the environment, all three of them had donned swim trunks and sandals; but that was as beachy as they'd gotten. Nate and Tambry were in black t-shirts advertising metal bands. Robbie was still in his hoodie. Robbie's legs nearly glowed white.)

"Hanging," Tambry said, one arm around Robbie's back and face glued to her phone.

Nate elbowed Robbie. "Dude, he's Toga Guy, remember?"

"Toga 'Lad' would be better," Tambry said.

"You sure?" Robbie asked. "Sh—he's kinda..." He gestured vaguely toward his own chest, realized that probably wasn't the best way to make his point, and finished, "uh... bikini."

"I don't want to spend my day arguing about whether I've got the right to go topless!" Bill got to his feet and planted his hands on his hips. "I could talk my way out of trouble with the police—it's the tourist parents I'm worried about." He pulled up one strap to examine his shoulder. "It's gonna ruin my tan, though."

They took in his tan in progress: several horizontal lines across his lower torso and upper thighs, a few disconnects vertical lines stretched between the horizontal ones. Tambry glanced up from her phone, snorted, and started typing faster; Nate said, "Dude, are you trying to make bricks like the triangle guy?"

Bill froze, mouth open. "Uhhh..." Sure, that was the objective—he just hadn't really expected humans to find it that obvious. Nosy little pattern-seekers. "I mean—"

"That's cool," Tambry said. "Stick it to the man."

Robbie had screwed up his face a bit, but at Tambry's reaction, he shrug-nodded and conceded, "Yeah, it's kinda punk, I guess."

Nate said, "Praise Bill or whatever, right?" He laughed. "Yeah, I thought about getting a tattoo of him. Up here or something?" He pushed a sleeve up above the snake tattoo wrapped around his left bicep to show the blank spot on his shoulder. "But my parents would flip if they ever found out. Maybe I should do the brick thing too, it's way subtler." Nate turned to the other two, lifted up his shirt, and said, "Hey Tambers, do you think I'd look cool with bricks around my waist?"

She didn't look up. "No."

"What if I got an eye on my chest too?"

"Let me think. No."

Bill watched this back and forth with wide-eyed stunned silence. Hold on. What? Praise Bill?

"Pfff, whatever!" Robbie rolled his eyes. "Hey, you're gonna regret getting a Bill tattoo once I get my sick symbol off the anti-Bill circle. It's like... giving me a permanent rock-paper-scissors win against you. For the rest of time."

Nate laughed. "Shut up, whatever man! The circle didn't even do anything."

"It would have! It was, like, glowing!"

"Heeey!" Bill stepped into the trio's line of sight again. "Right, yeah, praise Bill, by the way any of you wanna help me get my back?" He turned around to gesture over his shoulder. "Little favor between punk weirdos?"

"Yeah, sure." Tambry tucked her phone into Robbie's hoodie pocket and held out her hand for the tube of sunscreen. "Just continue the lines around your back?"

"You got it." Bill lifted his arms. "And try to keep the bricks evenly spaced."

"What is this stuff? Some kind of suntan lotion?"

"It's more like anti-sunscreen," Bill said. "By the way, you probably wanna wash your hands after this unless you want sunburned fingers." He wiggled his own fingers, which were faintly flushed from applying the first layer of sunscreen that morning.

"Hey, anti-sunscreen," Nate said, "you could call that, uh... sun-beam." He paused. "No wait, that's already a word."

Robbie laughed. "You're an idiot."

"Sooo," Bill said. "Is the triangle guy cool now? Not—not asking for any particular reason. Just curious."

"Oh, yeah," Tambry said. "Like half the school's decided he's our crazy anti-authoritarian counterculture chaos god now?" (Bill was adding that to his business card.)

Robbie said, "Somebody set up a shrine to him in a hollow tree stump behind the school. People started making animal sacrifices to him during finals week."

Nate said, "It's chicken nuggets and cafeteria tacos, but. Y'know. We didn't say live animals."

"Huh! Interesting!" Bill tried, unsuccessfully, not to sound too excited. He was hip with the youth. Who'd imagined! This was what he got for hanging out with the town's cops and politicans, he could've been exploiting this for a month. "But I think he prefers receiving gold!"

Nate laughed. "Dude, I'd prefer receiving gold, too. What we have is chicken nuggets and tacos."

"Fair enough," Bill shrugged. "By the way—if you want a Bill tattoo? The traditional style is to shave your hair and get his eye above your forehead, right here!" He tapped his skull over his brain's frontal eye fields. "It tells him right where to enter."

"Oh, sweet! That's perfect," Nate said. "I can shave, get a tattoo, and just keep my hat on until my hair grows back. No one will ever know!" (Bill tried to imagine hair growing out of his eyeball, and wished he hadn't.)

Robbie said, "Hey, weren't the Pines like... not letting you go outside because you knew him or something? That's what Wendy said."

That wasn't the story he'd told her. He'd have to find out where she'd picked that up. "Or something. It was more because of dumb academic ego-measuring contests than anything to do with that."

"So, they finally letting you outside alone now?"

"Only for group trips." Bill pointed out at the lake.

The three teens squinted toward the boat. "Whoa," Tambry said. "Are they arm-wrestling Bigfoot?"

"Oh, yeah. It was poker earlier."

For a moment, all activity ceased as the teens watched the battle out on the lake. Nate sat in the sand and propped his chin in his hand. Figuring Tambry was done with his stripes, Bill plopped onto his beach towel to watch as well.

Bigfoot defeated Stan, and Soos switched places with him to try next. Soos lasted five seconds before Bigfoot flipped him into the water. Melody scrambled to help pull him back aboard as Bigfoot pumped his fists in the air victoriously. Bill snorted.

"Bad luck," Robbie said.

"I could beat him," Nate said. "Hey Robbie, think I could beat him?"

"Pfff, no."

"Bet Wendy could," Tambry said, recording through her phone as Bigfoot generously indulged Dipper and Mabel's attempt to take him on as a team. The guys murmured vague agreement with Tambry.

"Buuut anyway," Bill said, reluctant to let the conversation get too far away from himself, "yeah, I might've talked to the triangle guy a couple, several times."

"That's pretty cool," Nate said. "Hey, we oughta hang sometime, I bet Lee'd wanna hear about that. It'd probably drive Wendy crazy, but..."

Tambry let out a dismissive pff. "The triangle stuff's been driving Wendy crazy all year. She can take it."

"Not a fan?" Bill asked.

"Nah, she thinks the whole thing's creepy. Her and Thompson both."

"I think the whole cult thing's fine," Robbie said magnanimously. "As, y'know, one of the people prophesied to defeat him. If he ever really came back and caused trouble, we could handle it."

Bill tried not to roll his eye. Bold words out of a guy who, a couple of years ago, had left a plate of spaghetti in the woods to see if an "evil triangle" urban legend was true, and had thrown up when Bill dragged him into a dream state to show him just how true it was.

On Earth, urban legends about Bill tended to pop up and wither away in waves around the epicenter of his latest area of influence—like mushroom rings spreading away from a patch of ground they'd depleted of useful nutrients and left to die. Bill suspected the local urban legend Robbie had stumbled upon had been passed down in Gravity Falls for thirty years by teens misinterpreting Old Man McGucket's crazy ramblings about a "demon triangle" and "spaghettification."

He was always torn on whether to encourage or quash such urban legends: on the one hand, it was handy for humans to know he existed and was available for deals; but much less handy when they warned each other away from him. More than once, knowledge of him had nearly broken into the mainstream, and he'd had to put all his other plans on hold to focus on deflecting the whistleblowers' information into obscurity.

Apparently encouraging the spaghetti one had been the right move, if a year after his brief conquest of Gravity Falls the teens were offering him sacrifices rather than cursing his name.

Nate punched Robbie's arm. "Why would he cause us trouble? He's our chaos god, remember? We've given him offerings!"

"I like that attitude," Bill said. "Hanging out sounds fun! We'll... figure something out sometime." As soon as he found a way to make the Pines let him go outside without being surrounded by babysitters. Wouldn't that be humiliating, a full adult hanging out with teenagers and it's the adult who isn't allowed outside without a chaperone. No, that wasn't an option. If he came with an adult attached, they'd ditch him in a heartbeat for being too much of a drag.

The teens made their farewells and headed down the beach, Tambry and Robbie with their arms around each other again. Tambry wiped the anti-sunscreen off her hand onto the back of Robbie's hoodie.

As they went, they walked past Agent Powers—who was looking right at Bill.

Bill stared. The agent quickly looked away.

He didn't like that one bit. As he adjusted his position to lay face down on his towel, he said, "Hey, Dolores. You get the feeling we're being watched?"

"Hm?" Abuelita glanced up from her book toward Bill, then looked where he was looking. "Government." She made a disapproving noise and turned back to her book. "Nothing but trouble."

"You said it." Why was Powers so focused on Bill. He couldn't possibly be in any kind of trouble, he hadn't even existed until a month ago. And the eagles probably didn't know that, did they?

Nothing Bill could do about it in the middle of a beach trip. He propped his chin in his hand and checked on the fishing crew again.

In a fury, Bigfoot had ripped the motor off the back of the boat and lifted it over his head. The Pines family huddled together at the other end of the boat, trying to shield their heads.

A golden trout jumped out of the water, arced majestically through the air, and smacked Bigfoot in the face. Bigfoot stumbled backward and tripped out of the boat.

Hm. Maybe letting the trout go had been the right move. Bill shut his eyes and lay back down.

####

The sun was low and most of the beachgoers had gone home when the Stanowar chugged back to shore, battle-weary, disheveled, and dissatisfied. Except for Ford, who was wearing his sopping wet coat over his waders, holding one boot, and pleased as punch.

"Hey!" Bill shouted. "How'd it go!" He surreptitiously tossed half the bracelet over to Abuelita. She quietly slid it on.

Crankily, Stan yelled from the dock, "You didn't mention Bigfoot in a scuba tank!"

Bill shouted back, "Bigflipper wasn't there when I looked! What, did you expect me to check the entire spacetime continuum to find you the perfect fishing?!"

Faintly, he could hear Ford say, "See, I told you his proper name is Bigflipper."

Mabel repeatedly poked Dipper in the arm as they crossed the beach. Dipper flinched each time. "Ow, ow—Mabel. Cut it out."

"That's what you get for forgetting your sunscreen, bro-bro!"

Dipper's arms and face were bright red with a sunburn. "I didn't forget! I put it on at the beach, right before we left!"

Bill grabbed up Abuelita's empty water bottles and tossed them in the nearest trash can, along with the rest of his tube of anti-sunscreen before anyone could get a good look at it. He ignored the kids and said to Stan, "But it was a good fishing spot, right?"

Stan grumbled, but grudgingly admitted, "Yeah. Until tall, brown, and hairy showed up. We caught four fish! That's gotta be at least as good as the guys from the lodge, right?"

Bill winced. "Ooh. Sorry, they went by an hour ago with eleven fish."

Stan let out a roar of outrage and threw his fishing rod in the sand.

"Grunkle Stan, you don't go fishing to catch fish," Mabel said. "You go fishing to catch memories! Look at this!" She held up a bunch of photos. "This is a whole scrapbook spread right here! We caught sooo many memories."

"And my coat," Ford said. He was admiring his #1 Grunkle pen, which he'd taken from the coat pocket.

"I'd rather have fish," Stan grumbled. "All right, c'mon. Let's get..." He trailed off, looking past Bill. "Hey, is that...?"

Bill glanced back over his shoulder, and grimaced. Agent Powers and his protégé were watching them from the far end of the beach. Bill quickly turned back around. "Yep. Your old friends from last summer," he said. "They've been scoping out the beach all day. I don't know what they're here for—but you probably wanna get out of here." More importantly, Bill wanted to get out of here—but he didn't see any benefit to letting them know he was nervous.

"He's right," Ford said. "If they see us long enough to recognize us—and his memories start coming back..."

"Who are they?" Melody asked.

Soos whispered loudly, "I'll explain it in the car." Bill bit back the need to point out that whispering didn't make a difference as far away as the agents were.

"I don't get it," Stan said. "What are they doing back here?"

"You wanna go ask him?" Bill asked. Stan grimaced.

The Pines and Ramirez families piled back in their vehicles and headed out. Bill had the uneasy feeling that Agent Powers was focused on the Ramirez's truck as they left.

####

(How long have I been promising the Agent Powers plot, since like the May before last or something? Here it is!!

Next week, either we launch straight into the Powers plot, or I finally have the Axolotl chapters (it's chapters plural now) sufficiently edited and we do that first, because once we start the Powers plot there's no place for a break until it's over. Hopefully the Axolotl chapters will finally be ready by next Friday, but if they're not...... tough. It's fine though, you'll live.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #agent powers #(also half of wendy's gang features prominently! but they're not in the illustration so i'm not listing them)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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vampiricgf · 3 months ago

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Because I love you enough to turn around

(I will never turn from you)

leon kennedy x f reader

wc: 1k +

warnings : alcoholism, self guilt, self shame, mention of a noose as imagery, angst into like hurt comfort sort of thing

sorry im sick n also been thinking heavily about orpheus and eurydice and what it means to love someone enough to turn around (promise it's not all angst but it's pretty heavy on it)

You're in that twilight space between sleep and wakefulness when the door opens. There's no need to startle because you already know who it is, know from the heavy footfalls that make a particularly loose board on the floor groan as he slips off his boots. Know from the softer padding you catch turning the left hand edge, into the bathroom and just as you think it you hear the light click on.

Not every day can be a good day.

It's what circles around and around in your mind as you catch the sound of the taps squeaking on, the sink running at full blast. At least he has the decency to not climb into bed with you reeking of whiskey and possible bile. But you don't resent him for it.

You've never resented him for anything. Never begrudged him anything. Not the constant distance, the secrecy, the occasional white lie you knew was for your own comfort so you never told him you knew he was lying. Never asked him about details, never pressed him, never let yourself get so overwhelmed you dissolve into hysterics no matter how many times you felt yourself reaching that point.

And you don't do any of that now, as you feel the mattress dip with the additional weight and feel him staring at your back. You'd forgotten you put on one of his old t shirts, just to comfort yourself against the uncertainty of if he'd be back before the sun, aggressive and ever constant, demanded you get up and face another day.

Being with Leon was like being stranded on a sheet of ice. Uncertain of its thickness, if it could handle any fluctuation in weight or pressure. Terrified of every crack and fissure that threatened to spread, to send the portion you found yourself on plunging into subzero depths that would stop your lungs and squeeze like a vice grip over your heart.

But it was exhausting to constantly monitor for those hairline fractures, to be the loving partner while wishing you could just grab his shoulders and scream in his face about how desperately you needed him to get his shit together. But you'd never do that, know he doesn't need it from you of all people.

But you don't turn around. You don't give any indication that you're awake and aware and grieving like some old war widow for the millionth time in your short life for a man that still has breath in his body.

Not even as his fingers run down your bicep, hesitant as if he's touching spun sugar that threatens to melt with the slightest heat.

"I know you're awake."

You don't respond, let the silence hang heavy and imposing as a noose from a solitary beam, but you do turn then to finally take him in. And fresh chips are dug out of your own heart as you do, a proverbial ice pick gradually working to cleave you in half.

God has he always looked so tired?

"You should get some sleep," your hushed voice sounds flat, even to your own ears and you hope he doesn't take it as cruelty when it's not. It's a kind of bone deep, spiritual exhaustion. An unspoken wish for a rest so deep the entire world could collapse around you and you would be none the wiser, uncaring as the sky above and just as unseeing.

"I'm sorry." He says it to no one in particular as he turns away from you, stripping off socks and pants.

As you turn back over your eyes burn in the dark, like someone stuck two searing hot coals into the sockets and you bite your bottom lip hard enough to feel a sting. It's good, it's grounding. You shouldn't cry, not like this, not now. Just another burden added to the lump sum is all it would be.

So you don't, you level your breathing as best you can as you feel him climb back into bed fully this time, tentatively putting a hand on your hip as his chest presses against your back. He touches you like he's afraid.

And you're powerless against the way that one single touch acts as a battering ram, destroying the hurriedly constructed emotional dam in a spectacular splintering of wood, and you feel yourself start to tremble. The moisture from your nose is the next signal of disaster, the sign that there is no undoing what has just occurred. And your eyes are suddenly full of all the water in the world, as if you've drunk dry every sea and river on earth only to refill them from yourself.

It feels more like watching someone else weep and sniffle as if their life depends on it, being the unattached observer before turning away, hand over the mouth to hide the shape of words. Glad it isn't me.

But it is.

His arm comes around you, tightening up as he presses his own face against the back of your neck. And the tears flow ever faster, spurred by the shame of being the emotional one. The one that can't help but be naked in their weakness.

You don't move to shift him away, don't move to get up or hurry to the bathroom. You simply can't be bothered. If nothing else he can witness your grief, and there is a strange sort of comfort in that.

You could wail, berate him about breaking his promises of things being different, being better but what's the point of shooting at something that's already dead?

And it's then that you feel it: wetness spotting against the skin of your neck, rolling down your back before being absorbed by the well worn cotton. You feel it and you turn and your heart breaks again seeing his blue eyes twinged in red, one of the many different shades regret dresses itself in. Your reflection is drowning in saltwater, as if trapped in the sea with no hope of rescue.

So you cling to him, arms around his neck and fingers lacing a crown as you hold each other and you cry as if it might be endless. As if all that might exist for eternity is this: the longing and the waiting and the grieving and the sobbing. But in his embrace there is a hope, a small light that peeks through the cracks, so faint you could almost swear you imagined it.

He doesn't smell like liquor.

And for some reason it makes you sob harder, like you're trying to form the shrieking gale force winds of a hurricane from one small human vocal chord.

"I got hung up when we got back, I tried calling- figured you were asleep." His voice is a fragile thing, shaking as a newborn foal on its unfamiliar feet.

For all that you don't begrudge him neither does he towards you. He can't muster up indignation that you doubted him, not when recently he's given you no reason to believe in him. He knows the biting amber liquid is both a crutch and a dog collar with inward facing spikes. Hasn't ever been able to trace the exact point when he stopped seeking comfort in you and instead sought it in sticky bar tops and grimy shot glasses, a flask snuck into a jacket pocket. But it hardly matters when the damage is done.

He spends every day choking on each word he can't say to you. Each time he comes home like a stray that got in a fight to collapse on your doorstep, it bulges and sticks fast in his throat. Every time you cradle his jaw with your fingertips and clean blood from some fresh wound his esophagus caves in on itself. Every time your eyes get unfocused as they linger on his drunken form before you turn away he feels more of the paint peeling off himself.

All of you has felt so out of focus. So he clings to you now, squeezing your body against his like he might be able to absorb you into himself, tuck you away for eternal safekeeping, if he just tries hard enough. Like if he presses his lips to your cheeks, nose, forehead, again and again you'll gain more opacity with each one, be returned to flesh and blood like a princess turned to stone in a story. Awakened by true loves kiss.

So he kisses you, over and over and over. With each pass of his lips you seem to reanimate, hands fliting around his body like you can't decide where they belong, can't decide what part of him to touch or if you should touch all of him. His own drag the worn out shirt over your head, bare your body to his stinging eyes and it's like a salve for all the wounds that still feel like they're split open and oozing all over the floor.

Your kiss tastes of salt and of pain and of loss and of guilt. He wishes he could unhinge his jaw like a snake, swallow all of that ugliness in one pass and leave you as pristine as you were in the beginning. Before he ruined you. Turned you into a hollowed out city, teetering on the edge of uninhabitable.

But renewal, rebuilding, it's all possible. Crumbling structures can be fixed without ripping down the entire framework. They do it every day, how many does he drive past at any given time?

So his lips carve a tender path down the column of your throat until he's hovering over your heart, placing a kiss so chaste against the skin of your chest it's almost religious. You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him still, hold him in just that perfect space above the thundering muscle echoing in his ear as it presses against your warm body.

Not since he was a child has anyone held him so firmly, so tenderly. Not that he would even allow it anyway, not from anyone outside of you. You were the first taste of softness. The first time you whispered that it wasn't selfish to want to be held he felt the fault lines erupting inside himself. It wasn't brave or righteous to continually deny himself or to self flagellate through every word and action, it was nothing but one continual act of self desecration.

But you poured all your love into an empty man, made him whole again and watched as he wasted it. Fresh tears pooled between your breasts, dislodged to drip down your ribs with every breath. He could cry for eternity and it would still never properly express the depth of his shame. Shaking fingers crawl spider like up your sides as he struggles to keep a firm hand on his own breathing, not give into the temptation of rapid, lightheaded madness.

Your fingers marking light trails through his hair soothe him, like calming a thrashing rabbit kicking against its cage. Slowly he can hear his own heart falling into sync with yours, his own chest expanding and sinking in time with yours.

It feels like maybe the world has stopped, stopped and fallen away and all that's left is this room and the two of you. One eternal embrace, stretching out across time like summer saltwater taffy.

And he swears a new promise, whispering against your skin like he could brand the words there forevermore.

I won't waste it.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil angst #leon s kennedy x you

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13uswntimagines · 10 months ago

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Spiral (Alessia Russo X MMA!R)

Request: Could you maybe do something where less isn’t around to help r through something and r is spiraling more and more while needing someone to bring her back. One of Alessia's teammates has to kind of shout at r and tell her to kneel or something for her to be grounded featuring Mary (and Lucy slightly)

Part of The come Down universe

Warming: D/s elements. Blood and violence (mentioned but nothing graphic- R punches a wall several times).

It was easy for people to believe that you had an easy life, filled with nothing more than champagne problems and affluenza.

All they saw were the press conferences and interviews after fights where you were riding high on your success. They didn’t see the weeks where you trained upwards of 18 hours a day and ate so strictly that even your water content was measured.

They didn’t see how difficult it was to balance your career and Alessia’s, and the weeks you sometimes went apart.

They didn’t see the nagging injuries that followed you like old ghosts.

And they thought the 1% of your life they saw was enough context for them to make assumptions about the rest of your life, including your relationship with your girlfriend.

You had never been big on social media, but that didn’t mean you were entirely shielded from it.

Especially not when the date for your title fight against Justin Gathje was announced.

Dana wanted you to hype the fight, to make a comment about how wild Justin was in the cage, and how your far more technical style would be a good match.

And you thought the spare moments you had sitting in Alessia’s national team cubby while she did her final lap around Wembley for the fans was the perfect moment.

But as you flicked through your Twitter app, you, realized very quickly that it was a terrible idea.

Justin had already commented on the fight and accompanied his post with pictures of you in the stands a Wembley dressed in your girlfriend's jersey and one of him sweating in the gym.

I think a championship contender should at least be putting in the work instead of fucking off with a bitch who deserves better. #gonnasilencethegolddigger

You knew that it was a stupid post. It made no sense because the fight was 20 weeks away, and starting training camp now, three days post-fight, would only lead to burnout and injuries.

You knew that it was completely untrue considering you had met Alessia at UNC where you had a nice wrestling scholarship and she had a soccer one. There had been no gold to dig.

But that didn’t stop the general public from hopping on the hate train.

There were thousands of replies, and mentions and posts clogging your feed about how undeserving you were.

About how awful of a fighter you were.

About how Alessia deserved someone who could support her.

But it wasn’t the comments from the general public that bothered you.

It was the ones from her former teammates that dug into your brain and stuck.

Her own family didn’t want her so much they shipped her off to America, so it’s sad she’s dragged a stand-up baller like Lessie into her mess. She didn’t deserve her state championship either. #alwaysridingcoattails.

Her own family didn’t want her

Dragged Lessie into her mess

The words burned into your mind, so you saw them every time you closed your eyes, getting more and more bold each time the number of interactions went up.

1000

15,000

300,000

2,000,000

You launched your phone across the room, uncaring how it smashed into a million pieces on the stone like it would smash the image on the screen.

Like it would shatter the tweet and the shots coming from people who had never met you.

Like it would change how right they were.

You breathed in deeply, trying to quell the growing ache in your chest and soothe the feelings bubbling in your stomach.

Alessia’s scent surrounded you, filling your lungs and coating all of your senses. It was normally like a balm on an open wound or ice for a burn, the remedy to your anxiety and a promise that she was there for you.

That she would always be there.

That promise was part of the reason your relationship took the dynamic it did.

Except this time, her scent didn’t loosen the knot in your chest.

It just reminded you how much you took from her. How much better off she would have been if you had never run into her at UNC.

You shoved yourself out of Alessia’s locker, you didn’t deserve to sit in it and paced the small room.

The walls felt like they were getting closer together, and the air felt too heavy.

You couldn’t breathe.

You needed release.

You paused at the far end of the room, staring at the white concrete.

Your fist hit the cold concrete before you even thought about it, and you relished in the pressure of the hard surface on your exposed knuckles. It was more than when you hit pads, more than when you hit someone else.

It was perfect.

You did it again.

You weren’t enough. You hadn’t been for your parents. You wouldn’t be enough for Alessia either.

Your fist hit the wall again.

That’s what everyone had been saying for months. That’s what your father told you when you tried to make amends.

You could see how right they were.

Stupid worthless

You hit the wall again.

How much better off they would be without you.

“Y/n?”

You didn’t even blink at Ella’s voice.

You weren’t good enough. How could you ever be?

You had been birthed by two drug addicts more interested in their own highs than in raising a child. Your neighborhood MMA gym was the only place you had ever found food and safety. How could you ever be enough for Alessia who had been raised by loving parents? Who didn’t have to scrape and claw for food scraps?

Who didn’t crave the freedom you found in total violence. In the destruction of a human.

In the destruction of herself.

“Y/n stop,”

Hands gripped your shoulder, trying to prevent your arm from moving as you launched it again at the slightly pink wall.

It didn’t work.

Your hand slammed into the wall again.

It wasn’t enough. It didn’t hurt enough to ease the volcano in your chest.

You needed more.

“Y/n please,”

Ella’s voice sounded very close to your ear and stinger arms wrapped around your stomach, trying to force you away.

A guttural sound left your lips as the arms were finally able to pull you away, and Lucy stepped between you and your only solace.

You needed it.

“Calm down,” Mary hissed, her arms tugging you again.

You were too out of it to wonder when she had gotten there.

“Go get Alessia,” Lucy said, looking over your shoulder towards who you assumed was Ella. “Now,”

You fought against the arms restraining you.

Keeping you from the only thing that would make the ripping feeling in your brain go quiet.

The door slammed shut and you were forced back another step by strong arms.

“Y/n you need to relax, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Lucy held her hands up as she took a step towards you like you were a wild animal.

And you supposed you were.

Wild and out of control. Spiraling into oblivion.

Lucy Met Mary’s eyes when you fought harder in the keeper's hold, your eyes wildly flickering as your limbs flailed.

This was well out of their ability to fix.

“We have to do it,” Lucy said, and Mary instantly knew what she meant.

Mary nodded once.

She knew you better than Lucy did, so she knew it had to be her if they wanted it to work.

It was the only thing she could think of to help you.

The thing that Alessia would do for you

They had only seen it happen once.

It was the only time the keeper had seen your dynamic's heavier side. The only time Alessia looked truly dominant, and you looked submissive.

Mary squared her shoulders, drawing up to her full height, picturing in her mind the way Alessia had touched you and the tone that she had used. Soft, but dripping in authority that had shocked Mary.

She tried to remember the words your girlfriend had used, the way her fingers pressed perfectly into your skin to make you melt.

She pulled away from you slightly, drawing her hand from your stomach to land heavily on the space where your shoulder met your neck.

“Y/n,” She said mimicking the sheer dominance that Alessia’s voice held that night. “I think that’s enough darling. Kneel for me,”

You froze.

A shiver ran the full length of your spine at the familiar words, and your shoulders rolled like a physical weight had been added to them.

You blinked as the order filtered through the fog in your brain, registering that though it was familiar, the voice that had given it was not.

Her arm loosened around your middle as all of the fight left you, but she kept the grounding hand on your neck.

You leaned into it, breathing in through your nose and very slowly releasing it through your clenched teeth.

You sagged with each exhale, sinking very slowly until you were kneeling at Mary’s feet.

Your head bowed, and you rested your hands palm up on your knees as another rattling breath left you, pressing back into the hand still on your neck like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away into oblivion.

Mary stood frozen, staring at you as you fixed your posture (Alessia hated it when you slouched) and all of the tension, her eyes darting up to meet Lucy’s.

She hadn’t been sure that it would work. That you would listen to it because she wasn’t Alessia. But now that it had, she wasn’t sure what to do.

She didn’t know what came next, or how to navigate it without crossing your boundaries.

“Good job Y/n,” Lucy said, keeping her voice as soft as Mary’s. “We’re just going to stay here and calm down, alright?”

You let out another shuddering breath, more ripples quaking down your spine, and Mary very gently ran her thumb in circles at the back of your neck, hoping it would help to keep you settled.

She knew it was the touch Alessia always took when you were anxious or nervous, but she was also very much aware that she was not Alessia.

“And then we’ll get one of the trainers to look at your hand after Lessie gets here,” The defender continued, her eyes trained on where your jeans were slowly turning red with the blood from your hand.

“But for now, we’re going to just stay right here,” Mary repeated, letting her thumb graze the nape of your neck.

*******

“Less,” Ella’s voice cut through the sounds of the fans calling for Alessia’s attention, the panic in it drawing the strikers eyes before the midfielder skidded to a stop beside her.

“What’s happened?” Alessia asked, passing the shirt she was signing back to the young girl who had handed it to her.

“Y/n,” Ella panted, her eyes wide, afraid despite the cameras pointed their way. “I’ve never seen her like that,”

Alessia frowned, turning away from the fans and wrapping an arm around Ella’s shoulder to give them some semblance of privacy.

“Seen her like what?” She asked, her tone low with something… darker lingering under the surface.

Ella shook her head, unable to describe it with words. “I need you to come, quickly,”

“Ok,” Alessia agreed, following after the midfielder with little question.

She knew that whatever had happened had to be bad to cause that look. To have Ella say it in front of the fans.

Ella sprinted back towards the tunnel with Alessia on her heels, weaving between equipment people, and players until they reached the locker room.

Leah stood outside the door, directing players to the other showers.

Alessia’s frown deepened. “What’s going on?”

“We thought a smaller audience would be better,” Leah murmured, stepping aside for them. “Looks pretty brutal mate,”

Ella patted her back and she stepped towards the door, steeling herself for whatever was inside as she pressed it open.

Her breath caught in her chest as she took in the scene in front of her.

It looked like something out of a slasher film.

Red covered one of the white stone walls, dripping onto the gray floor in dime-sized circles to where you were sitting. No kneeling between Mary and Lucy, a dark patch forming from where it had soaked into your jeans.

Her jaw clenched at your position.

It was hard for people to understand but kneeling was something… intimate between the two of you. It was a show of the trust that you had for her to take care of you. A way to reinforce the power dynamic in your relationship.

It had taken you a long time to feel comfortable enough to let yourself be vulnerable enough to kneel for her, and she treasured how willing you were now. How you seemed to… crave the position.

For someone else to put you there didn’t sit well with her.

Neither did the way Mary’s hand was holding the back of your neck.

“What happened?” She grit out, her eyes flitting between your form and the two women on your either side.

“we’re not entirely sure. We just caught the tail end,” Mary murmured, her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto your skin.

Your eyes were closed, but Alessia could see the tension in your posture. She could see how on edge you were.

How close you were to subspace.

She snooker her head. “And you thought that this was the solution?”

She wanted to scream at her friends. To give them a lecture about consent and safety and trust (even though you wouldn’t be kneeling for them if you didn’t trust them).

They didn’t know your boundaries. This hadn’t been discussed. What if it went wrong and they didn’t recognize the signs of you passing the point of consent?

She knew you often leaned into the dynamic you shared to calm down. To let go, but she knew your limits. She knew your safe word.

She knew all of the signs to look for, because you craved pain when you felt unstable (a habit that had lingered from your childhood), and you wouldn’t always vocalize your limits.

She worried how far backward you would slip after this.

“It was the only way I could think of to get her to calm down. She wasn’t responding to anything else Less,” Mary explained, her voice very soft and gentle. “I tried to do exactly what you do,”

“We also stayed away from honorifics,” Lucy added. “We knew we were overstepping a bit as it was and didn’t want to push further than we had to,”

Alessia wanted to snort that overstepping was an understatement, but she didn’t.

That wouldn’t help you.

Avoiding honorifics had been a very thoughtful touch.

That would have sent you careening into sub-space, and she doubted either of them could have handled that.

“Alright,” She said, taking a deep breath.

She would need to talk to them later, but right now, her priority was you.

And getting to the bottom of what happened.

Of what changed in the 10 minutes you had been left alone.

She settled herself on the bench, placing her sweatshirt on the ground near her feet to act as a cushion for you, and taking a deep calming breath before she let her eyes fall on you.

“Babygirl,” Her voice came out stern, but not angry, and for the first time, you raised your gaze from the floor to meet hers. “Come here,”

She gestured towards the spot at her feet, and without hesitating, you carefully pulled out of Mary’s grasp and crawled to her.

Her fingers weaved through your hair, and she guided you to rest your cheek on her thigh once you settled on the sweatshirt. “What’s going on sweet one? Talk to me,”

You nuzzled into the soft skin of her leg as her nails dragged against your scalp, trying to remember how to speak.

How to form words that would accurately describe the tearing feeling in your chest.

“Not enough,”

The words were horse as they left your lips, heavy and wet like they had been pulled from the depths of your soul.

Alessia hummed, her nails digging more deeply into your hair. “What’s not enough?”

Your breath rattled in your chest, shaking through you to your core.

At the depths of it, you were not enough.

You would never be enough.

“I’ll go get a doc,” Lucy murmured before you heard the sound of the door.

“What is not enough,” Alessia asked again, more insistent.

“I’m not enough, Miss,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alessia tutted. “We both know that’s not true,”

You groaned.

It was true. The whole internet believed it.

“It is,” You insisted, pulling away from her warm hold to meet her eyes. “Everyone believes it,”

“Who is everyone?” Alessia pressed, staying calm and even. Being your stability.

“I think this has something to do with it,” Mary said, and your eyes snapped to her, where she was holding your demolished phone, the tweets still lighting up the screen.

You had forgotten she was still here.

“What is it?”

Alessia held her free hand out for it, using the other to settle you back against her thigh.

“Bullshit,” Mary answered, passing the phone to your dominant, moving slowly around you, like she was afraid to spook you.

Alessia hummed, flicking through the images on your cracked screen.

The room was silent as she read the words that had set you off, and you let your eyes slide closed, enjoying her closeness.

Enjoying the ability to let go, and trust that she would take care of it.

You ignored the sound of the door opening again, and feet approaching you and Alessia. You didn’t care if people saw you. You knew that she would defend you if you needed it.

“Sweet girl,” Alessia said, fingers tightening in your hair, and you opened your eyes to meet hers over the phone. “Let them look at your hands,”

Your eyes flickered towards the medics, kneeling in front of you, Lucy standing protectively behind them with Mary.

You hummed, slowly lifting your dominant hand and holding it out towards the medic.

He took it gently between his own and began to examine it with a frown.

“I think she needs x-rays,” He said, looking over you towards Alessia who was still scrolling through your feed. “And I can wrap it after that,”

“Alright,” She said, putting your phone down. “We’ll meet you in the training room in just a moment. Can you three give us a second?”

The medic nodded, retreating with Mary and Lucy.

“Take your time,” Mary paused in the doorway. “Me and Luce will get cleaned up and meet you,”

Alessia let out a sound of agreement.

She waited for the door to close before she very gently pulled you up from your knees and into her lap.

You rested your cheek on her chest, tucking your nose into her still-sweaty jersey.

This time her scent didn’t set you on edge. It joined the feeling of her warm arms wrapped around you and her chin on your head, making you feel safe and warm and cared for, even when you didn’t think you deserved it.

“You know all of those tweets are bullshit right?” She asked after your breathing had evened out. “They’re just trying to get under your skin,”

You made a low noise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“You are deserving because you are amazing. You are an incredible fighter, and a good human despite the shit hand you were dealt,” She continued. “I love you, and I will always be here for you. Whether you are the world champion, or we’re eating spam and crackers on my bedroom floor,”

Your eyes slid closed and you buried your face in her chest, your lips lifting just a bit at the mention of your favorite snack from college.

From when you were too broke to afford dinner on the weekends.

It didn’t entirely fix the crumbling feeling that accompanied each beat of your heart, but her words were like a tether holding you to reality.

She had loved you before you were a UFC star and she was England's Star Girl, and she would love you after.

That was all that mattered.

She squeezed you tightly and kissed your head. “Let’s go get your hands fixed and then we can go back to the hotel and watch Love Island before bed, alright?”

You hummed again.

You knew a talk about your coping mechanism, about the wall you had destroyed, would also be included after you had come down.

But you didn’t mind.

You and Alessia would get through it. Together.

#woso imagines #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #the come down universe

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fictioninmyblood · 1 month ago

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Best Birthday Gift

Summary: Terry finally makes his way home just in time for his love’s birthday. Despite starting the day like any other, Y/N gets to end it with the best birthday gift ever.

A/N: I watched Rebel Ridge and it’s my birthday.

Warning: 18+ themes, fluff and angst(y)

Like most years Y/N had spent without Terry, Y/N looked forward to her birthday the same she did any day. She didn’t. It was always for others that she mustered up the energy to celebrate, but with Terry on active duty for the last few years and a swiftly dwindled social pool she hadn’t really had to lately. Now with Mike dead and Terry fighting through who knows what kind of white hell over in Silver Springs she hadn’t found the will to do more than pack and worry. She just kept praying that she would get another call from him soon.

Y/N had been hanging onto life by her bloody fingernails for years. When Terry crashed into her life, she had almost no craving to live. By the time he’d begun training troops, being stationed away from her for longer and longer periods, there wasn’t much she looked forward to each day. Despite finding some joy in becoming a teacher, Y/N still couldn’t help but see the world as it is. For all the serotonin those sweet babies brought her, knowing them brought just as much anxiety and despair. Terry had promised that when he was discharged he would put her on Dr. Richmond’s personal recovery plan. She would get to cook and bake and homemake as much as she wanted while he and Mike towed boats and he would come home to her every night to rub and kiss on her until all she could feel was their love. A traditional dynamic wasn’t popular these days, but with a man like Terry to ease her fears it was exactly what she was looking for.

The last 10 months of careful planning to finally build towards the growing old promises they’d made each other went out the window with one moment. Y/N had been upset to get that call from Mike in jail, the man doing exactly what she’d predicted and warned Terry about plenty of times. No matter how much they loved him, a pattern was a pattern and his kept putting their own plans on hold. He was always getting into trouble and Terry was always bending over backwards to get him out of it but this time had made her livid. She dug into him about it too, threatening that if he tried this shit in Florida he’d have to worry about her being his parole officer. Terry had worked too hard to make it out of the military with his body, mind, and heart intact, she’d be damned if Mike was the reason any part of him broke.

Too bad she couldn’t cuss him out now for doing just that. She loved Mike like family too, looking out for him in her own way while Terry was gone, but she didn’t know how to grieve. For some reason she still felt like all she had to do was wait a few weeks to pop him upside his head. The only thing Terry told her that had fully processed was the fact that he was in danger now. How could someone think about celebrating their birthday when the love of their life could potentially be strung up in the middle of some hick town to never be heard from again? How could she be happy to have her heart beating when a man she called family, no matter how much he made her mad, was dead? She could wait for him to call for a ride off of the prison lot all she wanted, it wasn’t coming ever again.

So she finished packing, ordered some takeout, took a gloriously long hot shower, lotioned, and cuddled up on her blowup bed in one of Terry’s old hoodies. Not many of his clothes still held his scent as strong as before so she only used the ones that did for emergencies or special occasions. Today counted as both.

Not wanting to think about what she spaced out on, Y/N started watching one of Terry’s favorite franchises. She was about 30 minutes into the first movie when her ring doorbell rang on her phone. Not bothering to look at the video feed, she opened the app and spoke into the phone.

“You can just leave it on the porch, thank you.”

“No can do ma’am, there’s some extra here you have to sign for.”

At the sound of his voice, Y/N finally looked at her video feed to see her baby on her porch looking dirty and exhausted but alive. She squealed, quickly kicking off her covers and ran to open the front door. Terry barely sat his backpack on the floor just inside the front door when Y/N launched herself into his arms, her own instantly locking around his neck. She felt the vibration of his soft laughter as he closed her door with his foot and walked to the island to put the food down.

As soon as the food was out of his hands, Terry grasped the underside of her ass where they met her thighs, helping her wrap them around his waist.

“Hi princess,” he said into her hair.

“You made it,” she mumbled back, still caught up in the feel of his arms around her waist and the smell of his irreplaceable scent drenching her senses.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Terry finally pulled back, pecked the tip of her nose, and looked at his lady. He kissed her sweetly until she started to lose her breath and pulled back to look at her when he was done. He kissed her forehead and took in not only her appearance but also the room. Spotting her makeshift cocoon he sat her on the island and rushed over to his backpack, bringing it with him. Y/N let her legs swing as she watched her man pull a pint of her favorite ice cream out his bag to put directly in the freezer along with a card and mini balloon.

She hadn’t meant to but she went from smiling to full out sobs in seconds as she watched Terry walk towards her with his small offering. It scared the crap out of Terry to see his princess fighting so hard to regulate her emotions and losing.

“Please don’t cry princess, it’s not even that much.”

“But-,” she couldn’t get any of her words out, too overwhelmed with this moment. Terry always seemed to have the magic touch of getting her to live in the now again, even if it meant sobbing uncontrollably. He was her safe place to just be in every form.

Terry cupped her face and wiped at her tears as he continued, “I didn’t even get you a proper gift.”

That made her throw her head back and laugh. “You lyin’ to me Terrance.” She sniffled away the last of her tears and grasped his face back. Y/N pecked his lips until he held her a little tighter and kissed her deeper. She put her hands on his back and rubbed up and down as the moment became extremely heated.

Y/N pulled her face away to really examine Terry, keeping her hands on his back, continuing their rubdown.

“You survived the military, whatever colonizer’s hell is going on in Silver Springs, made your way back to me on that bike for most likely most of the way, and still found time, energy, and resources to get my favorite ice cream and a card for my birthday.”

“Don’t forget your mini balloon.”

“That’s right, a mini balloon too! And the most important part of my gift Terrance Richmond,” she pecked his luscious lips a few more times, “you.”

Terrance was rubbing her lower back and the top of her ass when she grasped his face, her eyes darting between his swirling Hazel blues. She almost lost him, he almost didn’t make it, and it hadn’t been from his time in the military. Faced with what it felt like to finally breathe again, to have her heart beating with every breath he took, Y/N was finally looking forward to finishing the day.

Her voice cracked a little bit, but she held it together. “I almost lost you before I could have you again. This is the best birthday ever. You could have crawled in here needing an organ donor and it still would’ve been. You hear me?”

Terry smiled, only she could end up celebrating him on her birthday. “I hear you. How you wanna spend the rest of the day?”

“Go shower and only put clean undies on please. Your suitcases of clothes are still upstairs.”

Terry smiled wide, with every word Y/N was emoting more and more. God he missed this woman.

“Then?” He asked with a raise of his brow.

“We’re gonna eat and cuddle naked, well I’ll be all the way naked, but either way skin.”

Terry laughed out loud at that one. The life was definitely returning to her eyes, bringing the woman he left back to him. No matter how much pain and grief he suffered these last few weeks, he’d do it all again to end up here, with or without Mike. Mike was family but Y/N was his world, his inspiration, his safe place, and his home. Seeing how depleted her spirit was when he arrived, it nearly killed him to think of what she’d have turned into had he not made it.

“We can make that happen.”

With a few extra kisses to hold him over, Terry made his way to the bathroom and did as told. While he got cleaned Y/N read her card and set it up on the counter before she made their plates. By the time Terry made his way back into the living room, she had a tray set up to make things easier for them to sit down together.

He made her sit on the bed before him so that he could be the one to bring the tray over. After they ate, he cleaned up the food while Y/N changed to the next movie in the series before she removed the hoodie and wiggled on her feet, waiting impatiently. When Terry finally did lay down in the bed, Y/N instantly curled into his side, her head laying on his heart and one of her legs coming up to rest on his pelvis. The opening credits had just finished when Terry looked down at his lady and thanked god that he got to spend another birthday with her. It’d been a few years since he got spend her birthday with her and even longer since he treated her properly. She never cared, so long as he was there to share the day.

Y/N had been drifting but jolted out of her sleep and sat up rubbing at her eyes.

“What is it baby? You need something?”

She shook her head no just like a sleepy toddler and mumbled out, “Thank you for the best birthday gift big daddy.” As quickly as she sat up, she was back down, cuddled in his arms and quickly slipping into her dreams.

This was all she had wanted. To be held and comforted to sleep. It wasn’t much, but Terry had given her that. With the troubles of their lives waiting for the morning, Terry settled in, letting his pride swell with the knowledge that she considered him her best birthday gift.

#rebel ridge #terry richmond #terry richmond x black reader #terry richmond x y/n #terry richmond x reader #fictioninmybloodworks #fictioninmyblood #birthdayblurb

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alexanderwales · 4 months ago

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Alright, here's my dream Stardew Valley style game, designed for my own tastes.

You come to a small town with the usual twenty to thirty people. It's in the middle of nowhere. It's a fantasy town, and no one actually farms anymore, partly because it's only questionably profitable, partly because a lot of the knowledge has been lost. Instead, everyone uses these magic doodads which are very powerful but also very limited. The tavernkeeper has a doodad that makes him a single kind of weak ale and a single variety of off-tasting wine. The clothier has basically a square mile of linen to work with, and everyone wears her drab clothes. Tools are made from a doodad that the blacksmith owns, not even made of any actual metal, just a material that wears away after a month and needs to be replaced by a new copy from the blacksmith's doodad. People get their meals from the doodads. They get their medical checkups. It's all a bit shit.

Because I'm a worldbuilder at heart, I would have this all exist in the wake of a large-scale war that depleted the town of its fighting-age population, with the doodads being a sort of government program to ensure that more of the lifeblood of the town could be drained away. And for there to be some reason for the town to continue existing, perhaps the government is harvesting some resources necessary in the creation of doodads. That's enough for a pro-doodad faction and maybe some minor drama with them, though I do like the idea that the only reason things are Like This is because there was a war and things got bad. It's not necessarily a bleak town, but there's definitely a listlessness to it, a "what's the point".

So you're a farmer, but no one is really a farmer anymore. Maybe there are a few books, but you don't learn farming from books, you learn it from practical experience; that's a lot of what this game is about. When you start, there's no one to buy seeds from, there's just a bunch of wilderness where farms once stood, now all long overgrown.

So you go out and forage, for a start, and you clear the land, and you pay attention to the plants and how they can be used, and you start in on making recipes with them, maybe with the help of your grandfather's old, partially incomplete books. You find some wild corn that's a descendant of the old times. You find some tomato seeds in an urn. You discover potatoes because you see them dug up by a wild boar, which itself was once a domesticated animal.

In my ideal game, you need to pay attention to the soil quality, to how far apart things are planted, to what crops work well together. Farming is a matter of companion planting and polycultures. You get some chickens by giving them consistent feed, and you keep them around because they're natural pest control. Your climbing beans climb the stalks of your maize. You're attracting pollinators. (From a gameplay perspective, yeah, we probably put this all into a grid, and you have crop bonuses from adjacencies, and emergent gameplay that comes from all that, some plants providing shade, others providing nitrogen fixing.) You're a scientist making observations about the plants, maybe with your incomplete book giving you confirmation on the nature of all your crops once you hit certain production goals or a perfect specimen or whatever.

Cooking is the same. There has got to be a system that I like better than just "combine tomato with bread to get tomato bread". I'm pretty sure that it's some variant of the actual process I use when cooking, which is making sure that things are properly cooked, balancing flavors against each other, adding in a little salt or acidity or umami or whatever. Time in the kitchen, in this game, is often about making meals, ensuring that if you have a fatty piece of meat you have some asparagus that's coated with lemon to go with it. (From a gameplay perspective, I think building the dish once is probably sufficient and it can be automated after that, and building the meal is the same. I don't want to play this minigame every time I'm cooking a dish, I just want to play it a single time until I have good knowledge of the best way to grill a BBQ chicken breast with a homemade sauce.)

But if we're having a little minigame here where we pay attention to how long we're cooking the kale to make sure that it's the right texture, and we're paying attention to abstractified mouthfeel and palette, then we can get something else for free: variation. See, you're not just cooking to get an S grade, you're cooking for people with different tastes. The cobbler has a sweet tooth, the librarian loves fruity things, the mayor cannot stand fish, that sort of thing. From a gameplay perspective, maybe we represent this with a radar graph with some specific favorite and least favorite individual flavors, and maybe it's visible to the player, but the important thing is that player gets feedback and have a reason to strive for both "good" and "perfection" and some of this is going to depend on the quality of the ingredients.

And this is, gradually, how the town is brought back into the fullness of life. You're not just cooking for these people, you're also selling them food, and they're making their own recipes, and all the stuff that's not food is making their businesses not suck anymore. After the first test keg of ale goes swimmingly, the tavernkeeper wants more, a lot more, and puts in an order for hops, wheat, grapes, anything he can use to make things that will improve nights at the tavern. The clothier will skeptically take in wool and spin her own yarn, and then eagerly want more, because how awesome is it to have a new textile? There's a chemist who is extremely interested in dyes and paints, and wants you to bring him all kinds of things to see what might be viable for going beyond the ~3 colors that the doodads can provide.

So by year two, if you're doing things right, you're the lynchpin of the revivalist movement. People are now moving to the town, for the first time in decades, because they hear that you're there and doing interesting things with the wilderness. Maybe there are other farmers following in your wake, but maybe it's just new characters who are specifically coming because a crate of wine was shipped to the capital city. Maybe some of them bring new techniques for you, or a handful of plants from a botanical garden, and there are new elements for the minigames, or maybe some automation for the stuff that's old hat.

I think something that's important to me is that there's a reason for the crops you plant and the things you do. I always like these games best when it feels like I'm doing something for someone, when I can look at a plot of cabbages and think "ah, those are the cabbages I owe to Leon". Where these games are at their worst, everything is entirely fungible and I've planted eight million blueberries because they have the highest ROI.

And yeah, in most of these games, there are other minigames like fishing and mining and logging and crafting, and since this is just a blog post and not a game, I definitely could massively expand an already sizeable scope.

I think for mining the player would use doodads of their own, and maybe you could make a mining minigame out of that, using the same planting tile system to instead create an automated ore harvesting machine that plumbs the depths of the earth (possibly dealing with rocks of different hardness, the water table, and other challenges along the way).

Fishing is a question of understanding the different fish species, what they eat, where they congregate, and then setting nets or lines, since I have never met a fishing minigame I really enjoyed. Again, there's some idea that the player is gaining information over time, building up a profile of these fish, noticing that some of them go nuts when it rains, understanding the spawning season, that they go to deeper water when it's cold, etc.

Crafting really depends on what you're crafting, but if you're reintroducing traditional artisan processes to this town, then people are going to need tools and machines and things. I'm not sure I know what a proper crafting game looks like. The only experience I have to draw on is wood shop, where I made wooden boxes, cutting boards, and picture frames. Since this is an engineering-lite puzzle-lite game, you could maybe do something in that vein, e.g. defining a number of steps that get you the correct thing you're trying to make, but ... eh. I love the idea of designing a chicken coop, for example, or building a trellis if I want my climbing beans to not need maize, or whatever, but I don't know how you actually implement that. There are definitely voxel-based and snap-to-grid games where you build bases, and I tend to find that fun ... but it's mostly cosmetic, for the obvious reason that doing it any other way than cosmetic requires programmatic evaluation, which is difficult and maybe unintuitive. The closest I think I've seen is ... maybe Tears of the Kingdom? Contraption building? But I don't know how you translate that to a farming game. Maybe I should ask my wife about this, because she's always doing little projects around the house (an outdoor enclosure for our cats, a 3D-printed holder for our living room keyboard, a mounting for our TV).

Making an interesting crafting system is difficult, which is why pretty much no one has done it.

And if I'm talking pie in the sky, without concern for budget or scope, I want the villagers to all have a mammoth amount of writing for them. I want petty little dramas and weird obsessions, lives that evolve with or without my input, rudimentary dialog trees that let me nudge things in different directions. This is just an unbelievable amount of work on its own, it would be crazy, but I would love having a tiny little town game where sometimes other people would fall in love. I would like to be invited to a wedding, maybe one that happened because I encouraged the chemist to hang out with the clothier, and in the course of working together on dyes, they fell in love. With twenty people in town and another ten that come in over the course of the game if you hit the right triggers, I do think this is just a matter of having a ton of time/budget. You write tons and tons of dialogue so there's not much that's repeated, you have some lines of conversation between characters that are progressed through, you have others that trigger off of events, and then you have personal relationships between NPCs that can be progressed through time or with player intervention. Give single characters a pool of love interests, have their affections depend on their routine which depends on what's changed in town ... very difficult to do without spending loads and loads of time on it though.

Anyway, that's one of my dream games. No one is ever going to make it, it would be a niche of a niche, and as scoped here, is too much for a small team to ever actually finish, let alone polish. But it's the sort of thing I'm imagining in my head when I think about playing Stardew Valley and its successors.

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bunji-enthusiast · 10 months ago

Note

Hope you're doing well!! Please take however long you need to get your creative juices flowing <333 may I order a Dogday recognizing Poppy's Angel is actually the former Playtime Co. employee he and many others came to love and cherish due to their kindness? The reader is THAT employee that others envy, many of the toys LOVES them and prefer to be taken care of by them.

Maybe the reader had found out the sinister nature of the company but is understandably afraid to speak up about it as they realized their old co-workers maybe weren't just fired or " quit " out of thin air after all... Perhaps something happened behind the scenes that made the reader " quits " ( Maybe they could be threatened but by a lot of pleading and bargaining, they're spared but has to keep their mouth shut and never come back, otherwise... )

The toys are devastated, angry and just lots of mixed emotions. The reader feeling more and more guilty as they venture through their once happy place and having to harm the ones they once swore to care for.

The rest is up to you! Please again, take care and take your time, all the best in everything <333

I'm So Sorry

Note || oh my hearttt the angstttt, lovely to write this as always. In the form of head canons if that is alright? ^^

WC || 1,035

Sypnosis || you knew otherwise, presumably what went on. You just didn’t mean to harm those around you.

Being aware of something most employees where not had dug you a thorough grave, you didn’t want to leave your beloved friends in the toy factory. A factory misconstrued on a basement of lies and futility you may as well be well over with, and bury it in the ground. Yet, bury in the ground they did.

Your superiors had learned of your knowledge of these things, and began sending letters. Bit by bit, they had only started off by threatening you; telling you to keep quiet. They didn’t want their precious reputation to be ruined by the likes of you. Still, you continued to stay, you didn’t want to leave your loved ones. All the friends you’ve come to love, eventually becoming like family for you.

You weren’t deaf nor blind to what the superiors at Playtime Co. do, quite literally you’d have to bandage your eyes or plug your ears to ignore all that was happening behind the scenes, you didn’t let it fall on deaf ears however. Eventually soon enough it was eating away at you to actually just quit, just straight up disappear from Playtime Co.’s eyes.

Among the many toys; Huggy, Kissy, Mommy, and Poppy, hell even CatNap began to wonder where you went. Why did you flat-out depart from working at the Factory so suddenly? One day you were visible and present, the next you had not shown up. Oddly enough they soon had gotten their answer when the Hour Of Joy had occurred, Huggy Wuggy had come across your paper of termination when he had taken upon himself in the act.

So long ago, that was a decade past you left that life behind. You really wished you would have granted them goodbyes before you had gone, yet it seemed you got that chance to do so when you received a paper in the mail that had appeared to be from your co-workers. Word for word you could remember reading, everyone thinks the staff disappeared ten years ago, we’re still here. Find the flower.

The only reason you even had to come back to the factory in the first place was because of the guilt easily overwhelming your logic, you needed answers. You needed to know what happened to your co-workers and all the toys you cared deeply for, yet you had an overwhelming suspicion you really knew what happened to all the staff in Playtime Co. you simply just weren’t present for it. Having technically already left.

Seeing Huggy Wuggy on the pedestal again brought back some memories for you, he was certainly a hoot. In a way, you really liked him along with the rest of the toys. He was certainly a unique one out of the few–especially along with Kissy Missy. You thought they were a cute pair together, Kissy always managed to calm his murderous tendencies and Huggy was always someone you can count on for a good hug if you ever had a bad day.

Killing is not something you would ever dare think of doing, it was simply not in your mind or blood to do so. So why did you have to resort to killing Huggy? You silently wept, having no time to grieve for him properly as you had to trudge on along to the flower.

Poppy was the last person (or toy, ahem) you expected to find in that case you came across. Now you find yourself in the game station, seeing her get pulled away like that right after she offered to give the code to you had you on the steels of your nerves, you were immediately very close to being in an angry mood.

Now you had to deal with Mommy’s antics, you felt for her, but you certainly wouldn’t want to go through the trouble of trying to get the code from Mommy. Least of all having to resort to killing her, as she would not listen to your words. Convincing her was impossible to do, trying to make her remember you was a whole different story.

Crap.

Why’d she have to go in a rage? Now she’s dead too, and what in the seven circles of hell did she mean by “HE’LL MAKE ME PART OF HIM! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!” You shudder when a mechanical hand comes to pull away Mommy’s corpse, you mentally make a note that is the Prototype. As you’ve come to learn the name after you had scavenged Elliot’s office.

Soon you learn what Mommy had meant, arguably enough you were angry that Poppy had derailed your only train to get out of Playtime Co. but your heart had ached too much to not finish what you started. Now CatNap was hunting you while you ran around in Playcare, you just never expected to see such an untimely sight that nobody should be put in.

DogDay was hurt, real bad. His legs were severed, he wasn’t long and limber like you remember him to be. His life seemed to be completely drained and sucked away from him, you wince when he moved, movement appeared to be harsh to even put energy into. Your heart bleeds for him, yet you are surprised when he actually recognizes you from before, all those years ago.

“Angel, you! Y-You're the one that cared for so many of us.” You nod, parental instinct already kicking in to free him from his belts from which he hung from. DogDay doesn’t deserve a fate like this, not then and especially not now. “You don’t need to, leave me here.”

“Oh hell no, you need to live.” You refute, shushing him before DogDay begins to protest. You sigh in relief once he finally is free, as selfish as it may be, he hadn’t ever attempted to kill you. You wanted someone with you that actually remembers you and doesn’t try to gun for you the moment you even step into the vicinity.

Gosh, you really hoped to get this over with. Guilt weighing heavily in mind as you had to kill so many toys, so many that you cared for.

At Least it meant to be in the name of self defense.

Right?

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime angst?#dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime huggy #poppy playtime x reader #all the stuff

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imsilay · 10 months ago

Text

APPETENCE

hey, idk how i managed to finish A WORK but here we are. MDNI. please :>

“C’mon liebling, you can do one more f’me” he mumbled softly as his fingers caressed your spine softly, running up and down within the length of it. “Didn’t you missed me?” his voice thick and low with arousal. You whined and squirmed on his lap with the feeling of his cum oozing out of your abused and puffy lips. He had been going for an hour and he looked like he had no intention of stopping any soon. His big palms covered the small of your back and massaged the sore muscles, earning a grunt from you.

“Do you ever get tired?” you whined and buried your head into his cloth covered neck. His mask was covering his expressions but you could just feel him pout at your words. “No, liebling.” he mumbled, squeezing your sides softly. “And here i was thinking i’m the old one.” you could hear the faint disappointment hidden in his voice. You felt like someone ripped open your ribs and punched you in the heart. The last thing you wanted was to disappoint him. Oh and he made sure to use that.

That manipulative bastard. You hated him for knowing you so well.

“Just one more.” your muttered and god he was like a child who got permission to eat candy. The candy being you, he grabbed you by your middle and lifted you up until he could line up his thick cock to your entrance. You dug your nails onto his shoulders aa he slowly sunk deep inside you, his tip kissing the sweetest spot inside your pulsing walls. “So fucking good.” he breathed, head trown back to headboard. You could see his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as you sat still on his cock. Neither of you made an attempt to move, he relished the feeling of your walls engulfing his cock to the brim and you tried to adjust the fullness. You could feel the sweat sliding on your back as you got more and more hot. König wasn’t any different from you, his bare torso and neck glistened with sweat, his chest rose and fell with quick breaths.

He was used to all kinds of tortures but none of them were as hard as being away from you. Not being able to feel any part of you or hear your sweet voice drove him mad. He was barking orders and slaughtering enemies, taking all of his anger out off the poor recruits and unlucky enemies that dared to stand on his way. Yet being the killing machine he was, he never dared to hurt you. Even with his words he was always on the thin ice. Thinking thousands of times before saying a word to you and restraining his hands in his pockets around you so he wouldn’t be all over you. Sometimes the urge to manhandle you around almost would get the best of him and he would fold his arms around his chest firmly, the voices in his heads screaming at him to grab your wrists and pin them to your back. Then he could bend you over that couch and pound into you like his sick mind wanted. But no, the day his hands landed on you, he swore that he’d cut them.

Handling you was such a delicate job, and he was as careful as a gardener with their favorite flower. His fingers grazed the soft skin of your sides as he brought them up, up to your cheeks. His calloused and lengthy fingers wiped the tears even you haven’t noticed yet. You shivered although you were burning inside. Leaning into his palm you fisted the hem of his mask, wanting nothing more than ripping it off and kissing him like the whole night you wanted. But you knew better, he had a rule.

The mask stays on. Which unfortunately meant no kiss for you.

“Easy.” he whispered softly, other hand that wasn’t holding your face pushed you into his chest. Your cunt clenched around his hard shaft. Your arousal dripped and soaked his balls. You squirmed when your sensitive nipples brushed against his chest. You could feel his muscular chest and toned abs right against your bare skin. The skin to skin contact calmed you down but it didn’t helped the way his thick cock spread you open. “Calm your adorable little butt down liebling. If you keep squirming i won’t be able to wait.” he breathed, biting down on his lip and pressing your body still against his with two big arms. “Then don’t.” you moaned, snapping the thin ropes that kept him together. His arms hold you still as he started to drag his cock in and out of you.

He started off slowly, finding a pace that made you nuzzle his neck and breath him in. And he kept picking up the pace as your moans hot louder and louder until you were screaming and the bed was making creaking noises. He cursed under his breath then bit his tongue to not moan like the whore he was. He couldn’t take it anymore. With a quick maneuver you were facing the ceiling and his big palms were grabbing your ankles. He looked godly as he kissed each ankle before throwing your legs over his shoulders and making you squeak with his tip kissing your cervix. Your feet dangled over his shoulders as he grabbed your waist and lifted you slightly off the bed until the angle was just right and he was reaching the deepest part of you with the each thrust.

You grabbed the sheets for dear life as he fucked you nice, fast and properly. Soon your walls pulsed and clenched around him, forcing him to cum inside you and milking every last drop of his cum. He replaced you carefully on the bed slowly pulling out off you and watching as his cum dripped out of your cunt. He wished his phone was near to film it. After a while of adoring the view he slumped on top of you like a weighted blanked. Very heavyweighted blanked. He pushed his mask above his lips and lazily sucked hickeys around your neckline. He was imagining to do it since you were bouncing on top of him at the beginning of the night. “Mein, mein, mein.” he whispered, hoping that you wouldn’t hear or understand but you heard and understood. Like every other nights. You were used to being claimed by him. You were his, at the end.

not proofread no nothing, just enjoy :>

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :* and i love to reply all of them :>

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munson-blurbs · 7 months ago

Text

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: News from an old friend had you wondering if Eddie's sour mood had turned downright destructive. (4.9k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, misunderstanding, coming out, vandalism, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter seven: offense and defense

Your version of a truce came in the form of wallpaper panels and a bucket of glue.

You’d placed it on top of the canvas sheets that would protect the floor from any spills, though it wasn’t as if that was presentable, either. Still, you would be grateful for the splash of color rather than the stripped down walls that only highlighted the motel’s defeated aesthetic.

Like lipstick on a pig, your cynicism taunted, but one that you’ve stuck on a spit to roast.

Your fingernail picked at a small groove in the desk’s wood as if digging a hole to bury your anxiety. Despite the police sirens blaring in the distance, all you could hear was the sound of the mailbox clanging shut, trapping your acceptance letter and effectively sealing your fate.

Your breathing sped up and sent your heartbeat into your ears, inching you towards a point of no return where the world became hazy. Suddenly, Eddie’s mood was irrelevant; you just needed a distraction, even if that meant contending with his strangely defensive attitude.

But when eleven o’clock rolled around, a full hour into your shift. there was still no sign of him. You’d give him another thirty minutes before you knocked on his door; he had a job to finish, after all.

That was all it was: ensuring he earned his keep, preventing him from becoming the deeply feared charity case.

In the end, there was no need to intrude on him. Eddie shuffled through the lobby not even fifteen minutes later, seemingly without the intention of stopping to greet you. He looked straight ahead as though any eye contact would burn his retinas from the inside out. His tattooed arms were on full display in a black tank top, the holes cut down nearly to the waist. A chain hung off the side of his jeans, gleaming even in the harsh lighting. The whole outfit was a far cry from the sweatpants he’d donned during the wallpaper removal.

“Eddie?”

He stopped but still refused to glance in your direction. There was no use ignoring the confusion in your voice; he didn’t even bother waiting for the formality of a question. “Y-Yeah, I, um…I gotta run some errands.” His teeth dug into the inside of his cheek at his pitiful excuse.

Errands just before midnight? He certainly wasn’t dressed to make a last-minute dash to the corner bodega, nor would that take all night.

He was lying; that much was obvious. What evaded you was why. Was he embarrassed about his outburst at Eisen’s? Angry at you for freezing him out during the ride home?

“What about the wallpaper?”

“Oh. Right.” He softly chuckled, the kind that someone gives when they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

He didn’t stick around for further questioning, letting in a cool evening breeze when he barreled out the front door.

Aggravation clenched your fists. His lackadaisical approach to work was infuriating enough, but the way he’d attempted to sneak past you had you seething. Did he truly believe he could camouflage himself and walk out unnoticed?

The untouched wallpapering materials mocked you, taunted your optimism. Or perhaps it was naivety. You’d all but told him to piss off last night, yet you expected him to flounce into the lobby, eager to work alongside you–and only you–for the next few hours? The thought alone was so pathetic that you were glad no one else had been around to witness it.

You hoisted the panels and glue back to the supply closet, gripping them with palms slick from embarrassment and frustration. Tonight could have been an opportunity to clear the air about the Ben fiasco and resume your usual lighthearted conversations. His brusque laughter didn’t showcase the subtle dimples that pressed from the corners of his mouth into his cheeks, so unlike the genuine smiles that reached his eyes. Those warm eyes like chocolate chips on a summer day, except they melted you with each foray into his past, each glimpse into what made him, him.

Without them, the night was stagnant.

Amy’s Cafe was a favorite among the student population, especially during finals week. The coffee was usually burnt or weak, but it was cheap and conveniently located near campus, so it stayed afloat. Overworked baristas slid filled-to-the-brim mugs and to-go styrofoam cups to the edge of the counter, hissing espresso machines punctuating the pop music that was piped through the sound system. Exactly the kind of music Eddie would hate.

Eddie. He must have had an extensive errand list, because he still hadn’t returned when your shift ended. Your chest ached with a sadness that burned hotter than your curiosity. You no longer cared what he was up to, just that he preferred it to spending time with you.

Ben already sat at a small table when you arrived, the steam from his cup rising up and fogging his wire-rimmed glasses. He offered you a weary smile, one wrought with fatigue and a nervousness you couldn’t quite place.

It wasn’t until you plopped into the seat across from him, careful not to spill your own coffee, that you noticed the gray crescents below his eyes that weren’t there on Sunday. Stubble coated his cheeks and chin, more five o’clock shadow than beard, and you were hard-pressed to remember a time he’d seemed this disheveled.

“You look like shit.”

He raised his brows as he blew on his tea, sending tiny ripples through the citrusy-mint blend. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”

Between the usual end-of-semester stress and whatever issues were simmering between you and Eddie, you lacked the patience to beat around the bush. “Seriously,” you insisted, “what’s wrong?”

Ben’s sigh held immeasurable weight, and you quickly understood why. “Eisen’s was vandalized last night,” he said quietly.

“What?!” Your blood ran cold. The mental image of the always-pristine shop abruptly destroyed marred your psyche.

He nodded. “Yeah. We empty the register at night and put the cash in a safe, so they didn’t get any of that,” he explained, a small consolation. “But they smashed the windows and graffitied the place. All of the shelves, our whole inventory…covered in it.”

“Is everyone…is your family okay?” If the alarm had sounded and Uncle Mo or Aunt Tam came running in…if the intruder was carrying a weapon…

“We’re fine,” Ben assured you. “I mean, we’re all pretty shook up, but no one’s hurt.” His bottom teeth scraped along his upper lip. “I swept up most of the broken glass after the cops left, but it’s gonna take a while to scrub off the spray paint.”

“I can help,” you volunteered without hesitation. “I can swing by on Thursday afternoon.” There were no formal classes this week; you just had to drop off your paper and then you could go to the shop.

“Thanks.” Ben kept his attention focused on his mug, dunking the bag aimlessly through the hot liquid. “Um, was your, uh, boyfriend with you last night?” When you wrinkled your nose, he elaborated. “That Eddie guy. He’s your boyfriend, right?”

You shook your head and tried to ignore the internal fluttering spurred on by the thought of Eddie being your boyfriend. “No. He just works for us.” Thirty-six hours ago, you would have referred to him as a friend, but you didn’t know if that was still true.

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “You sure? Because he seemed pretty…” He searched for the right word, “...territorial over you.”

Territorial. As if you belonged to him. The notion was almost humorous, considering his desperation to avoid you at all costs. If you were his property, he must be a very hands-off landlord.

“It’s not like that. He just gets competitive.” You filled Ben in on the wasp nest saga, even managing to pull a few chuckles out of him.

“Okay, fine.” Something in Ben’s tone informed you that he didn’t quite believe you, but he pressed on, both of you well-aware that your love life wasn’t the most urgent issue. “But was he around last night? Hanging the wallpaper or something?”

He wasn’t. You wished more than anything that you could offer an alibi, but you didn’t have a clue where he was.

It’s a big city; there were millions of places he could go besides Eisen’s. And yet you couldn’t name a single one, your throat bone-dry despite just taking a sip of coffee.

“N-No, but he wouldn’t—”

“I’m not saying he did,” Ben interjected, firmly but not unkindly. “It’s just, I dunno, a little suspicious that this guy comes to our shop for the first time, hates my guts for some reason, and then the place gets destroyed the next day.”

There was no denying how strange it was, especially coupled with his poorly explained absence. Something inside you insisted that it wasn’t Eddie, and you clung onto that hope.

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” Bitterness churned in your stomach and crept up your throat, and you knew it wasn’t from the coffee. Was there anything about the way he’d been dressed that provided insight into his whereabouts? Anything he’d mentioned in passing?

Despite scouring the depths of your brain, you came up empty.

Ben exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut like he was actively trying to forget the memory of the break-in. “Everything was completely smashed. Like someone took a baseball bat to it or something.”

You flashed back to last week when Eddie went after the wasp’s nest with Phyllis’s bat. Did he ask her to borrow it again?

Stop it, you silently scolded yourself. It couldn’t have been Eddie. He might be hotheaded, but that didn’t mean he would destroy Eisen’s.

Except he had trashed that hotel room because the manager issued a noise complaint. He’d seemed proud of it, laughing as he retold the story, like he’d carried out some meticulously crafted revenge plot.

Shit.

“You’re sure there’s nothing going on between you two?” Ben asked again, ripping open another sugar packet and dumping it into his drink.

“Positive.” Certainly not now when you were barely on speaking terms.You didn’t have time for a relationship; school and work kept you sufficiently busy.

Not that you wanted anything going on with Eddie. What would you even do together–go on dates at six AM after your shift? Hold hands across the lobby desk? Steal kisses in the supply closet? The two of you making out amongst piles of linens and a rusty toolbox? Your fingers tangled in his hair and your lips pressed to his; his hands gripping your waist and tugging you impossibly close? You couldn’t allow yourself to even consider it a possibility, to allow yourself to want it.

You noticed Ben giving you a wry smile, like he knew something you didn’t, and you snapped back into reality to volley a question back to him. “What about you? Meet any cute girls in dental school?”

His unexpected cloudiness didn’t match your breezy, teasing tone. “No cute girls.” He paused, mulling over his words for a while before talking again, so softly you could barely hear him over the muzak playing over the café’s sound system. “There were some cute guys, though.”

The admission hung in the air for a moment while you slowly absorbed it. Cute guys, not girls. So Ben was—

A soft throat clearing grabbed your attention; he was anxiously awaiting your response.

Reaching your hand across the Formica table, you draped your fingers over his and left them there. “How did you…know?” You winced at your own awkwardness. “Sorry, I meant, like, is this something you figured out recently? Or did you know back when we were kids?”

Ben laughed lightly, his shoulders sagging with relief. The worry of rejection left his eyes as he spoke. “Part of me always knew, I think. I just didn’t have a word for it.” He sighed, his breath trembling with residual nerves. “It’s not like we grew up talking about these things.”

He was right; you couldn’t recall a single time that his parents or yours discussed non-heterosexual romantic relationships. A man and a woman get married and have babies. The end. No mention of when two men or two women love one another.

“Have you told your parents?”

“No.” His voice caught, throat blocked with emotion, and he cleared it again. “I wanted to wait until I finished school and got my own place. Y’know…just in case.”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence.

“Would they really do that?”

He shrugged, his shoulders once again bearing the weight of the unknown. “I don’t think they’d kick me out,” he admitted, “but they’d definitely be disappointed. Like they did something wrong.”

“You know you can always stay with me if you need,” you said. “I’ll set aside a room for you.” Far away from Eddie’s, you added silently.

Ben’s smile was tight but genuine. “After all of these years, nothing’s changed.” He let out a hoarse laugh. “Does it get exhausting, being the best person ever?”

He was joking, trying his best to shift to a lighter tone, but the accuracy of his question had you temporarily reeling. You weren’t the best person ever, but it was exhausting constantly trying to be. He must have sensed that he grazed a nerve, his eyes softening as he leaned in. “You okay?”

You nodded, your head suddenly acquiring the heft of a boulder. The sound of the mailbox clanging shut and sealing your fate reverberated in your ears. And then Eddie had seen, had cleaned your smudged mascara so warmly that your skin simmered at his touch. Those same fingers might have grasped a can of spray paint or and wielded a bat with the intention of ravaging an innocent business.

“You always were a terrible liar.” Ben said. He knew you too well, a blessing and a curse. “C’mon—a secret for a secret.”

His permission had your own confession slipping from where it had been tucked away and spilling into the conversation. “I’m majoring in psychology and I’m going to study social work at NYU.” When Ben offered you a confused look, you humbly elaborated. “And, I mean, I know it’s not the same thing as your situation, but I haven’t told my parents about it either.”

The shame burned you, flames nipping at your neck.

Ben drummed his fingers against the mug’s handle, his nails making a soft cling. “The motel…” he trailed off, mutual understanding replacing the rest of his words.

Neither of you said anything else for a while, only taking small sips of coffee until you mustered up the energy to speak again.

“I don’t think they’d kick me out either,” you said, “but that might not matter. Without me to take over, they’d have to sell the place anyway.”

Ben thought for a moment. A teardrop of coffee trickled down the lip to the base, staining the white porcelain with a hazel streak. “Whatever happens, I’m here for you.” It was his turn to hold your hand, enveloping it in the comfort that can only come from a lifelong friend. “And if worse comes to worst, you can always bunk with me. As long as Eddie won’t mind,” he added with a mischievous edge.

You rolled your eyes as the heaviness evaporated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He raised his brows. “You didn’t see the look on his face when I hugged you. I thought he was gonna knock me into tomorrow.”

“Whatever,” you said evenly, swiftly pivoting the subject to his own romantic endeavors. But the image of Eddie getting upset when Ben hugged you tugged at your mind for the rest of the conversation. You’d initially thought he was irritated about Ben encroaching on his job, but the hug came well before the offer to help.

Trying to figure out Eddie Munson, you realized, was like jamming a puzzle piece where it didn’t belong. He would remain an enigma until you found the right spot.

Afternoon bled into night, the overcast skies resulting in a noticeable absence of stars. Rain had been threatening to fall all day, but the humidity still bogged down the clouds when Eddie walked into the lobby at ten-thirty.

“Hey,” he said, raising one hand in an enthusiastic half-wave. His eyes met yours for only a second before pulling away. “I’ll just grab the paper from the supply closet.”

You tossed him the key and he caught it, clenching it in his palm. He smiled, victoriously but fleetingly once he realized it wasn’t being returned. Defeated, he trudged over to the closet. You normally would have followed and helped, but you were held down by what you knew–what you might know, you reminded yourself.

“You, uh, didn’t set up,” he said, shaking out the drop cloth and positioning it against the molding.

“Didn’t know if you had another secret errand to run.” The retort left your lips before you could stop it, and you pinched them together in a belated attempt to quell your anger.

Eddie bristled, his brush halfway in the vat of glue, but he quickly composed himself and got back to work. You focused your attention on your essay, scanning it for the millionth time in search of misplaced commas or missing words.

Perfect. It needed to be perfect.

Silence once again overtook the motel lobby, broken only by the sounds of Eddie slicing the wallpaper at the edges, not bothering to measure before adhering it to the exposed plaster, and the outside traffic.

You were comfortable with the prolonged quiet, though admittedly less so than before Eddie arrived a few weeks ago, but it must have gnawed at him. He started humming after only fifteen minutes, an unfamiliar tune, smooth in some places and staccato in others.

“Are you still mad at me or something?”

You loathed the way his voice startled you, your mind too deeply buried in your paper. It caused you to look up and lock eyes with him. His question was wrought with frustration, though you couldn’t tell if it was directed at you or at his own inability to decipher the situation.

“No.” Yes.

Eddie sighed and continued working. “Well, if you change your mind, just know that I’m sorry.”

His apology brought back memories of his previous attempt—though ‘attempt’ might be overstating it, and you didn’t want to bite back your response. “It isn’t me you need to apologize to.”

He didn’t bother turning to you when he spoke. “You’re talking about that Bill guy?”

“Ben,” you corrected him, willing yourself to unclench your jaw, “and yes. You were rude to him for no reason.” You pushed aside Ben’s explanation, an improbability in itself.

“I had a reason.” Venom dripped from each word. “Trust me, I could’ve done worse things than hurt his feelings.”

And as his grip tightened around the brush, one bluish vein bulging in his forearm, you remembered how gleeful he’d admitted to trashing the hotel. How Ben had said that Eisen’s looked as though someone took a baseball bat to it.

“The store was vandalized last night.”

All of the oxygen in the room evaporated. Eddie’s unamused chuckle, low in his throat, fissured the silent tension and made it palpable. Real. “And you think I did it.”

“I never said that.”

But you and he both knew that you didn’t have to; the slight tremor in your voice giving away your true intentions. Even if you weren’t outright accusing him, your tone had too much bite to be conversational.

He threw the brush to the ground and it landed against the cloth with an audible thud. “Whatever.” Another grim laugh, each step towards the desk had your heart sinking further into your chest. “Y’know, I’ve already had a pretty shitty week, and I thought talking to you could turn it around. Should’ve known better.” He wiped his palms on his blue jeans and procured a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, lighting one and taking a long drag.

You could only imagine the restraint it took for him not to exhale a cloud of smoke directly in your face.

It was a replay of the situation with Izzy’s mother, the assumptions that steeled you against her before you’d ever met and had you painting her as a neglectful parent. Her palpable worry was a slap across your face, and you felt that same sting now with Eddie.

Ruined it. With one stupid comment, you’d obliterated all of the trust built between you.

“Excuse me, but I have a very busy evening ahead of me,” he said, pointing the cigarette in your direction like an accusation of his own. “I’m supposed to commit arson in fifteen minutes, and if I have time, I might just murder someone.”

No doubt you were at the top of his list.

The realization of your mistake released an anchor of guilt down your stomach. You should have trusted your instincts, should have immediately eschewed any notion that he was the culprit.

You hated yourself for even considering it a possibility, let alone a probability.

“For a sophisticated city girl, you sure remind me of the small-town pricks I grew up with,” Eddie continued, spittle gathering at the corner of his lips. Rage burned in his eyes. ��Guess none of those textbooks taught you how to ask questions, huh? Like, ‘Eddie, where were you last night?’ That might’ve been a good start.”

His words were submerged in a poisonous vitriol, purposefully launched with the intent to maim. And yet they weren't inherently aimed at you. Not all of them, anyway.

In that moment, you were everyone who had ever accused him of a crime he hadn’t committed. You were the security guards who ‘kept an eye’ on him when he went shopping, the middle-aged women who scowled and clutched their pearls at his tattoos, the people in his hometown who wrote him off as a devil-worshiping freak.

Guilty until proven innocent.

The fingers on your left hand slotted between the gaps on your right and pressed into your palm, a distraction from the lump forming in your throat. Crying was not an option, it exposed your vulnerability and opened you up to further ridicule. The only thing worse than Eddie using your tears against you was if he took pity on you; there was no way you could handle that level of humiliation.

“Eddie, I—”

You’d finally found your footing in the conversation, and it was promptly clipped. “Just assumed that I was off breaking and entering. A little blue collar crime is nothing new for trailer trash like me, right?” He shook his head in faux disbelief. “Is this how you’re gonna treat your clients?”

That final comment was a lit match that ignited a powderkeg within you, and since you refused to shed a single tear, it exploded in the only other way possible.

“You,” you jabbed your finger into his chest, no longer caring about whatever professional boundaries you might be crossing. Those had flown out the window once he’d purposely dredged up your insecurities. “You are the one who bailed on your job with the lamest excuse I’d ever heard and expected me not to get suspicious.” Your heart beat double-time, pumping raw anger in lieu of blood. “And you are the one who bragged about trashing a hotel room when the manager had the audacity to enforce a rule.”

Eddie took a small step back, your biting reply an arrow to the gut. Perhaps even he felt it, too; the way he’d taken his tirade over the line. Gray flakes fell from his cigarette and onto the desk, the ashy clump having grown too heavy for gravity.

You weren’t done, despite his apparent surrender. “You’re not my client. And I’m not Nancy Drew, so don’t act like I’m responsible for solving your bullshit mysteries.”

His nostrils flared as he regained his composure. “Asking a question isn’t—” a door creaking open and subsequent irritated footsteps halted his retort. Both of you broke eye contact to watch as Phyllis padded up the hallway and into the lobby. Irritation accentuated her smeared-lipstick frown, and she pulled her robe across her body, tugging on the belt in frustration.

“I don’t know what this little lovers’ quarrel is about,” she hissed through clenched teeth, dragging an arthritic finger between you and Eddie, “but it’s killing the mood. So if you could wrap it up, we’d greatly appreciate it.”

You nearly choked on your tongue, and pink splotches decorated Eddie’s stubbled cheeks.

“We’re not—”

“It isn’t—”

But Phyllis had already stalked back to her room, never one to keep a gentleman caller waiting.

Neither you nor Eddie said a word for a few seconds, the heat of embarrassment still nipping at your bodies. A lovers’ quarrel? Phyllis clearly had a convoluted sense of romance if she thought you and Eddie were lovers.

Eddie shattered the silence first, mumbling something nearly unintelligible about needing an ashtray. The dam that restrained your snarkiness had apparently buckled and burst, because when he turned to leave, his back to you, you called out, “see how easy it is to tell me where you’re going?”

He stopped, the cigarette between his fingers now ash down to the filter, but he didn’t turn around. His voice was low in his throat, a slight tremor as he spoke. “That’s real rich, coming from the person whose parents think she’s going to school for hospitality.”

That was low, but unlike his comment about accusing your future clients, this one was true. There was nothing you could say in response, no rebuttal would suffice. You hated the way words stilled in your chest, wishing you could fling insult after insult about his failed music career, but you were simply too tired.

You managed to stave off your tears until he had fully rounded the corner, burying your head in your hands to muffle your sobs. Pathetic. That’s what you were: a pathetic mess, bold enough to start an argument but too cowardly to finish it. And so there you stood, elbows digging into the wooden desktop until splinters pierced your skin, the distance between you and Eddie growing with each passing second.

Holding your own with other guests was usually second-nature for you, but other guests weren’t Eddie. They weren’t hanging around the lobby and asking you about your hopes and dreams. They weren’t willingly offering up their most vulnerable selves just to reassure you. They weren’t tagging along on errands and turning ordinary subway rides into small adventures.

They also weren’t sneaking around and making watered-down excuses, then painting you as the bad guy for doubting their intentions.

Half of you ached to apologize; the other half wanted to toss him and his trash bag luggage to the curb and not look back.

Warm tears slid down the slope of your nose until you tasted their salt on your lips. Stopping them seemed an impossible task, your mind hovering above your body like a separate entity altogether. Your breaths were jagged and uneven, an irregular pattern of shallow inhales and strained exhales.

There was no sense in throwing yourself a pity party, not when you got yourself into this mess. If you were going to wallow in your own misery, you could at least be productive while you cried.

Eddie had barely started the re-wallpapering, so cleaning up was not a daunting task. You rolled the paper back around the tube, keeping it tightly wound for easier transport. It was clunky; you had to adjust it twice in the short distance to the closet, but you managed to get it there with it unraveling.

A gentle scrape across the desk made you peek out from behind the closet door, your red-stained, swollen eyes landing on Eddie once again. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lower lip, his fingers clenched around the jet-black lighter you hadn’t noticed he’d left behind.

He saw you, too, his lips forming a tense smile.

“Forgot this,” he said, holding up the lighter with a little shake. The jaded lines of his face softened when he clocked your tear-streaked cheeks, and that minor show of sympathy had you eager to crawl beneath a rock.

You waited for him to say something, anything, but he just let his gaze fall to where you were twisting the lid back onto the glue. Tucking the cigarette behind his ear and covering it with a curtain of curls, he hoisted the bucket and brought it back to the supply closet.

“Thanks.” It was safe yet genuine, not an invitation for a conversation nor a dismissal.

Eddie shrugged. “S’fine,” he lisped, the cigarette placed back between his lips as he lit it. “Needed to clean up anyway.”

Optimism—whatever you could muster up of it—rattled against your ribcage like a prisoner yearning for freedom. If he cared about cleaning up, maybe that meant he was going to finish the job another time. You didn’t dare ask him, only nodding your head in acknowledgment.

Friends fight, right? Your nagging need for reassurance poised the question on the tip of your tongue, but your fear of looking desperate anchored it there. I didn’t ruin everything, did I?

The flick of the lighter sparked a flame, Eddie’s hand protectively cupped around it. “Well, um, g’night,” he said, giving an awkward half-wave.

“Good night.” Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. But you didn’t manage that addendum, and Eddie retreated to his room.

When you slept that morning, you dreamt that he turned back around.

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