#he just creeps back into my brain on occasion

[phykoha]

you'll never guess who this guy is based on /s

he is horrendous I wanna throw him off a bridge /aff

[lokisgoodgirl]

Daylight Orgy: The Rite (IV)

Masterlist for The Rite is HERE My regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: (4) You confront Loki about Fandral - and the rules of the Rite are bent to breaking point. (w/c 4.1k) Warnings: 18+ only. Minors DNI. Asgard Loki! x FReader. Smuttish (+ 3rd party smut). Jealousy. Loki being a naughty prince.

Had you been expecting Loki to follow you?

That he’d thunder down those spiral steps and throw the bronze door open? Tear across the market square half-naked and yank you by the shoulders to say, ‘Stop – that scoundrel is a lying vagabond…’ ?

Yes, obviously.

But he didn’t.

You couldn’t settle back in your chambers. Picking things up, putting them down, moving to the window - always on edge for a knock that didn’t come.

‘The pleasure of the subject is only one part of the ritual. You cannot possibly fulfil the second.’

The fuck was that supposed to mean? Loki never mentioned a second part. As far as you knew, all you had to do was lie there and let him eat you out, not contain any enthusiasm, and try not to die from overstimulation. Sure…there might be other weird shit, it was the Asgardian Royals after all – but this seemed important.

If Fandral’s telling the truth, that is.

You frown, staring at a wiry bird shifting over the rooftops. Clearly, Fandral's a shit-stirrer. Clearly, he’s jealous, Loki had said as much. You’d be pretty jealous too if you were the only person in the inner-circle Loki hadn’t fucked over the past five centuries. An unexpected wrench of envy twists your stomach.

But the prince you’d seen in the Weaving Rooms was entirely different to the one that stared down from frescos and observed his worshippers with cool disdain. A smile that lit up his eyes, the inflection of a breathless chuckle as you caught him by surprise, a faint blush that could be mistaken as humble, the hesitant lust which thrummed beneath his skin as you’d pressed to him –

‘I need to see you,’ he’d said. ‘Every day from now until then.’ Like you meant something to him, and it felt…real.

Was it really a game? Would he pull the rug at the last minute before the ceremony? It was very on brand, you’d admit. The thought sends a violent shudder up your spine.

The next morning, there’s no knock at the door from Loki’s apprentice. No letters, no nothing. Anxiety creeps to anger, and with every inch the sun moves up the sky, your feet get itchier. Does he think I’m just going to sit around and wait for him? Fucking gods. Maybe I should just tell him no – then he’ll have do the Rite with Fandral, see how that works out. Serve him right.

But then… the thought of Loki crawling on top of that smarmy, coiffured arsehole invades your brain. Shit. You shift down the corridors of the court towards the interior palace. No one looks at you today. The golden doors of the main entrance to the royal quarters loom, and you swallow, heart loud in your ears. A guard side-steps in front of you with a cock of an eyebrow as effective as a raise of his hand. “I’m here to see Prince Loki,” you say. The eyebrow cocks higher. “You know how many people try that every day?” He looks down to your feet, and back to your face with a sneer. “Most of them dress better for the occasion. Or at least bring a bribe.”

You stare at him with heat creeping up your neck. “He knows who I am.” He laughs. “I bet he does.” “He does!” “Look…” The guard cups your elbow and ushers you to the side, glancing towards his peers at the other end of the door. “I don’t want to embarrass you, love. Just do yourself a favour, and leave.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m here to see Prince Loki,” you say again, harsher this time. “Can someone just go and tell him I’m here? He’ll be pissed if he finds out you turned me away.” The guard flinches fractionally, studying your face. Eventually he leaves, and five minutes later, he’s back. “Come on,” he says gruffly. No apology, very nice. The gold door slams and the bustle of the outer court disappears. The air is cooler in here, a strange stillness hanging like perfume. More marble carves in large arches along the corridor, open to garden running up the middle of a courtyard. Somewhere, water trickles - but you can't see it. “He’s drunk,” the guard says without looking back. “Excuse me?” “The Prince. He’s drunk, and he has company.” You frown. It isn’t even midday. Suddenly your throat feels very tight, and you feel very small. If Loki had wanted to see me, he’d have asked. He’d have sent for me. So much for being aloof and interesting. Your irritation towards Fandral blooms with new fervour: not only has he ruined your excitement; he’s ruined your hot-girl-mystery.

The guard stops abruptly and you collide into his shoulder-guards. He clears his throat, stamping a staff twice.

You roll your eyes, shuffling around him. Through an open set of doors is a room like something from the whispered tales of olden Asgard. Chiffon flutters at the windows, long plush cushions lining the floor draped with blankets that shimmer in sunlight. In the corner, some blindfolded guy is plucking at a lute. Platters of nuts, grapes, sweet cakes lie half-demolished across the floor, and twice the amount of goblets as people. And then...your jaw goes slack.

Bodies shift in the room, two dozen, at least - all moving to their own rhythm like waves rippling to shore. A woman sits perched on the windowsill; you can’t see her face, only her legs wrapped around a man’s arse as he slowly thrusts into her. Her hair shimmers like spun gold; lips stained with rich juices while she pants to the ceiling. On the cushions, a man and woman lie side-by-side, kissing languidly as two other men busy themselves between their respective thighs. People are fucking…everywhere: sets of two, three, four. Norns. You’re trying to find somewhere to set your eyes that doesn’t involve breasts, or glistening body parts, or faces twisted in pleasure that you definitely shouldn’t be witness to. And then, they land on Loki. He's looking directly at you with a lazy, dark delight. The Prince lounges across a gilded chair in the corner; one thigh hiked over the armrest and the other stretched to its full length. His boots look more obscene on him than usual, today – sprawling like that.

The laces of his shirt are undone, dark tangles of hair spread over his shoulders and pearls of sweat glistening on his collarbone. With a mildly horrifying lurch of your stomach, you notice the ties at his groin are loose, too. But he’s not got someone squirming around his cock, and that’s something, at least. His lips move, but no sound comes out. You frown as he waves a hand, beckoning you through the doors. Dangling on the precipice of a flee, you feel one foot move in front of the other – and then your face feels like its slathered in jelly: cool, wet slime sliding over your skin. You lurch out the other side of the doorway with a gasp...and then the sound hits. Moans of pleasure ring to the high ceilings: grunts, mewls, groans of names you’ve never heard as they wring pitched ecstasy from each other. Loki’s smile grows. “Just a small silencing enchantment.” He shrugs and clicks his fingers. The door slams behind you. A few pairs of eyes flicker in your direction before re-focusing on their work. You can’t blame them – you’re entirely overdressed. Picking your way across the floor, you come to a stop beside him.

This…isn’t what you’d expected. He rests his head back, half-lidded eyes clouded by whatever’s swirling in his goblet. “You realise it’s not even midday?”

An impish smile lifts Loki’s lips, a flash of tongue nipping over the bottom one. “I am a second son of the crown, famed for hedonism and the sensual pleasures…how else should I fill my days?” Your eyes rise to the couple fucking on the windowsill. “Could we talk somewhere?”

A frown ghosts his forehead, and Loki reaches for your hand. His eyes have sharpened, and he looks almost sober. “We’re all friends here, it’s just…a release. A club, if you will. We can talk here, unless you’re uncomfortable.” Your tongue pokes against your cheek. You have no right to ask this, and yet, “Have you ‘released’ today, then?” One of Loki’s brows rise, lips rippling in a closed smile. “Yes.”

That jealousy you’d been fighting settles like a stone. Loki’s eyes slide between yours, slivers of sapphire sparking beyond deep pools of black. “Although not with any interference from another,’ he adds huskily. “I’m…saving myself, it seems.” “Oh?” “Mmm. Delayed gratification is a powerful lure.”

As the hum leaves his lips, Loki shuffles on the chair: back straightening and the leg hoisted on the armrest shifting. You try not to let your gaze drop to his crotch, but it’s a moth-flame situation. He’s hard, of course. Behind you, someone orgasms.

Heat pools in your lower belly, arousal blossoming like liquid shadow, and you know for a fact if you move – there will be a slip between your thighs. You’ve never been somewhere like this – sex has always been private, quiet. Loki’s looking at you with something close to innocence. Perhaps it’s the way you know there absolutely no way you can fuck him – no way for him to touch that hot mess gathering between your folds, and no way for you to suckle the head of his cock as he tangles those long fingers in your—

“Did you hear what I said?” You clear your throat, swallowing. “Sorry, I was…somewhere else.” “Mmm,” Loki hums again, brushing a finger by his lips to stifle a smile. He lowers his thigh from the armrest and pats it: once, twice. Like a magnet, you slide onto his lap. Across the room, a woman being fucked against a pillar frowns at you over her partner’s shoulder. An arrogant thrill soaks up your spine while Loki’s nose brushes down your cheek; lips lingering on the curve of your neck, his breath gloriously cool against the heat of your skin.

“What did you want to discuss, little owl? Here, in my den of debauchery.” His fingers dance up the folds of fabric at your midsection, cupping a breast and beginning to toy at the nipple. It feels so fucking good: too good. He pinches it gently, rolling against his thumb, knowing exactly what he’s doing; you exhale against his cheek, and it makes it almost impossible to whisper, “Fandral.”

The fingers still, and you can feel Loki frowning without even having to look. “What?” he growls. It’s all you can do not to grind against his thigh. He’s wearing a tight pair of leather trousers, so at least none of the mess between your legs, probably soaking through your dress, will get on his skin. But he might touch me. He pinches your nipple, eyes narrowing. A hiss erupts from your throat, tapering to a moan. “Fandral,” you say on the exhale. “If it’s not too much trouble, desist from moaning that rube's name in my presence, darling.” You frown. “He said you’re messing with me; said you don’t have any intention of us doing the Rite together, and that he’ll be the—”

Suddenly you’re airborne, Loki’s strong hands scooping you like a bag of feathers and manoeuvring you to one of the long pillows on the floor. He looms over you on his hands and knees; one set on either side of your left leg, a wild veil of black hair hanging around his jaw. His lips part, and the impossible muscles of his shoulders shift beneath the drape of that slutty shirt. “He will not,” Loki says. “Did that cunning little mouse say he was visiting Lagertha for any other reason than to have his doublet mended?” His breath is tinged with the sweetness of primrose wine. “You are my chosen partner; he has no sway in it – and certainly no say in it.”

The gravel of his voice is bass to the continuum of groaning that sings between pillars. Desire scorches your skin, tightening your thighs and twisting your stomach so taut it might snap. Your gaze shifts fractionally to the side, catching sight of a beautiful man with bronze hair glittering like a copper coin as his cock sinks inside against another man’s ass: again, again - a hand fastening to the back of his lover’s neck. The second man moans: guttural, primal. “Do you like that?” Loki’s breath licks the shell of your ear, his hands shifting the skirts of your loose dress up your parted legs like water. The digits slide down your arms, guiding them above your head. You can’t look away: the men are poetry together. The one taking everything the other has to give grips the back of a chair, his knuckles white, his jaw trembling and cock hard at his stomach as the fingers cradling his neck tighten.

If Loki can’t ravish you, if he can’t touch your cunt which aches for his tongue – then you’ll settle for his voice. And the heat radiating from the collar of his shirt. And anyway, you’re pretty sure his voice alone will make you climax in 3…2…1— “I want to know everything,” Loki says: dark, filthy, and…honest? Your pussy clenches so hard you almost whimper. “You’ve told me about your life, but now I wish to know your desires…your deepest fantasies. I crave that knowledge like an orgasm I cannot sate.”

His husk lingers heavy over any other sound, filling your mind with strange, inadvisable, thoughts of forever. “What you like,” he hums, “what you want…how I can pleasure you beyond anything you’ve shared with another, and how I can haunt every moment your mind wanders from now until eternity.”

The god’s lips graze your pulse point, and you can feel the thump of blood beating against his skin. “So, I ask again,” he says as the figures fucking in front of you blur, “do you like that?”

A stab of air rips down your throat as you gasp, “Yes.” Norns, right now you’d let him flip you over and sink into your ass in a second.

Without warning, one of Loki’s leather clad thighs presses against your clit. Sparks explode from your centre, tendrils of utter desire rippling across your body like the drag of a lit match. Fear widens your eyes, and amusement dances in his. “Your arousal cannot touch me through these,” he says coolly, taking his time over every syllable. “My hands remain here…” Loki’s eyes dart up to his fingers encircling your wrists, and squeezes. “My sword remains sheathed, and my leathers are merely...” He presses the flat of his lower thigh against your clit again, “A tool.”

“That’s cheating,” you say breathlessly. Loki’s lip twitches in a knowing smirk, a half shrug conveying, ‘What did you expect?’ “Don’t you want to play with me?” His eyes narrow, and another lance of need spears through your core. Your lips roll together, stifling a moan as your brows draw tight. “You’re drunk,” you say. But you don’t believe it. Loki’s pupils are still wide and deep enough to drown in, but it’s not the primrose wine. Unbelievably, it’s you. For now, you decide to let yourself imagine he doesn’t just need you for the Rite; that it could be more – that he could be yours.

The weight of his attention lies heavier in the air than the aroma of sex, and his thigh grinds against your pussy; catching the spot above your clit with each, gentle tug.

“Fuck…Loki,” you whisper, back arching off the cushion. His chin rises, smouldering beneath half-lidded eyes. “Talk to me,” he breathes. You want to dig the heel of your palm against his solid cock bound beneath the crotch of his leathers. You want to feel his animal god-lust pulsing under your hand - more fuel for the violently dirty fantasies you’ll create in your head later as you writhe beneath the sheets alone.

Loki tuts, squeezing your wrists again. You offer a weak, breathy struggle. “No, little owl. Not today, not yet. I want to be destructively engorged with the sight of you…denied what I want while I hear you come undone.” “Loki,” you whine again, face hot and a hum growing in your ears. This is crazy. And yet…

Loki’s thigh moves in wicked waves against your clit; his eyes burning into yours, those thin lips parted and flushed, and ragged exhales scraping from his throat like he’s sinking inside your cunt. “Talk to me,” he says again, but this time, it’s a beg. A silky voice sounds from behind his broad shoulders, accompanied by an immaculately shaped set of nails sweeping across his collarbone. The woman who was glaring earlier. She lowers to his ear. “Can I offer you relief, my prince? Since this one cannot?”

It’s hushed, but you were meant to hear it.

Loki doesn’t even look at her; his fingers stay curled around your wrists. “No,” he says through gritted teeth. She slinks away and the flames licking up your belly burn brighter. The meat of his thigh muscle stills, and the ache of its absence makes you frott against his knee.

“Talk to me,” he commands with an air of finality, chin lowering. “Tell me what you like, what you want.” Even if he let go of your arms, that stare would pin you in place. Every inch the prince; every inch the god – even in the middle of a daylight orgy.

“I want your mouth on me,” you whisper; squirming beneath his mischievous smirk. “I want it…slow, then heavier…then slower.” “Slow?” Loki hums, titling his head. That tongue darts over his lips. “And firm, but…soft. Wet. And loud…I want to hear you taste me.” Gods’ bones, has anyone ever been this ineloquent? But Loki doesn’t seem to mind. His face tells you he knows exactly what you mean; exactly how you like it. He’s imagining it, just as you are.

Your eyes dart to his crotch and the thick outline of his manhood strains against heavy creases. His hips shift, a small hiss filling the air between you. “What else?” he asks in a breathless voice that’s so unlike him. You bite your lip as his stare falls down your chest - flimsy drapes of silk threatening to expose your breasts. You wonder if he’ll let go of your wrists. And if he can control himself if he does. “And I want your cock, too…obviously.” “Obviously…” he goads with the spectre of a smile. The god leans forward, nudging the silk aside with his nose and capturing a nipple with a firm suck. Loki’s thigh begins to shift against your pussy again, and a strangled moan rattles in your throat. The groans of the men fucking a few meters away reach crescendo and they tumble over the edge in a sweaty, groaning slip of sex.

“I want you everywhere,” you gasp, losing any shred of remaining modesty with the smear of your heat against his leathers. “My cunt, my mouth, my ass—” “—Like them?” he stammers, thick brows drawn together. “—Like them. I want you so deep inside me I forget my own name, want your skin smacking my shoulders, want you pulling me onto your cock as you fuck me like I’m in heat and you can’t control it—” “—More,” Loki gasps, and your eyes fly open. His face is twisted with furious need, lines deep in his forehead, strands of onyx hair buffeting at his lips. His thigh slips against your slit – it’s absolutely soaked, and his hands tremble where he’s holding you in place. The words that shape your lips are calculated in their depravity: aimed to kill. “I want your cum dripping between my thighs; dripping between my breasts…” At that, Loki groans. “I’ll lick it off myself…before I suck you clean, and swallow everything you have left…my prince.” Loki’s jaw slackens like the orgasm shattering him is an unseen foe with a knife to his neck. The jolt in his hips sends the thick thigh driving against your clit and you crumble right alongside him with a garbled cry of his name. He falls on top of you in a mess of ferocious need; lips working, breath gasping from your lungs and the beat of his heart strong against your ribs. But still, his hands don’t leave your wrists.

“You are a wonder,” he breathes, galaxies swimming in his pleasure-drunk stare. And for a moment, you forget that you’re a means to an end; that after the Rite you’ll go back to being a nobody - and you believe him.  

Loki barely has his wits back when someone clears their throat at the door. “Your brother - Prince Loki.” “My what?” “Your brother, the crown prince. He’s outside.” “Nine hels. What does he want?” Loki didn’t wait for the man to respond – he’d save the wretch that particular misery, and Loki’s misery at having to listen to the bluster of his explanation. He dips to your cheek, drawing his nose down the line of your cheekbone, inhaling against your sweat-damp skin. “I’ll return shortly,” he whispers. And below him, you shiver. A thrill spreads in sharp veins under his flesh. Loki strides past the guard looking at the ceiling while his cheeks flush an alarming shade of scarlet – and the door shuts quickly behind them. Thor stands with his arms folded, one ill-groomed eyebrow rising as he says, “Are the reports true? That your Rite partner is in there?” Loki can’t contain the eye-roll. “If you think I’m so foolish as to compromise myself at the eleventh hour before my ascension to the royal line; then truly there is no hope for you, brother. And she has a name, you know.” Thor’s gaze drops sceptically to his thigh. “What’s that?” He gestures to the glistening slick down one of the leather-clad quad muscles. Norns. “It’s not breaking the rules, I checked.”

With a flick of his fingers, the slick evaporates. And even though he’s sure (almost, sure), Loki rubs his fingertips together. Nothing. He breathes a secret sigh of relief. It would just be like Thor to ruin everything without actually intending to. “Of course you did, Loki. How studious of you.” “Can you spell that?” He snorts. “Besides, your partner was Lady Sif – you had centuries to cultivate the bond. And father and mother were partners…it’s a completely different situation. I must do what I must within the confines of the ceremonial rules.” “And whose fault is that, Loki? You could’ve had your pick of partners had you not rutted through them in a jamboree of wine and carnal gluttony.” Loki’s lip twitches, and he sucks the bottom one between his teeth. “I couldn’t have selected better if I’d had the centuries to spare, actually. Not all of us need hundreds of years to woo someone.”

The bemused crunch of Thor’s brow makes a flutter of satisfaction blossom in his chest. “I assure you, brother – all aspects of the Rite of Successional Pleasure will be fulfilled, I’m sure of it.” Thor's eyes narrow. “She’s been told of the second requirement?” “No, but I believe doing so will make it unnecessarily…challenging. She doesn’t need to know, she only needs to feel.” “You realise her feelings for you must come willingly. Un-influenced by magic?”

Loki glares, spine stiffening. “I shan't need to use my powers to wring pleasure from her body, why should I require it of her heart? Is that so hard to believe?” “In such a short amount of time? Yes, brother. I’ve known you over a millennia, and most days I still don’t care for you.” Loki’s fist flexes at his side as Thor, regrettably, continues. “The Rite is an expression of our benevolence to bestow pleasure on another freely, but it is also a test of our means to win their affections; their loyalty.” “And I will not fail,” he snaps. He and Thor stare at each other, unblinking, until his brother breaks first with a long, whittling sigh. “I hope you’re right, brother,” he says. “And be more careful, it would be unfortunate if you were to be undone by your own…passions, as usual.”

Heat prickles beneath Loki’s skin. “What would you know of my passions? Thor’s cape flutters as he turns, before glancing over his shoulder: ignoring him. “As much as it pains me, choosing Fandral as your partner for the Rite may be the wiser choice…it’s not too late. You know he already harbours those feelings for you – the deep ones the ritual requires. If there is any doubt, brother—”

“—There is no doubt,” Loki lies, fingernails digging in to the soft flesh of his palm. “I still have two moons until the ceremony– wars have been won in less.” He keeps his expression flat as Thor’s eyes soften. “If only love was as simple as war, brother,” he says in one of those rare displays of wisdom that make Loki want to punch him in the face. “She’s not one of us. I would say try not to break her heart, but it’s inevitable, is it not.” It isn’t a question. Loki swallows as his brother’s footsteps fade, glancing back to the golden door. He waves his hand, releasing the enchantment muffling the guard’s ears.

“Get her out of there,” he murmurs. “Escort her, offer my apologies; instruct her to change, and meet me in the gardens at sunrise.” "My prince, she will ask—" "—Sunrise," he snaps. A pain throbs behind his eyes.

The guard nods, and Loki tries to ignore the pulse of his heartbeat in his throat, and the unfamiliar itch of guilt spreading with every echoing thud of his boots around Asgard’s gilded halls.

Next Chapter: Illusion & Truth The Masterlist for The Rite is HERE Comments in tags ❤️ Plz be silly with me 🍰🥳

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter five: Discovery Channel (In which you find out you have fans)

Warnings: Idk sort of Hi3 lore spoilers? Void Archives is his own warning

Why the hell did you even bother to think you could fix the absolute red flag that’s the divine key sitting on the chair next to your bed?

The more the Kirschtaria look alike spoke, the more you were convinced he should have been booted off the train. Too bad you couldn’t let your intrusive thoughts win in the meantime— Welt doesn’t know just how worse this guy could get, shared goal be damned.

“Okay so uhh, you were with Welt to fight a bunch of people in the sky right?” You said, trying to go along with whatever the fuck he was saying— it wasn’t like you didn’t know what they were doing beforehand, but it was easier to pretend you didn’t know shit.

“Yes, and we were in luck because Himeko had saved us.” He said, smiling. For a moment you would have been utterly bamboozled but you knew better.

You thanked your new brain that functioned as fast as a supercomputer, because you knew everyone in this train would be dead meat if you were slow.

“I see… that’s good to know she managed to get to you in the nick of time then.” You told him with a light hearted laugh, you swore that the more he looked at you, the more suspicious he became. If you were going to kick this man off the train it would have to be a vote of majority, but since he wasn’t acting up just yet you were going to postpone that meeting.

He was still on your watchlist, though.

Void Archives opened a bottle of expensive looking whiskey and poured it on a cup, and then another, and handed one to you.

“A toast.” He said, but you heard “An offering of friendship”. It was at least good to know he knew he shouldn’t fuck around with you.

You accepted the glass, drank it and grimaced.

“Not a fan I see.” He shook his head as if to mourn your lack of taste in the finer things in life. But what would he know? He’s a cube.

“I don’t like it, but I can drink it.” The taste of the whiskey burned in your throat. “Tastes a little funny though.” You murmured, Void Archives didn’t react much to your statement and continued to drink til he emptied the bottle.

It took him an hour, but at least the empty bottle signified he overstayed his welcome in your room.

“Let us meet again tomorrow morning, I want to speak with you soon.” He told you before he left.

Good grief, what a creep.

———————————

You never did end up speaking to him, instead heading towards Welt Yang, who you want to vaguely warn.

“I know you knew Void longer than you know me,” you began, but you already know Welt was more likely to believe you than the cube. “But keep an eye on him, he gives me a bad feeling.” Plant the seed of doubt, slowly but surely, so that the damage to the express can be minimized.

“I’ll.. keep that in mind.” Welt inhaled, stiffly nodding at your words as you patted him on the back.

“Great! Also, if things come down to it, you have my say in kicking him off this train.” You grinned, waving before disintegrating into particles as you returned to your original body.

Famous last words to be spoken.

Because five years later, on a Christmas Eve of all occasions, shit happened. And Void Archives was booted off the train like the red Amogus on a community vote.

Was it chaotic? Yes. Was it like a court hearing than an actual community vote? Also yes.

You had plenty of evidence presented, including the first instance you invited him to your room— because what do you know, the whiskey he gave you was drugged.

He did plenty of horrible shit, and even Himeko, poor patient Himeko, had enough.

You felt a little bad for Welt though having to deal with the aftermath, needless to say, everyone, except you, needed therapy on that train.

On the upside, someone better did replace the blonde and that was Dan Heng who joined you a few weeks before Void Archives was booted off the express.

“Well,” you blinked. “That was something.” You said out loud as Dan Heng shook his head. “Sorry you had to meet that guy.”

Dan Heng brushed it off, instead focusing on staring at the Christmas dinner that Pompom prepared for everyone and poked the turkey on his plate with a fork, before properly digging in.

It wasn’t exactly an ideal way to start your holidays and welcoming someone in the crew properly in a celebration, but you supposed it’d have to do.

It was at least one less toxic bitch off the train.

——————

You didn’t expect you’d deal with your own information being displayed in the databank though. Dan Heng wasn’t creepy about it at least, not that he knew you were an Aeon— specifically, the Aeon that ate Akivili (you still feel bad about that).

“Libertas, huh.” You let out a snort as you read your own little book. In there, it was written on how you were discovered, and what you stood for, along with a group that eventually became your followers.

You hummed, thinking it was rather endearing to see the Avgin there as some of your believers. It was interesting on how you got a following, no matter how small, in the few decades you existed in this world.

It wasn’t just the Avgin, there were others who you did not know too who believed in you, and others who you did see when you had peered into planets to see what people were up to.

It was sweet in a way, for them to cling to you for belief as they sought true happiness in the way of freeing themselves and others.

You wanted to keep it that way.

You read into the pages more, finding out what kind of worship people dedicated to your path; there was a statue of you in one city in some planet hundreds of light years away, in another planet there was you in a tapestry, in another you had a statue and a painting inside of a massive church akin to the ones you saw in photos of Rome.

It was a little overwhelming, and you felt a little shy at the recent discovery of all of this.

You closed the book and put it back on its shelf, exiting Dan Heng’s room to ask Pompom for tea after helping them with their chores.

—————————

Unbeknownst to you, Dan Heng knew you were an Aeon— and an Aeon he believed in in some way when he had heard of you in the whispers of the guards in the recent years he’s stayed in the Shackling Prison. It wasn’t exactly difficult to piece things together with the context clues around the place, not to mention, Himeko did end up telling him.

You wouldn’t be angry about it, she said to him. You were apparently rather human-like, and kind.

Himeko wasn’t wrong, and Dan Heng was going to trust that judgement. Is he wary? Yes, you’re an Aeon after all, you were plenty big of a deal.

But Pompom didn’t seem to be scared of you, and Welt spoke to you with a sense of respect. You regarded everyone in this train with a certain familiarity— Dan Heng did feel like you were a bit strange due to the feeling of “uncanny valley” you gave him, but you were kind to him and you were welcoming.

He was welcome in this place, he had a place to stay, and a purpose, as meager as it was.

Dan Heng thinks things would be alright from now on.

————————

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI (HERE), Part VII, Part VIII

Yeeeee this took a bit!!! Thanks for the wait yall, I know it’s calm rn, but it’ll get rowdy again at some point I promise.

[aliesbienish]

Could you do Benedict Bridgerton with wife pregnant!reader? She was panicking about something and didn't stop rambling the moment she saw him. He surprises her by kissing her, effectively silencing her and she melts against him. She knew even if the world would end, hw was the only one who could calm her down. Just something fluff and maybe a little suggestive 👀 Thanks!! :))

Oh baby

Hi anon, hope you enjoy. Probably went a little hard on the angst and a little lacking in the suggestiveness... it got away from me. xx ---------

The doubts kept creeping in today, nothing was able to distract you from your thoughts. Your book laid face down on the window seat, your journal stayed blank. Instead of being productive, here you were just staring out the window bringing yourself to a panic. Everyone said the reservations were normal, and logically you knew that they were unfounded. But the rumination going on seemed to have kicked logic out the window.

Becoming a mother suddenly seemed like an occasion you couldn't rise to. All the ways you could screw up your poor child, which your brain was unhelpfully bringing up in spades, seemed daunting. Suddenly being trusted to keep a little human alive without any proof of competence was ludicrous. So you had spent the day stuck in your thoughts staring out your bedroom window.

And now you need to get them out before you exploded. Ready to share you headed to your husbands studio down the hall, not bothering to knock. He was engrossed in a painting, streaks of colour covering what was once a white shirt.

"Hi Honey. How are---" Benedict began before you interrupted with word vomit.

"I don't think I can do this Ben. Maybe I am not fit to be a mother, I'm too selfish. I have never had to look after anyone but myself, no poor child deserves a mother like that."

"Babe, what --"

"I have absolutely no clue what I am doing. What if I hurt them? Or am inpatient with them?"

"Sweetie plea-"

"I'm so scared I will be a bad mum." You sighed, ready to spell out exactly all the ways you thought that might be the case. Instead you were updated by a soft peck on your lips and a gentle hand stroking you cheek. Benedicts soft lips pulled back and he rested his forehead against your own.

"Honey, you are the most loving, kind person I know. You were made for this role, I just know it. You will meet our baby and the love will overflow and I will be in awe with you. Our baby will be soo very lucky to have you as their mum,"

"But what if I don't know what to do?"

"Then we find out, we are surrounded by loving, strong mothers. We can reach out to my mum, or Daphne, or Kate. You are not alone." Another stroke to your cheek from Benedict and you could finally felt like you could breathe again.

You nodded gently against Benedict's forehead before grabbing his hand from your check, taking it in your own and moving it down to your swollen belly.

"I love you Ben. You will be an amazing father."

[onlyjaeyun]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟓𝟏

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥��𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟕𝐤

↬ 𝐜𝐰: 𝐃𝐃/𝐋𝐆 (𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝟎𝐦/𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥) 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐟.𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠

The buzzing of your phone on the nightstand wakes you up from your dreamless sleep and just as you're about to move around to turn your alarm off, you're reminded of the strong arm around your waist as it pulls you further into the warm chest pressed into your back.

It's only then that you remember how and who you fell asleep next to, a cheeky smile creeping up on your face as soon as the realisation hits you.

Jongseong is still in bed with you. On a weekday.

To your surprise, he's not only still in bed with you but seems to be peacefully asleep, something you're not quite used to when it comes to your hardworking boyfriend.

In the back of your mind you had hoped that he'd stay, especially after a night like yesterday's, yet for some reason you didn't allow yourself to indulge in those hopes, as you were too scared of them being empty yet again.

It doesn't take much longer for more images of the previoos nught to sneak into your head, but for the first time in your life you know you won't let them win no matter what.

You haven't fell asleep and woken up next to your boyfriend in weeks, there's no way you're going to let your anxiety and destructive brain take this away from you again.

There's so much to unpack about the whole situation about your brothers and the bodyguards, you know Jongseong will want to talk about, but you simply don't have the mental energy to waste on those men anymore. You've been fightem then alongside your mental demons for the past two decades and dor the first time in your life you just want to live a single day without thinking about them for once.

Of course this won't make them any less dangerous or threatening, but it will give you the temporary inner peace you need and mostly deserve.

So, determined to not waste any more of your energy on those stupid bastards, you let out a soft sigh and turn around in Jongseong's arms to bury your face in the crook of his warm neck, inhaling his sweet scent the way you did to fall asleep and enjoying every single second of this rare occasion.

Unfortunately you're very much aware of the fact that your second alarm is going to go off any second now as the both of you have to get ready for work.

"Jongie", you whisper against his soft skin and pull your head back to have a good look ag him, hating yourself and the universe for having to wake him up.

He hasn't slept longer than four hours ever since your trip to Jeju and you can't wait to basically kidnap him to a different city and just make sure that man finally gets the sleep him and his body need.

"Wake up, my love", you sigh and place a soft kiss on his chin, "we have to get ready for work."

The sweet sound of your voice gently pulls him into consciousness, something he has yet to get used to, especially after unintentionally depriving himself of it for so long. As your words slowly push their way through the sleepy fog in his head, Jongseong suddenly deicdes to adapt to a completely new routine just to wake up like this until his last day on this earth.

"We're both calling in sick", he suddenly grunts, his voixe deeper and raspier than usual, the sound so unfamiliar, it leaves you lightheaded and shoots a jolt of hot arousal right in between your legs.

"We can't just do that, pretty face", you say with a soft chuckle, hoping for the aching in your lower body to just disappear if you try to overplay it hard enough, "we have meetings and appointments with important clients today."

"Why not? I'm the CEO and owner of the company, they should be grateful I even considered giving them some of my precious time. They can wait a day or two."

Jay's words surprise you as much as they turn you on and you hate your body for betraying you like this. Today is probably just an exception yet you can't help but feel your hopes rising all the way to the sky.

You try to think of something to respond, but you're too mesmerized by the sight of a sleepy Park Jongseong. The way his hair is messily falling into his slightly flushed face, eyes hooded as they're getting used to the sunlight exposure, his pretty lips pushed into a cute little pout and his big hand gently caressing your back.

The longer you look at him, the more you fall in love with him and for a moment you forget whag the two of you were even talking about.

"Don't look at me like that, Baby or I'll make them wait a week or two", Jay teases softly, his hand now moving to your thigh as the other one remains underneath your waist, busy drawing random circles into your skin through the thin fabric of your camisole.

"Oh", you blurt when you realise how obviously you've been staring at him as embarrassment quickly takes over your body, "I'm sorry, Jongie, I didn't mean to. You just look really pretty when you wake up."

"My sweet little angel baby", Jay begins and pushes the bem of your camisole all the way up to your hips, exposing your bare thigh to his greedy touch so easily, "don't ever be sorry for eyefucking me with those pretty eyes. I fucking love seeing you so needy for me."

You're visible surprised at his response, forgetting that your boyfriend has always read your facial expressions as well as your bidy language quite easily and for some reason you can't help but feel even more embarrassed.

"What's going through that sweet head of yours, Baby? Why are you so hesitant?"

You nervously pull your bottom lip in between your teeth as a wave of shame overwhelms you, yet you can't really put a name on the reason behind it.

The past few weeks you've always been the one to initiate intimacy and after losing yourself in quite a few anxious thoughts the previous night, you can't help but let them win yet again.

You know Jongseong's been quite busy, nobody knows it as good as you do. However him not initiating anything these past few weeks has definitely made you feel anlot more insecure than you would like to admit, simply because it feels like he only does it for you and not because he actually wants it.

"I'm sorry for always being so needy", you whisper and bury your face in his neck, "I don't mean to push you so much."

Jongseong is flabbergasted, to say the least.

He's never expected this to be the reason for your change in demeaner and as the realisation hits him, he can't help but let okt a lighthearted chuckle.

"Oh, Baby", he sighs and reaches for your cheek to pull your face away from his neck and meet your glossy gaze, "do you really feel guilty for wanting me so often?"

"Yes", you don't hesitate with your response, too lost in the way he's looking at you with such sweetness and adoration, "you usually don't iniate intimacy and it made me realise that maybe you don't actually want me as often as I want you."

Yet again, Jongseong feels overwhelmed by your statement. Never in a million years could he have expected your thoughts to be as mean as this and as his eyes roam your soft face, his heart aches in his chest.

"And that's okay. I know I can be insatiable sometimes. I hope you know that doesn't mean I only want you for your body. You're so much more to me than sex, I just have a very high libido." Your voice is small and uncertain, filled with insecurity and self doubt, a sound so heartbreaking, Jongseong feels his chest tightening in despair.

"Come here, Baby", is the first thing your sleepy boyfriend replies before he pushes the blanket away from your bodies and guides you to straddle his lap.

You physically can't stop a tiny little gasp to leave your lips as you come in sudden contact with the hard bunge in Jong's boxer briefs, something you haven't felt this way in a lot longer than you thought.

It's not like the two of you hadn't fucked each other in the past few weeks, unfortunately there was never much time for any foreplay and it usually ended in a quickie which stilled your hunger for a few hours. Most of the time Jongseong made sure to have you fall apart on his fingers first followed by him doing just the right things with his cock to drive you into insanity. He also tried his best to give you just enough aftercare to help you regain your composure but you couldn't help but crave more. The lack of actual sensitivity in those moments was probably what resulted in your insatiable hunger for him and his touch.

Without missing a beat, you press your hands flat against his inked chest, caressing the soft skin and circling your hips without even realising it.

"My soft little angel girl", Jongseong sighs and starts kneading the soft flesh of your thighs in his hands, "I'm sorry for not talking to you about this more. Your silly little brain probably gave you such a hard time about this, didn't it?"

"Yes, Jongie", you sigh and look at him with needy, glossy eyes, a sight so pure, so beautiful, the young man has yet to get used to it's effects on his body.

"And is that the reason why you've been more hesitant about indulging in the whole Daddy thing lately, Baby?", he calmly responds as his eyes never once shift away from your face and where you feel like a kid being caught doing something they're not supposed to do, your boyfriend seems more than just amused by your responsive body language.

"I guess it is. But I promise I didn't do it intentionally."

"You're so fucking cute", is his instinctive response to your answer and with a soft sigh, you push your lips into a pout and let your hands find his on your thighs, absentmindedly playing with his pretty fingers to distract yourself from the feeling of embarrassment filling your veins.

"My Baby", Jay then begins, his voice slightly deeper as he notices the feeling of your wetness making its way through the thin fabric of your panties, "I know I haven't been the best boyfriend lately and I promise you to make up for every sinfle doubt and bad thought I've caused you."

You're about to interrupt his little apology and reassure him, but Jongseong doesn't let you. He's determined to say what he's been dying to for the past fourtyeight hours and no matter how badly you want him to believe that his behavior is somehow justified and okay, he knows it's not and that's why he won't allow you to intervene. Not this time.

Before your brain can even process it, you find yourself on your back, your boyfriend casually moving to lay in between your legs. Jay's face is as close to yours as physically possible and his nose gently nudges yours before he places the most delicate kiss on your parted lips.

"I haven't paid much attention to you and didn't make any efforts to actively include you into my daily routine outside of work and that wasn't okay. Yet, I hope you know that from now on that's going to change", with every single one of his words, Jay pushes you deeper into the mattress until you can practically feel his heart beating against your chest.

"No more early mornings to work out and as little long days as possible. It took me a bit but I finally realised that I am the boss and I do have the privilege to cancel and postpone appointments to make time for my girl. It won't always be like that and at times I'll be at work more than I'd like to be but at the end of the day I'm always going to try my best to come home to fall asleep with you. Not after you."

Jongseong doesn't give you enough time to actually process his sweet words as he pulls you into a hungry kiss and allows you to lose youdself in the sweet feeling of comfort and warmth it comes with.

Just as usual, Jay's kisses are slow and sensual. At first. But the harder he starts grinding his hard cock against your clothed cunt, the sloppier and needier they become. It doesn't take much time for your usually so composed boyfriend to grunt and moan into your mouth, loving the way you swallow every single one of his noises.

"And please don't ever be sorry for wanting me so often. Touching you, being intimate with you, being the one to pleasure you – and everything it comes with, is a privilege to me. Knowing you want me so much is what keeps me sane, Baby", Jay looks at you with soft eyes and just as usual, the expression in his gaze matches his words perfectly. It's like he makes sure you can physically see how honest he's being with you.

"I need it, angel girl", he suddenly grunts and buries his face in your neck, "Daddy needs you to need him, Baby. It's everything I've been daydreaming about for all my life. To be needed, wanted and loved by my person. By you. Please, don't take this away from me."

You're hearing his little pleas and his sweet, needy request, yet you're brain is already too fogged up by all the arousal rushing through your body as the tip of his clothed cock hits your sensitive clit with every single one of his precise thrusts.

"Louder, Baby", Jay suddenly commands, the urge to hear your moans and whimpers overwhelming him after the both of you had to keep quiet the last few times you've gotten intimate.

"Please, Daddy", your response comes quicker and more desperate than you expected it to, but you're simply too far gone already to care.

"What do you want, angel girl? Use those big girl words for Daddy, I know you can do it."

You start nodding like your life depends on it, your hands find home in his thick hair as Jongseong slowly kisses his way down your neck and to your cleavage, sucking the skin into his mouth every now and then right before his hands grab the hem of your camisole and pull it over your head in one swift motion.

"There she is, my perfect little angel", Jongseong sighs and comes to sit up on his knees right between your legs.

"Please, Daddy", you whimper yet again, reaching for his hands to get him to just somehow touch your needy cunt again.

You subconsciously wait dor him to scold you for not doing as you're told, however you definitely don't expect him to land a harsh spank on your clothed cunt. The stinging pain sends you into the sweetest haze of pleasure and with your head thrown back into the pillow, you struggle to build a single rational thought.

"Good girls use their words when they want something", Jay says sternly, his eyes hooded yet filled with such intense hunger, you feel your juices drip out of your clenching hole the longer you look at him.

"I need you to", you're still hesitant but quickly realise that there's no way Jong's going to give into your little insecurities now, so without wasting any more time, you blurt out the rest of your request.

"Eat my pussy", you dig your nails into his wrist as the pain of his tight grip on your inner thigh has your head spinning like crazy, "please, Daddy. I need you to eat my pussy, wanna cum all over your face."

"There you go, that's my good girl. Was that so hard, Baby?"

Jay can't help but feel amused by the sweet look of embarasin your eyes as you look at him, lips parted, hair messy, legs spread wide enough to put your drenched panties on full display for his hungry gaze.

"Don't tease me", you spit and roll your eyes in faux annoyance, followed by desperately trying to hide just how flustered you are because of the breathtakingly beautiful smirk grazing his plumps lips.

"Now, that was a mistake, pretty girl", Jay chuckles and lets his fingers graze your inner thigh right before he lands another hard spank on your sensitive pussy.

"You know I'll just tease you even more if you tell me not to."

"Daddy, please touch me. No more spanks. Need you to touch me."

For a moment you're genuinely surprised by your lack of hesitance but then again it makes sense as all your senses are captivated by Park Jongseong's sweet scent, his touche and his taste lingering on your tongue like a drug.

Jongseong doesn't say a single word until bends down to push his cheek against your inner thigh, dangerously glose to where you need him the most.

The fact you're still very much wearing your now ruined panties is definitely not helping with your impatience.

"Beg a little more, pretty girl", Jay teases and pulls the soaked fabric to the side only to blow cold air against your sensitive flesh.

"F-Fuck", you're quick to arch your back in hopes of getting him to finally do what you've asked for multiple times by now, only for Jay to pull away with another row of soft chuckles.

"Aww, look at my Baby. You're so needy, angel girl. Apparently too needy to use your manners for Daddy, hm?"

"Please", you beg softly, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes and you tighten your grip on his thick hair, "please, Daddy. I've been waiting so long for this. Don't I deserve this?"

And that little rhetorical question is what has Jongseong halt his movements like he's jusg seen a ghost.

"Of course, princess", your boyfriend whispers with tiny bits of guilt gleaming in his sweet eyes, "of course you deserve this."

If your brain wasn't as clouded by the arousal, you would have had enough time to feel bad about using such strategies to get what you want but after barely remembering what his mouth feels like on you, you can't help but feel grateful it worked. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Before either one of you can get out another word, Jongseong finally licks a long strip over the length of your soaked cunt followed by shameleslly sucking your sensitive kiss into his mouth and teasing it with the tip of his tongue.

The suddenness of his actions knock every last breath out of your lungs and with a loud gasp you push your hips further into his face, back arched and head thrown back with the loudest moan of his name.

It doesn't take much for Jongseong to completely lose himself in the sweet taste of your juices as he laps up every single drop, filling the room with loud sucking and slurping noises as well as his muffled moans the second he pushes his tongue into your tight hole.

You can tell how hard he's trying to maintain his composure but every time your gaze meets his, you realisd how far gone he already is. Eyes hooded, cheeks flushed, half of his face coated in your wetness as he digs his bails knto your soft thighs to keep your legs firmly spread for his hungry mouthy.

With every skill flick of his tongue against your hardened clit, you feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge, the taste of your sweet relief coating the entirety of your mouth and consuming your senses in the best way possible.

Not a single coherent sentence falls past your lips as the tension in your lower stomach increases and you feel yourself getting closer and closer.

"Do it, princess", Jay suddenly grunts and lifts his hand up to land a row of hard slaps against your overly sensitive pussy, the stinging pain sending your brain into overdrive and your eyes into the back of your head.

"I can feel it, you're so close. Come on, cum for Daddy, Baby. Make me proud. Claim me as yours. Cum all over my fucking face like rhe perfect princess you are."

And maybe it's the way his deep voice so close to your cunt sends vibration through your body or maybe it's the way his thumb has made it its mission to rub firm circles into your sensitive clit or maybe, just maybe it's the way he's tamking to you, but regardless of the reason, the coil kn your lower stomach still snaps as soon as your brain has processed his words.

Your high washes over you in several waves, pussy clenching down around nothing as Jay has long taken his fingers out of your tight hold to watch your juices drip out of you as you cum for him. It takes you a moment to realise that your sight has blurred and you feel your ears ringing from the intensity of your orgasm, something you've only ever experienced with Park Jongseong before and have yet to get used to.

You have absolutely no idea how much time goes by until your breathing finally goes back to normal and when your eyes meet the sighg of your boyfriend's habdsome face still firmly buried in your pussy, you nnow exactly why it took you as long as it did.

"Up here, Daddy", you pout and push your hand into his hair to grab a fistful of the thick strands and make him look at you, "can you fuck me now, please? I need to feel you fill me up with your cum so bad."

Jay smiles lazily, still quite drunk on the taste of your cum on his tongue as he's missed it a lot more than he expected. He hasn't had time to eat you out for who knows how long and it's when you look at him with big eyes and parted lips thag he decides to make it part of his new daily routine.

Not a day shall pass by where he doesn't eat rhe sweetest pussy he's ever had or he'll be dammed.

"Sorry, Baby", he sighs and absentmindedly pulls his boxer briefs down his thick thighs, revealing his painfully hard cock to your hungry eyes, "missed eating that pussy to much so i got a little dizzy. Don't think I'll last as long as usual so I might need some help."

You nervously start nibbling on your bottom lip as you wait for him to continue, the excitement bubbling and boiling in your loser tummy as your cunt clenches in response to the throbbing of his cock in his hand.

"Be a good girl for Daddy and rub that pretty clit for me, hm? Wanna cum with you this time but I'm so sensitive already. It's been so long since I've had you like this, Baby."

"Yes, Daddy, anything for you."

Your sweet words of affirmation elicit the sweetest moan from your boyfriend's throat and you attentively watch the way his hips halt their movements for a moment in response to you.

To your luck, Jay seems a lot more impatient than he claimed as he's quick to rub the tip of his sensitive cock against the wet flesh of your cunt, coating his whole length in your juices right before he lines himself up with your entrance.

"Look at Daddy, pretty girl", Jong grunts and pushes his tip inside of your tight hole just enough to reach for your free hand and intertwine your fingers with his, while his other one finds his way around your delicate throat.

"I love you", are the first tjing to leave his plump lips the second he pushes ghe first two inches of his thick cock into the tightness of your pussy, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as soon as you start clenching around him.

"Relax, angel girl. We still have a few more inches to. Daddy needs you to relax so it doesn't hurt, yeah? Be good for me, Baby."

You start nodding impatiently, almost instinctively rubbing firm circlers into your sensitive bundle of nerves the way your biyfriend did it just a few minutes ago, knowing exactly how you like it and how to get yourself to the edge as fast as possible again.

Your body slowly gets rid of the last bit of tension when Jongseong bends down to press his lips against your, not caring about how soft or sweet the kiss is, but rather focusing on the taste of your spit coating the muscle of his tongue.

By the time he finally bottoms out, you can feel your breath hitching in your throat, the feeling of being filled to the absolute brim overwhelming you just as usual.

"So fucking tight", Jay whimpers into your ear, not awake or sober enough to care about the way he sounds, "you're going to make me cum so hard, Baby. Fuck, I won't last l-long, I'm sorry."

"No, Daddy, don't be", you're quick to reassure your boyfriend, pulling on his hair and öoving your hips to meet his little thrusts, appreciative of the way he's still giving you time to adjust to his impressive size, "am close already, too. Wanna cum with you, please."

"Yeah, Baby? Gonna make a mess of Daddy's cock and cum all over me like the good girl you are, right? Go ahead then, angel girl", Jongseong's voice grows raspier, deeper and more hoarse as the pleasure and meed for relief overwhelms his whole body in the best way possible, "cum for me. Claim your man. Show me what only you get to do with my cock."

It's those exact words which push you over the edge headfirst the second time wighin just a few minutes. Jay always knows exactly what to say, he knows how possessive you are and how much yoj love claiming him. Hearing him confirm your thoughts and wants so casually never fails to leave yoj completely breathless.

And as your tight cunt starts spasmkng around his iverly sensitive cock, Jongseong quickly buries his face in your negk with a loud moan of your name right as he cums in three thick spurts and coats the soft walls of your cunt in several shades of white.

Nothing but your joined heavy breathing and the thrumming of your heartbeat in your throat fills your ears for a good five minutes, Jong's cock occasionally twitching inside of you before the sensitivity becomes too much for the both of you and he decides to pull out with a soft pout on his plump lips.

You allow yourself to devour the sight of his flushed skin, from his cheeks all the way down to his lean chest covered in the prettiest shade of pink, his messy hair falling into his face and reminding you both of his need of a haircut.

"Shower or some more sleep?" Jay mumbles softly againsg dour lips and pushes the few strands of hair away from your pretty face to get a better look at you.

"We have to go to work, Daddy", you reply instead and earn youeself another roll of his eyes.

"Your boss doesn't feel very well so he wants you to cancel all of his appointments for today. He said he needs to have some one on one time with his beautiful girlfriend or he'll actually die in agonising pain."

His exaggeration has you both burst into a fit of laughter and without even thinking of protesting any further, you just pull him into your chest and enjoy the feeling of his breathing against your neck as you both allow yourself to take a whole day off of your regular routine.

Being girlfriend and boyfriend for a whole day and nothing but that.

Just this once.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: and here we are 🤪 i know you guys probably expected smth else after the prev chap was sp emptional but i missed writing smut for them so ive been thinking about it all day and wanted to give this to you guys as 1) a little thank you for all the love ln strictly business and 2) as a was to apologize for all the heart reak in future chapters!🤕 thank you so much for everything babies, i love you so much. feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!!!!💞🧸)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @xrr-s4sha @kwiwin @heelcvr @deobitifull @kpoprhia @doodlelibrary @abrazosolorcereza @certifiedmoa @sleeping-demons @heerinnie @ohmy-moonlightx @heeswif3y @hoonieluv @fakeuwus @jjaeyuns @cheybabey @ineedsomezzz @super-amberlynn @kshoshi @tinie03 @jseongies @mimikittysblog @primroselover @heebrry @jebetwo @donghyckl @07myonlylove @enhamysunshines @quemirasboboandapaya @lostwonderwall @seuomo @enhaz1 @teawithbucky @beomgyusonlywife @dammit-jjk @lhsvibez @azurez @boutyouwonu @finchyyy @ocyeanicc @jaylaxies @in-somnias-world @zerasari @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @capri-cuntz @fluerz @3amstarlight

[hel1nn]

And suddenly everything changed ೀ⋆｡

Ch.2 a date before marriage? Previous:3 next.

𐔌 . ⋮ satoru gojo x fem zenin!reader .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ : Listen to kingston while reading ⭑.ᐟ

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ : fluffyy | 18+ smut mdni | eventual smut | arranged marriage | reader is 22 and gojo is 25 | reader had a lonely life untill satoru came | abuse (gojo did nothing here.) | trauma | sprinkles of angsts | jealousy | flashbakes | soft!satoru | soft!reader | loss of virginity | self harm | first time falling in love | reader has two sisters. | Reader belongs to zenin clan. | Idiots to lovers | reader doesn't find satoru annoying since she was alone her whole life. | Insecurities | 𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆

౨ৎ Summery : spending your whole life with feeling of being useless and a waste of space,even worse that your two sisters had cursed energy but you didn't, made you wanted to kill yourself so many times but it stopped when a marriage proposal was sented to gojo clan about marrying you or one of your two sisters. Your sisters were so powerful and beauty with brain so why did satoru gojo choosed you? Moodboard | series masterlist

A/N : IDK WHAT TO SAY ABOUT THIS AND SORRY IF I MADE MISTAKES ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

Few days has been passed since you met satoru. You can't help but think about him almost every night. Today when you woke up your one of your sister came up to you saying that satoru wants to talk with you, now here you are talking with him on your fathers phone. You locked your room's door for now.

"may i know...what do you wanna talk about"

You said to satori whos behind the screen. You could here a soft chuckle before he spoke

"is there any problem with me talking with my future wife"

"..."

Your face started to heat up..he was already calling you his future wife. Slightly freaking out you nervously answer,cheeks tinted in light pink

"n-no no its not like that listen-'

"no need to freak out i am not maddd" you don't know why but you could literally hear the pout on his lips from the phone,you slump down sighing

"i mean...i thought you'd get disappointed slightly.." you mumble to the phone "but please tell me if you need something.."

"sneak out of your estate at 5:30 I'll come to pick you up"

You stare at the screen dumb founded, before you could say anything he started to speak again

"no excuses i want to see you waiting for me in the nearby park"

The call ended with a click , your eyes shot up in realization. He wants you to sneak out of your clan and meet him...welll. you were anxious why did he wanted to meet you today. Does he wants end this marriage- nope. He wouldn't want to see you for that at least thats what you thought. Your brain not working for a damn minute. ..you don't even have your own clothes that you could wear on special occasions,all the clothes you have were what you wear in your house and nothing more...

── .✦

You managed to sneak out of your estate since no one really checked up on you. Waiting for satoru to come. You don't know what to say about your outfit..you just put a hoodie and pants on. Thats all you got you don't care how you look like right now. You stood there waiting for satoru,from looking around you could tell its already passed 5:30 or something, just to see a black car stop Infront of you. There satoru came out of the car,he was wearing a long coat with turtle neck sweater,black slacks and men's boots. This time there are fancy shades resting on the bridge of his nose, letting you see his blue irises,they were just as bright as the stars you gazed at nights. Satoru smiled seeing you stare at him, snapping his fingers Infront of your face. You stare dumbfounded at him,as realization hits you that how close you two were you take a step back,your face heating up in embarrassment "s-sorry i didnt meant to stare at you like a creep-" you start to apologise for staring at him for too long but ut was too late.

"don't be sorry i know you like what you see right neowwww" satoru teased, laughing softly. He lets you have your personal space. You looked away shyly. Not knowing what to and then the important question pops up in your mind.

"uhm so...why did you wanted me to sneak out of my..place.."

"i am gonna take you out with me."

You stare at satoru dumbfounded for the who knows how many time...he wants to take you out with him sneakily..? He could just tell your father and take you out with him but why like this?

"you know..you could just ask my dad that you want to take me out with you.." you trail of, giving him a small smile just to remind him you don't want to sound rude.

"but its way more fun like this.." satoru chimes, already pulling you with him in the car,you try to say something but thennn you were in satorus car, sitting on the passenger seat.

You just let yourself have some fun, cause nothing was wrong with it. No one really checks up on you so you didn't had to worry about anything happening in your place. The silence was somehow comfortable,you don't know. But then satoru breaks it.

"oh..i forgot to take your number.." satoru said, his hand already offering his phone to you so you could save your number in it.

"actually i don't have a phone.." you mumble and satoru hears it immediately. You didn't really needed a mobile phone since your used to spend your life while watching all this drama. Your dad didn't bothered to get you one too. Satoru was slightly surprised,but then he chuckles

"no problem" you didn't know what he was thinking again,but you knew there would be something by seeing his little smile. And you were completely RIGHT. satoru stopped his car Infront of a shopping mall. Satoru is a little bit too much kind to you. You think since everyone always told you that being kind to you is as hard as a rock. But satoru is being kind to you as if it was never hard...like everyone told you. Satoru's big hand grabs yours again, you had never held any men's hand like this until today. Satoru's hands were warm. You try to say something like where are we going but satoru shuts you up with a playfull remark. You don't know when but a small smile appeared on your lips. Satoru took you to every shop you landed a eye on. You protested that you don't need clothes or some things this much but didn't listened to you. Making you both ending carrying bags of things he gifted you. But a thing was still left. Buying you a phone that you didn't asked for. But he will get you right now anyway. Now here you are, standing Infront a fancy restaurant after a dinner with satoru, where no one took you to. You stooe there with a new phone in your hand...like it was really your phone.. a smiling satoru standing Infront of you.

"i don't need this gojo-"

"satoru." He corrected and you broke into a small smile. Shaking your bead gently

"satoru...i don't really need a phone"

"but you wouldn't be able to talk to if you don't have a phone.." oh. You finally accepted the phone so you could talk with satoru when you're home. The ride to your estate was full of you smiling. You don't remember when you were this much happy last time. His warm hand held yours,long fingers tracing the scars on your wrists. You let him do that because it was comforting. A warm gesture from him. When both of you arrived there wqs horror painted on your face. Where are you going to keep all the things satoru gave you today..?

"g- satoru..." You mumble, tugging at his pinky,he looks at you with a smile, majestic as always. You blush slightly but continue

"can you keep these things? I'll do something about it later i guess-"

"no need to worry, I'll keep these things and after our wedding I'll buy you a closet." Satoru's fingers gently squeezed your cheek. You sigh. A red hue coming up from your neck. that night satoru teleported you too your room. Your phone already has his number in it. Leaving you for Tonight again but with a warmth inside your chest again.

Taglist : @chilichopsticks @milolop @kuroosvow @bypanana @hoseokslefteyebrow @sorcerersseestars @ssetsuka @megumisthirdog @certainduckanchor @myahfig4 @officialholyagua and idk why i can't tag @deliciouslydeliciouspenguin :(

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim with Reader: Injuries

G/N. Can be platonic(ish) or romantic.

The thing with Goo, and there's lots of things with Goo, is that he isn't used to getting hurt.

He prides himself on being unmarked, unscarred, pristine. So when he does inevitably get hurt-

"You get into at least ten fights a day." You dab the open wound with disinfectant as he screams, "Of course this is going to happen."

- He is dramatic. More so than usual.

After he quiets down, you raise your eyebrow at him when he inspects the damage with suspiciously wet eyes, "I thought you have good pain tolerance?"

The wetness is immediately replaced with a glare and an indignant "I am!"

.

.

And the other thing with Goo  - again, out of many - is that the extent of his antics and reactions depends on a lot of variables… That only he is privy to.

Hell, his moods could be affected by the moon phase and whether Mercury is in retrograde for all you know.

Goo has chatted away, never flinching, as you stitched him up on occasion. Dramatics coming out only during recovery when he asks you for everything-

A hairdryer is thrusted at you and you narrow your eyes at it, then at him. Stupid grin on his face, towel hung low at the waist, skin fragrant from all his premium moisturisers, blonde hair damp and curling at the ends.

"Cupcake," his bottom lip juts out and voice is sickly sweet, "I'm injured."

"You injured your leg. Why can’t you dry your own hair?"

"Please?"

"..."

"Please?"

"..."

"Pl-"

"Fine!"

.

.

And, Goo being Goo, this doesn’t just extend to when he’s actually hurt. Goddamn his hypochondriac tendencies-

He storms through the doorway,  covered in dirt and dust. Clothes ragged and glasses smashed-

You glance up from your phone, “What happened to you?” 

“I NEED A TETANUS SHOT!”

Outbursts are routine, you continue scrolling on your phone.

“Fucking Gun Park in that fucking junkyard. Who picks a junkyard to fight in? I bet he’s given me rabies that asshole.”

Wait, what- You whip your head to him, “...junkyard?”

He looks at you, exasperated for not following this completely normal chain of events, “Yes Cupcake, keep up.” Then turns, pointing to a gash along his upper back, “Look at this! Ruined my beautiful body and my beautiful clothes!”

So maybe the junkyard isn’t the most hygienic place, and Goo does have a point there-

Nevertheless.

.

.

For all your annoyance though, you would gladly take him at his full unhinged Goo self any day. You remember the silence, the subdued mood following his training with Mr. Carpenter.

You're relieved he doesn't have days like that anymore. One particular memory is seared clearly into your brain-

"Hey," Your hands pause from bandaging his side, swollen and bruised and raw, yet you don't know if it even registers.

"Goo?"

He stares, has been just staring for the last half hour. Face blank and emotionless. Looking past you, not even in the present.

"Goo," You try again to get his attention. This time it works. His gaze flickers to yours.

"You'll get stronger.” You rest your hand on his, “You'll kill him one day."

Light, however dim, returns back to his eyes. Swagger and confidence is forced back into his mindset because he has to get stronger, there’s no other choice.

But hearing your belief in him, your own confidence in his ability-

He smiles, sincere and eyes crinkling,  "Babe, I know."

He creeps his arm around you, ignoring the throbbing pain, and smushes his cheek to your own. Glasses askew and hair crusty with blood staining yours. Neither of you care.

"And you'll be by my side?" It's a question, though there's always been just the one answer.

"Of course, idiot." You roll your eyes, giving him a light peck on the cheek before pushing him off. 

[hopeluna-archived]

"What did-"

a sigh and furrowed eyebrows from you,

"-you do?" Satoru's beaming smile falls.

"What do you mean?" Chuckling nervously, he shifts on his feet, "can't I just get a gift for my lovely partner?"

Your unamused smile and the way your eyes look him up and down in suspicion stops his nervous rocking back and forth.

"Satoru Gojo", said person slightly flinches at the lack of nickname, "just tell me, what did you do? Did you break something? Forget a special day- "

You stop. Was there something special today?

Shit. You anniversary went two months ago, its definitely not his birthday, or yours; is it valentine's day? No, wait that's in February.

Satoru's face slowly falls into a smirk at the way he can practically see the wheels in your head turning, slight panic overtaking your features.

"Ah, so you forgot....", he makes a sad, dejected face.

"I- no, I just- "

"its alright! I guess i'm the only one here who cares enough....", sighing loudly, Satoru has to fight the smile that is threatening to creep up on his face in hopes that you can not see through the facade.

Unfortunately for him, you do. You've know him long enough to catch on to this stuff.

The panic and nerves slowly melt away, Satoru not noticing, too busy enjoying this.

"And what special occasion is it today?", you inquire with a smile.

"Oh its just- " Satoru pauses, "you know- uh, the- "

Your questioning humming makes him tighten his grip on the bouquet of fresh, prettily arranged flowers, the gift that started all this.

The silence that stretches over the next few seconds feel excruciating to Satoru, with your eyes on him and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

You can't find it in yourself to be mad, this is too funny. And you think, him being the drama queen that he is, whatever he did is probably not that serious to begin with.

"Well- ", you start and your boyfriend frantically interrupts you,

"Okay I admit, I ate your piece of pastry last night", Satoru lets out abruptly and the sentence doesn't even register in your brain at first but when it does, you suddenly don't find the situation that funny anymore.

"YOU DID WHAT??"

© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.

[dream0fschism]

are your nsfw requests still open? if they are could you do one with könig and medic!reader? the rest is up to you

god i’m such a konig slut

i'm back, my darlings!

PAIRING: König x f!reader

“I’m getting tired of seeing your hooded face, König.”

He never spoke much, a thing not uncommon for men in his field of work. Many preferred the comfortable air that the silence brought, enjoyed how it was such a stark contrast to the sounds of gunfire, explosions, screaming. It made your dingy, makeshift clinic a refreshing stop for most.

But the man in front of you had made trips to your room so frequently you’d figured he must have broken some kind of record. You’d treated gunshot wounds, minor burns, patched up his bloody knuckles countless times… there wasn’t an inch of skin you hadn’t laid your fingers upon. Each time you cared for his cuts or stab wounds, some of which hash-marked atop of old and stubborn scars, it was as if you gathered more intel about his personality otherwise untold.

König was a machine, dangerously dedicated to proving his worth - dangerous for the receiving party, of course - with a willingness to sacrifice as much of his flesh and blood as it takes. If necessary, he would nurse his own injuries, albeit terribly, in favour of granting himself an advantage or winning battles. You recall a few times in which you scolded him for his amateur efforts. “If you cauterise one more wound this terribly I’m going to refuse you of future treatment.”

Of course, he’d remained silent. But you swore you saw the slight crinkle in the skin around his eyes.

And in his dedication you couldn’t help but see a deep insecurity. Sometimes, but only on the rare occasion, he would show up barely alive. He would always be alone, never needing his comrades to waste their energy and strength on carrying him to safety. But you would always worry the most in these situations, when his skin was pale and cold and he still refused to remove his hood. “Anything below here, I can take care of myself,” he’d struggled to grumble out.

If he wasn’t so unbelievably skilled, you’d assume he had a death wish.

“I’m sure you’ve said that before,” he answered, the sudden sound of his accented voice gifting you with slight surprise.

“I suppose I’m running out of things to say,” you chuckle, continuing to swab at the dry blood clinging to the skin of his sternum. “And you’re just about running out of unmarked skin.”

“Mm, my gear does seem to be quite useless,” König nods. “Perhaps fighting naked wouldn’t make much of a difference.”

The harmless joke has heat creeping onto your cheeks, and you’re really baffled by your own brain because of it. As if you hadn’t seen ninety-percent of his body already.

“Perhaps not.”

"You are blushing," he notes. "Yet this isn't your first time you've rubbed at my bare skin."

The hand you had placed against him stilled momentarily as his point only intensified the bubbling heat in your face, swelling a ruby-red shade along each of your cheekbones. You continued your aid, with a strict refusal to allow your gaze anywhere else except for his wound.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," König breaks the short silence that followed.

You laugh dryly as your awkwardness fizzles away a little. "You're all finished."

König brushes a hand over the gauze, inspecting your work. When he says nothing, you stand on your feet and gather the used swabs, kicking your wheeled stool to the side to make your way to the bin.

Before the lid had even closed the trash behind it, you felt the warmth of his towering presence at your back. It startled you all the same, a sharp inhale sucking its way through your parted lips.

"I have to ask.. Do you like seeing what's beneath my gear?" He presses each of his long fingers into your shoulder as his hand cups over it.

"Isn't that question a little inappropriate..."

"If I'm crossing a line, then tell me to stop."

You open your mouth to reply, unsure of what exactly you'll say when the hand at your shoulder slowly begins to move. He's agonizingly slow, careful as he explores over the layer of your white button-up, and you feel utterly insane for being unable to use your words and put an end to it.

Instead, you stare blankly at the off-white wall in front of you and allow his hand to roam.

"Can I tell you something?" He asks, edging his hand to cup below your right breast. The touch causes you to lean into the tower of his body, a sudden tenderness and sensitivity wracking each nerve in your chest.

"I enjoy coming to see you," he continues, prompted by the way you relax against him. "In fact, I refuse to see anyone else when I'm injured."

It makes you cock an eyebrow. "I thought it was strange, just how often you needed medical attention. Were you slacking out there? Hoping to get injured so you could see me?"

König huffs out a dry laugh. "No. But part of me did want to be indebted to you."

Liar.

"Why?"

"Because I needed an excuse to give you exactly what you deserve."

You swallow a dryness in your throat, the hand on your breast gives a generous squeeze as you do so. You almost choke on your own saliva.

"If that's something you want..."

"And what do I deserve?" Though you feel as though you already know the answer, you ask anyway, subsequently causing a heavy pulse at within your heat.

"I'm much better with actions than words."

"They do speak louder, I suppose..."

König takes your response as agreement, the hand at your breast moving to dig desperately beneath one of the spaces between the buttons of your shirt. He finds purchase and, in one swift pull, violently rips open the shirt, each button clicking gently as they bounce against the tiled floor.

You open your mouth to scold him, to tell him that he owes you a new shirt pronto - but König is determined to waste no time as his hands are already tugging the band of your bra down to expose your tits.

"I've wanted to see these for a long time," he breathes, and you hear the tremble in his exhale as he does so. "So perfect."

It dawns on you that you must be an obsession of his, that he may be interested in you significantly more than you are in him. It's the only viable explanation for his reckless behaviour, and yet it still didn't make sense why he would risk his life even more than he already did just to be in your presence.

"I.. hope you realise I have no other shirt to wear," you say, inhaling sharply at the sensation of his hot, calloused fingers brushing circles into the shape of each of your nipples. "How am I going to leave this room?"

König tuts as his hands cage around the mounds of your chest and pulls you flush against him.

"Who said you're going to leave this room?"

The pit in your stomach spirals into a trench, and then König is lifting you, using the leverage of your weight against him, before you can even stutter out a response. His hands guide your body along like you're no heavier than a bag of rice, a true display of his unbeatable strength that sends your mind numb - reminds you of just who you're dealing with.

A ruthless, merciless killing machine.

When König settles onto the examination table, he makes sure that you're positioned perfectly onto the tautness of his giant thighs, and you finally win against the babbling, incoherent flurry of thoughts inside your skull and speak.

"This... Surely we're violating multiple codes of conduct.. protocols... I-"

König allows you to cut yourself off, relishes in the way you hiccup at the sensation of linen on skin as deft hands begin to slide up your skirt.

"We can stop," he suggests, halting the movement of his hands but continuing to brush his fingertips back and forth, so awfully close to the insides of your thighs.

You squeeze your eyes shut and drop your head to rest just below his shoulder. Every single horny neuron inside of your brain fires at you, reminds you of just how neglected you've been sexually, what the countless hours of constant shifts have denied you for so long. And then it dawns on you.

"König, we can't. I'm not on birth control."

The man laughs. Laughs. It's the first time you've ever heard such a soft, genuine sound escape his mouth. You feel a twitch below because of it, the heat between your legs only solidifying the way his display of amusement has made your want for him so much more intense.

"Love, I'm only interested in your pleasure."

And you know better than most that a man who prefers giving rather than receiving is a rare find.

It would be a tragic waste.

When you spread your legs unconsciously, your skirt ruffles up until it can't no more and König reacts accordingly to the invitation your cunt is giving to him. But he spends too much time massaging the sensitive skin between your thighs for your liking, and you lift your hips to encourage something more.

What you get is rather unexpected, and would be a little annoying if you weren't so drunk on your own arousal. König hooks a finger under the material covering your hip bone and jerks his wrist, tearing your panties with ease before moving to finish the job at the other side.

"Please," you murmur, eyes trained on the large hand between your legs. He shushes you, with a gentleness you didn't suspect he had in him.

"Quiet now," he hums out. "Let me show you how grateful I am to you."

You feel your clit screaming for pressure, but König's fingers seem to ignore the cry as he toys with the wetness around your hole. The sensation tickles slightly, until he's pressing his middle and ring fingers inside.

Immediately, your hands fly up to brace at the arm that begins to move, long fingers filling you enough to bring a whimper from you. It feels good, but not perfect, and the man seems to read your mind as he curls his digits to rub at your sensitive, spongy spot.

"Oh, fffuck," you sigh, digging the back of your head into him with more force and following with a series of guttural groans.

"Quiet," he scolds, a slight venom in his tone. "Or I'll have to stop."

"Don't," you almost growl with a buck of your hips.

You almost forget the other hand that rests over your left breast until it starts to knead and pull at the skin, almost miss the sound of König's pants as they ooze with arousal from behind his mask.

With only the sensation of König's palm brushing against it, your clit is desperately swollen. You're willing to look the other way when you feel yourself constricting around the now three fingers pumping in and out of you.

When he speaks, his movements don't falter.

"I'm going to stop, and when I do, I want you to lay on your back on this table. Understand?"

"Yes," you obey. You're pretty much putty in his hands at this point anyway.

And so you splay out on the cold metal of the table - which your white coat does nothing to protect you from - skirt bunched up around your hips, shirt ruined and ripped open and completely exposing your chest and belly.

"Lift your legs," he commands, hand ready to hold them in place as you do as you're told.

At the end of the table he stands, lanky arms reaching over to grasp each of your ankles as he slides you along the metal until the backs of your thighs butt against his own.

You feel uncomfortably aware of how exposed you are as he spreads your legs and examines the sight before him. His eyes are cold, fierce - akin to the eyes of a hunter eyeing its prey. Your body feels as cold as the surface beneath it underneath his stare.

König releases your ankles to let your heels rest at his shoulders as his hands begin a slow trail down and along your trembling thighs. Each of his thumbs hook around your corresponding hip bones, calloused fingers cupping in place at your lower back.

His baby blues eyes are considerably darkened to a shade of grey as they flick up to meet your own, and moments later the hem of his hood is brushing gently over your swollen slit.

You've never seen his face, but you've never wanted to more than you do now. His hold on you is intoxicating in a way that staggers your cognition, robs your brain of any chance of comprehension as you can only watch him lean further forward and dip until you can feel the heat of his breath against your cunt. His tongue is hot, completely saturated in his own saliva as it makes contact with your puffy clit. It snatches the breath from your lungs with violence, and when it starts to massage on and around the nerve you can only mewl and whine meekly.

König continues his watch on you the entire time, evidently enjoying the pained look that the struggle to keep quiet brings to your face.

You lift your hips into the onslaught of his mouth, and his grip around them becomes vice-like as he forces you into place and sucks harshly at your nub. This only serves to fuel your physical struggle under his pleasure more, and he grunts at your display of disobedience, lifting you higher until only your upper back and head touch the table.

The new position makes any movement too difficult for you, forces you to submit against him as he groans into the taste of your pussy. "König, I-God, I can't--" You flail your arms until they slump defeatedly back down to your sides, nails scratching at the frigid surface below you.

He manoeuvres his grip for comfort, lifting you further, until his forearms are encircling and squeezing around your waist and your calves hang over each of his shoulders.

"König, please, fuck--"

The man hums into your heat, all but abusing your clit with the vibration that follows through the sound. You're forced to slap one hand over your mouth to muffle the repetition of cries falling from it. König's lucky, his hood seems to dull his grumbles of pure satisfaction that reverberate against you. But you still hear every bit of them.

Your body spasms when you come undone against König's relentless mouth, legs jittering with a force that wobbles your entire body against his own. His hold on you helps stabilise you through the orgasm, but your hands fail to suppress the desperate, hopeless wails you release from behind them.

"That was beautiful," you barely hear him say through the ringing in your ears. "But I'm not done, Doctor."

[cherrychilli]

18+

AFAB reader, established relationship, breeding kink, Steve and reader are trying for a baby, talks of ovulation and pregnancy, P in V sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, slight lactation kink implication.

A/N: I am ovulating right now and my mind is just 🐔🍆🐔🍆🐔🍆 I can't even begin to explain how badly the egg drop is affecting me. I don't even want kids but look at what my heat brain has concocted on this day. I'm in desperate need of some dick !@#$%^&*(

Robin takes one look at you when you enter Family Video that lazy afternoon, bell chiming above you as you swing the door open and she just knows. You're given away by your strappy yellow sundress fluttering high around your thighs, your cleavage a little fuller now and amplified by the tight bodice, your glossy lips and the sweet perfume you only wear on special occasions blooming softly around you.

Your eyes keep searching past her despite stopping at the counter to ask her how she was, nodding along a few seconds too long to confirm to her that you weren't really listening. "He's in the back", she shakes you gently by the shoulders to gain your attention. Her eyes are soft and her lips curve into an amused smile when she says it, showing you that she isn't offended by how distracted you are. "Thanks" you smile wide and apologetic before making your way to the back of the store. When you're out of sight she pulls out her cassette player with a sigh, popping in a tape and flooding her ears with the sounds of Blondie in the hopes of drowning out anything she'd much rather not hear.

Steve's seated in the little room where the tapes are wound back, chin propped in his hand, a blank stare set on the staticky little TV until Teen Wolf is ready to be ejected from the player and slipped back into its cover. He turns lazily towards the door when it opens, expecting Robin with a fresh stack of returned tapes to be rewound. He perks up when he finds you there instead in your dress, the look in your eyes a little wild.

You step inside, slamming the door shut behind you which causes him to jolt, tossing your bag to the side. Steve watches it thump against the wall and land underneath a fading poster of The Godfather, the top left corner coming loose from the sudden impact and curling over Marlon Brando's intimidating glower. Steve's about to question you when you pounce on the poor unsuspecting boy, yet to get a single word out. "Missed you" you whine against his lips between kisses, straddling his lap, grabbing fistfuls of that stupid green vest he had to wear at work and pulling his chest flush against yours. Steve's eyes are wide, hands flying to your back to balance you on his lap and keep the both of you steady in his chair as it creaks underneath your combined weight.

"Baby, baby-" he tries but it's nearly impossible to break away from you and the way you're grabbing at him like he might dissipate at any moment. He manages to get ahold on your shoulders, pulling you away from the rosy hickey you were in the middle of sucking onto his neck. "Babe, what's gotten into you?", he manages to sputter out, hair a complete mess from your fingers tugging at it but all it does is make him look even more enticing to you. Disheveled. Wide eyed. Chest heaving. Lips pink and kiss bitten.

"I need you", you nearly sob, the declaration tinting his cheeks with a light blush. "I'm so horny - I need you right now" you push through, returning to mouthing at his neck when he relinquishes his hold on your shoulders, hands slipping down to your waist. "Don't get me wrong" he strains with a weak laugh as your teeth nip between his neck and shoulder. "It's just that this is all so uh- sudden", he reasons, stunned by your intense reaction, and then with a creeping sense of realization, "The last time you were like this you-"

"I'm ovulating", you finished for him quick and blunt, rubbing his bulge over his jeans and shivering when he groaned in response. You had forgotten about it yourself with how busy the two of you had been with moving into your new shared apartment. The moment you had begun to suspect it this morning you'd ripped through boxes that were yet to be unpacked, pulling out the calendar to see today's date circled several times over in red. "Shit, are you sure?", his eyes lit up and his lips stretched into the brightest smile, knowing what this meant.

You rest your forehead against Steve's shoulder, breathing in his scent like you hadn't spent the morning burying your nose in one of his shirt's, filling your lungs with his woodsy musk while you ground your core against your pillow. "Yes, Steve- I wanna start trying", you mewl, face scrunching up a moment later. "Oh god, it fucking hurts", you whimper through another dull cramp deep in your belly, one of several that had been troubling you all day. Steve notices and places a wide palm over your stomach to soothe you, looking mostly sympathetic but there's something else behind his eyes too because the sounds you're letting out are making his jeans feel tighter. He returns your gaze when you place your hand over his, squeezing it as you spoke. "Pleasepleaseplease, Stevie- need your cock- need you to fuck me", you beg, eyes all teary. "Need you to make it feel better."

The move into your new apartment had shifted his attention as much as it had yours, the both of you agreeing to postpone your plans to start trying for a baby until you had finished settling in. He'd waited patiently for you to tell him when you were ready again, both of you too preoccupied by all the packing and dealing with your landlord to realize that the third phase of your cycle was nearing. And now, with you here, aching for him in his lap, his mind goes fuzzy with unbridled elation.

You gasp when he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, allowing him to carry you onto the table where all the rewound tapes were stacked. Your hip bumps the stack and it teeters before Steve shoves the tilting tapes off the table completely to make room for the two of you. "Sounds serious" he husks at you playfully but the heady look he's giving you tells you that he's hardly taking this lightly. He pulls at the front of your dress, straps slipping down your shoulders, letting your bare tits spill out.

He squeezes one, warm and soft in his hand, nipple stiffening against his rough palm. "Sore?", he catches the way your brows pinch together. "A little", you admit but his gentle kneading is easing that minor ache. "You're gonna have to deal with a lot more of that you know", he tutted, pinching your nipple gently between his index finger and thumb. "Shit, baby they're perfect already and they're going to get bigger... and full", he recalls, voice low and smoky. "Wanna see them leak". He murmurs the second part, probably unaware that he's said it out loud at all but you manage to catch it.

You whine, goosebumps washing over your skin at how easily he says it- how amorous he makes the perfectly natural bodily change sound. As quickly as he put the thought into your head, you're pulling his free hand off your hip and placing it on your other breast because you can't stand not having him touch you there too, sighing with relief with he squeezes it. "Gonna take good care of you when they're all heavy and you're too sore". You throw your head back and cry out when he dips down to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, rolling the other between his fingers. "Oh god, Steve..." another wave of heat washes over you as buck your core against him, denim rubbing against your swollen clit.

His careful squeezes and attentive tongue feels like warm honey on your skin, the ache between your legs unbearable when he pulls away from sucking on your puffy nipples. "You sure? right here? in this room?", he knows it's a little ridiculous to double check now but even in the midst of the sexually charged haze he knows it isn't exactly the most romantic or ideal setting. Not at all where either of you had imagined you'd start trying. You don't bother looking around because the room hadn't mattered to you in the least. Grey and stuffy, made even smaller by all the tapes crowding it. It's lit poorly too, by a single overhead light that flickered on occasion and the little TV paused on Michael J. Fox behind the wheel during Surfin' USA. It wasn't the room that had mattered to you. Only the boy in it. "Yes, I want it right here", you make yourself clear with unwavering eye contact and a tone that told him that you were more than certain. You hooked a finger into the opening of his collar and tugged him closer, "and then again in your car and again when we're home and again after that...",you listed sultrily, your body screaming for release.

You successfully plucked at the remaining sliver of his self control, feeling the deep groan he lets out rumble beneath the hand you have pressed against his chest. He shakes his head with a weak chuckle, chestnut tresses hanging over his eyes. "Can't stop myself when you talk like that", he warns lightly, meaning it. "I don't want you to stop", you retort, meaning it just as much. With that he pulls your dress up over your hips and his jaw falls slack, "fuck, angel...". Any other time you might have felt embarrassed or even a little self conscious but not this time. You'd purposely stuffed your panties into your little shoulder bag before you arrived at Family Video just so you could show him how wet you were for him. How the thought of him fucking you full had made you drip down your thighs. "Steve", you're faintly aware of how hard you're clutching at his vest when he swipes two fingers through your sticky folds, intentionally brushing your clit to hear you keen, your nails threatening to pull the green stitching loose.

There's no more second guessing now. He pops his wet fingers into his mouth, coating his tongue with the taste of you before he works his belt off and lowers his jeans and boxers to pull his cock out, flushed red and leaking. You gulp when you see it, swallowing down the spit that had collected in your mouth because you've started to salivate. You widen your slick thighs for him as he lines up the fat tip with your hole, pushing inside with less resistance than usual with how wet you are but the stretch is still the same, your eyes rolling back because he's so big.

Finally

Steve clenches his jaw, temple dewing with sweat while staving off another groan. You're much warmer than usual. Add that to how soaked you are and the way you're tightening around him, practically sucking him in, he knows he wont be able to handle this for very long. "Fuck, not going to last too long- you're just so-"

"Me neither", you cut him off with a breathless cry, sounding just as wrecked, feeling like you've been close to the edge for a while now. Steve carefully lays you against on the table, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he reaches deeper inside you at this angle. "Steve, you’re so- fuc- oh", you babble when the lewd wet sounds of skin slapping against skin begin to echo inside the room. Your tits bounce with every thrust, the dull ache there forgotten with how he's pumping inside you, his tip bumping your cervix over and over. "Stevie, Stevie, oh fuck- I can feel you here", you place your palm a few inches below your bellybutton and he does the same, snaking his fingers underneath yours to feel the the unmistakable bulge of his cock. "Oh god, there's no way it wont stick like this- gonna get you pregnant, baby I promise- gonna fuck you so so full".

"Yes, p-please Steve put a baby in me", you whimper.

"Again", he pleads hoarsely, your words causing him to thrust harder. "say that for me again, sweet girl".

You choke on a moan, the pressure inside you building. "I want to have your baby, Steve- please"

He loved to hear you say it. Needed to hear you say it. Needed to know how badly you wanted it. "You're gonna look so pretty pregnant", he kisses your ankle, watching your cream ring around his cock as he plunges into you. "Can't wait until that bump starts to show- wanna see you all full of me"", he grunts, his thumb brushing over your clit in short, messy circles rubbing into the electric bundle until you scream. You don't care if Robin happens to hear. You can always apologize later. You don't care that all the tapes are in complete disarray on the floor. You can shove them off to a corner and pick them up some other time before Keith has a chance of finding out. And you don't care that your baby might be conceived in this little room because it means that you and Steve will finally be starting that family you've been hoping for.

You're right on the edge, a familiar tightness you'd been seeking all day growing more taut inside you, ready to snap. "I'mgonnacumi'mgonnacumi'mgonna-", your back arches as your orgasm shoots up your spine and washes over you with a surge of heat, your vision going white behind your eyelids. The moan you let out is nothing short of filthy and watching you come undone beneath him like that triggers Steve's own release. "Jesus, fu-" is all the warning he can manage to let out before he's spilling into you, your pussy pulsing sporadically with the aftershocks of your orgasm, milking his cock. Spurts of Steve's hot cum flood your channel and you sigh out at the feeling, chest heaving as the both of you recover.

Your eyes flutter open when he carefully lowers your legs off his shoulders before pulling out of you. You hiss, sensitive and sore but you already miss the stretch of his cock, wanting him back inside you again.

Steve tucks himself in his jeans, leaning over your spent frame to kiss you fondly. "So...", he cocks an eyebrow up suggestively, reaching into his front pocket to fish out his car keys and jangles them playfully in front of your face.

"One round down, three more to go, right?"

[yellowbunnydreams]

Only Donors Left Alive [Vampire! Dave Miller x F! Reader] (Part 2)

~Glad that vampire Dave has made more people feral. He doesn't hang about so let's jump into a new chapter!~

Taglist: @ruh--roh-raggy @springlockedfool @brightcosmos

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI- Female Reader, legal age gap, older man/younger woman, graphic acts of violence, biting, knife-play, blood, blood-drinking/licking, unbalanced power dynamic, anaemia, possessive behaviour, partial nudity

You sighed as you made it to the landing of your floor and ran your fingers through your hair, the night-shift at the small town's diner was taking it's toll on you. Bleary eyes looked at the time on your phone and barely registered that it was three in the morning. Having to squeeze them shut before looking again to confirm the time. It had been the best paying position you could find locally, although you assumed some of that was hazard pay considering the disappearances that had occurred in Hurricane recently, but you were feeling exhausted. Whilst you weren't a morning person, you definitely were suffering not being able to sleep at your usual times.

"You look like shit." The raspy voice from behind you made you blink and turn your head, grunting slightly as you barely registered the gut twisting feeling that Dave always gave you as your body craved sleep and you could only think of a cool shower to ease off some of the already oppressive heat.

"Thanks Dave. Good morning to you too." You mumbled, hearing his footsteps approaching you as you fumbled with your keys. Yawning and feeling momentary confusion as you stared at you hands, keys absent from them before you blinked and looked up at Dave.

He was wearing his security uniform again, his hair even more tousled than you had seen it before, the bags under his blue eyes darker as he glanced at you. The usually lopsided, sharp smile gone and replaced with a furrowed brow as he expertly flicked through the ring of keys and found the correct one, letting you into the unit with your thanks being mumbled sleepily. A lazy smile creeping across his face as he leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Nights are really fucking you, and not in the fun way." Chuckling to himself as he handed you back your keys and watched you lean into the unit to place them on the little table in the hallway, where they usually lived.

"Yeah, I'm just too tired, and too hot. God I feel dizzy standing up sometimes." Laughing weakly before you felt Dave's cold, clammy hands against your cheeks and turning your head towards him. His eyes darting about your face as you felt your body relaxing slightly at the touch as much as it made your insides bristle at the touch. Slender fingers moving to just under your eye and pulling gently on the eyelid, finally focusing on you as he released the skin and took one of your hands, pressing on your nails and watching them with a growing concerned expression.

"Sugar, you're getting anaemic."

"No way, I'm fine. I just need-"

"No, you definitely are. I know one of myself when I see it." He chuckled again, a little more bitterly and in a way that made your tired brain want to reach out and comfort him. You could never figure out how to feel when Dave spoke to you, it was like your brain was being disconnected from part of itself, although you couldn't tell which part it was. "Let's get you inside, take a shower, you stink of people."

"Gee Dave, and you smell of roses." Rolling your eyes at him as you stepped into your apartment and felt a little sense of relief wash over you when you had the threshold between you, although you couldn't quite place why.

"I'll have you know I only save my best smelling stuff for special occasions."

"Like when, Christmas and your birthday?"

"Maybe yours too if you're lucky, pet." He chuckled, and you couldn't help but join in, shaking your head as you sighed and leaned against the cool wall. Sucking your teeth lightly before you grasped the door handle, looking at the sleazy, cock-sure smile on his gaunt, pale face. Watching it disappear behind your door before you heard his quiet footsteps moving off and the sound of his own door opening and closing left you with a strange discontent as you shuffled yourself off to bed.

You weren't sure what time you woke up next, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you padded into the kitchen wearing whatever you had thrown on for sleep. Hair messy and feeling groggy but at least more aware than you had before your shower and sleep. Passing the doorway into the main building and glancing over towards it naturally to see a little package sitting just inside the doorway, waiting to be collected.

You paused. You didn't remember bringing in any packages.

Cautiously, you made your way over to it and looked at the small tupper-ware container with a few items in it. Squatting down to pick it up, you gently rifled through the items and found there were iron supplements, some vitamin c tablets, a small bottle of orange juice and a bottle of melatonin. A paper note caught your attention as you picked it up gingerly between two fingers. Squinting as you tried to decipher the spidery handwriting that looked like it had been written in a hurry against a surface that wasn't quite flat to boot.

'Your door was unlocked, so I left it in the doorway. I thought we talked about locking out things that went bump in the night? Anyway, you need to take the iron twice daily, vitamin c in the morning and drink some orange juice. The melatonin should help with your transition to becoming nocturnal like me'

The smile spread on your face before you knew what was happening. Even if it was kinda creepy that Dave had opened your door, you found it sweet that he had left you things to help you out. After unscrewing the top of the iron and taking the box of things into the kitchen, popping the little terracotta coloured tablet into your mouth and swallowing it down with some orange juice, you had to admit after a few minutes that you felt a bit better. Maybe Dave had been right after all.

You'd have to thank him in some way, once you'd adjusted to your new routine and supplements.

Dave was shockingly elusive for most of the following week. You didn't even see a package arriving for him, and his mail piled up in his pigeon-hole. You began to find yourself growing more concerned for your strange landlord, wondering if you should go and check on him, you decided to wait until dusk. For some reason, that felt like the right time to try and summon the tall, gaunt man.

And so you found yourself at his door, noticing that the bulb in the little alcove around his door was out and shrouding it in darkness. You were dressed for your shift, a little earlier than usual but you figured that you needed time to make sure that Dave actually answered his door. Something whispered in the back of your mind that you should just leave it, but you raised your fist and knocked on the door. Listening intently to any sounds of movement inside.

The sudden cracking open of the door startled you, sending your pulse racing as you couldn't see anything inside, but the door closed again and you heard the sound of a chain being unlatched from the door. Opening it brought you a sense of relief as you saw Dave's scrawny build standing opposite you, opening your mouth to speak before you realised that he wasn't quite dressed.

He had a t-shirt on that looked like it hadn't been washed for a few days, a faded logo on it as you naturally glanced down his body and felt your cheeks heating up as your eyes naturally landed on what you had first assumed were shorts, but you quickly realised they were Dave's boxers, complete with little hearts printed all over them. You made some tiny squeak as you diverted your attention to his feet, feeling a little laugh bubbling up in your throat as you realised that the left one had a hole over the big toe, but it was quickly silenced in confusion as you realised that they were in fact Christmas socks. You mentally had to re-affirm to yourself that it was August as you blinked and stared at them, red and green stripes complete with the tiny, gaudy bells at the top.

"I must still be dreaming, finding such a present wrapped up on my doorstep." The raspy voice sounded gravellier than usual, snapping you out of your shock at his half-dressed state and looking up into his face. Watching Dave rub his eyes with the heel of his palm, his greasy dark hair messy and tousled, sticking up at various angles like he had just dragged himself from bed.

"Good evening Dave." You laughed softly as he grunted, eyes darting about as he blinked and clearly tried to focus. Yawning and developing that lazy, crooked smirk that made your chest tighten and stomach flip with uncertainty. "You...uh...appear to be slightly undressed...and in Christmas socks?"

"My evening is certainly off to a good start with you at my door, sugar." The lazy smile grew wider as his eyes fixated on you, seeming to take their time sleazily rolling over you and your work uniform like he was drinking in every detail. Your arms naturally raising up to cover across your stomach self-conciously.

"That doesn't answer the question about the socks."

"You never wear socks out of season?"

"They have a hole in them."

"Generally useful for putting my feet into, yes." That cocky smile as he tipped his head and leaned against his doorframe made you roll your eyes and sigh dramatically. "Any more questions, darling? I saw the little hearts in your eyes whilst you were admiring something else covered in hearts..." Tongue running over his teeth and chuckling as you visibly cringed back and your lip curled up in distaste even as your cheeks flushed.

"Says the man who answered his door in his boxers."

"Says the woman who was staring at me through them for longer than necessary."

"You caught me off guard."

"You were the one who knocked sugar, you're in my domain now." Dave's dark chuckle sent a few hairs on the back of your neck on end, feeling your pulse racing slightly as something in the way he said it made the words feel a little threatening to your primal brain.

Sighing, you knew you weren't going to get anywhere with him, and you knew you shouldn't have been worried about your sleazy landlord, especially as his gaze seemed to linger on your neck, just above the collar of your polo-shirt. Running your fingers over your hair and messing it up slightly, Dave's eyes resuming their usual darting as he seemed to scan the air behind you. Shrugging your shoulders as you shoved your hands into your pockets.

"Look, Dave, I just came to check you were alright. You haven't collected your mail in a few days and I wanted to make sure you hadn't fallen and died in the shower or something." Dave smirked at you, blue eyes returning to yours as you felt your heart pounding faster in your chest. Something behind his intense focus was something that made your brain scream to move away from him. You ignored it, brushing it off as Dave's usual weirdness.

"I'm touched by your concern, sugar. You look much better by the way. Been taking iron?"

"Yeah, thanks for the little gift basket by the way. Is there anything I can get you in return?"

"Oh it'll repay itself, don't you worry pet," his tongue running over his teeth again before he took a sharp, deep breath in. His nostrils flaring slightly as he stepped towards you, making you take a step back. "I'll be by at some point to collect the rent. You should get to work, shame you're not on the menu....there...."

The comment made you cringe again and wonder why he stipulated 'there', but before you could ask or answer. The gaunt man brought a white ceramic mug to his lips, one that you hadn't even noticed him holding, downing the contents and pulling a face like whatever was inside had been in distaste. You wondered if it was tea that had gone cold or something before he closed the door on you. Leaving you stood in his dark doorway and wondering what on earth you had just talked about with your landlord.

You headed to work, feeling like eyes were lingering on your back as you bounced down the stairs and out into the growing night air. Crickets and other bugs forming their dusk-song as you made the subconscious decision to stick to well-lit areas.

Knocking on your door woke you up on your day off from the diner. Grumbling as the knock grew a little more insistent and you pulled yourself from your couch where you had fallen asleep watching TV. The knock occured again.

"Jesus fucking Christ! Pack it in! I'm coming." Sighing as you rubbed your hand over your face and padded over to the door, dressed in sweatpants and t-shirt as you pulled open the door admittedly a little viciously. Scowl on your face as you blinked at the chest in front of you, tilting your head up slightly to see Dave's lazy smile spreading across his sallow face.

"Now now sugar, I've told you that you can always scream my name." Your scowl deepened as you tried to process what Miller wanted, wondering why he was knocking on your door well past midnight on your days off. The dull buzz of unease was ignored as you crossed your arms across your stomach.

"What do you fucking want Dave? I was asleep." You sighed, irritated as you seriously contemplated moving for a moment as you watched the lanky man hold up a mug with something printed on it that you took a moment to decipher in your half-awake state. 'Abnormally large dick'. You mentally sighed, of course Dave would have a mug that said something like that.

"I need to borrow a cup of blood." He smiled, making you pause and blink as you laughed a little.

"Sorry, it sounded for a moment like you said 'blood'" Chuckling as you blinked the sleep from your eyes, watching him tilt his head to one side and hum like he was contemplating something.

"Nope. That is what I said."

Hair began to stand up on the back of your neck, feeling your half-aware state becoming more lucid as all those uneasy feelings piled back onto you all at once. Swallowing thickly, you laughed, your knuckles turning white on the edge of the door.

"I...Dave what the actual FUCK? I'm not giving you anything, I'm calling the cops." Realising only after you said it that you didn't have your phone on you and you would have to leave Dave at your door. His smile falling and his expression serious as he set his face into a grim expression.

"Wow, how very undeadist of you, I feel offended you would even say that. I'll have to put your rent up by ten dollars for emotional damages."

"WHAT?!"

"I have been emotionally compromised and I demand satisfaction." Shaking the mug at you, still with that serious expression as you realised that he was totally serious. No wonder the rent was cheap, you thought to yourself, they didn't disclose that the landlord was fucking insane.

"Come on," he cooed your name, raising a thin eyebrow at you. "just a quick little slice to that juicy vein in your left wrist and we're both happy." Your blood felt like it was running cold in your veins, heart pounding wildly in your chest as you tried to think of any reason to stall him so you could get your phone and call for help.

"And why would I be happy, Dave?"

"I'll reduce your rent for repairing your cold-hearted emotional damage by supporting my condition, of course." That lazy smile creeping back onto his face as he leaned against your door-frame, your mind racing at a million miles an hour as you tried to think of anything. If Dave really believed he was a vampire, and watching the way his eyes ferally flickered around, the mild tremor in his hand, the unkemptness of his appearance, then you tried to dredge up any knowledge you had of the supernatural to play against him.

"Well... I feel like I could just...not? If you're really a vampire, you can't come in without permission."

"Oh sugar, you think I didn't think of that? It's in your contract, silly goose, I can come in any time I like." The almost chipper tone with which he said it made your stomach turn uneasily. Had he let himself into your apartment before? He must have done, he'd left you gifts. Something whispered in the back of your mind that it was making sure the cattle were healthy.

"Sugar, you're so lucky I'm asking nicely." His eyes focused on yours with that ensnaring intensity that made you feel hot and cold at the same time. They looked dark, like there was nothing alive behind them except something that really wanted to see what colour crimson lived inside you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and you felt your skin crawling into goosebumps, swearing you heard a low growl under that familiar rasp. His long, thin fingers curled around the edge of the door and pressed it open all the way even as you pressed against it to try and resist it.

Once the door was wide, Dave took a deliberate step inside, it was in some form of breathless horror that your mind realised that he was still dressed the same as earlier. You were about to be killed by a man in fucking Christmas socks with bells on and heart-boxers.

Before you could even think about running, Dave's thin arm wrapped around your waist and hoisted you over his shoulder in a semi-fluid movement. Making you gasp as you held onto his t-shirt, the sudden movement making your head spin as he simply turned and headed further into your apartment, dumping you unceremoniously onto the couch. Your heart pounding as he dissapeared and you heard the sound of the door locking before you lost track of where he was again. The tall, lanky figure that was shockingly strong for his build reappearing as he sat opposite you ontop of your sturdy coffee table, holding one of the knives from your kitchen block.

"Now, this one is nice and sharp, so you won't have to cut deep. In fact, please don't, I don't want to lose such a good tenant this way." The way he spoke was so natural, but you were just left with dread and unease as your fingers automatically wrapped around the black handle.

"Why?"

"Why? Sugar, we'll have time for 'why' after you've been a good neighbour." There was a spark of guilt that wormed it's way into your mind, making you wonder if you were really being unreasonable. The knife shifted in your hand, raising it slightly before common sense took ahold again and you lowered it, much to Dave's mild scowl of disapproval. "Come on, don't be a baby, it's just a little cut. You've probably done worse cutting vegetables for dinner, and this is my dinner."

"I can't..I can't.."

Dave tutted and rolled his eyes, which would have made you laugh given the absurdity of the situation if your mind wasn't reeling with the possibility that he really might be what he claimed to be. Holding out his slender hand, he raised a dark eyebrow at you.

"May I?"

Nodding, he took the knife from you and laid your arm across his knee, scowling as he looked for a sensible place to put his mug before holding it between his bruised, boney looking knees. Carefully running the knife against your skin without breaking it and making you shiver, watching the predatory and precise way he moved that seemed so out of place on Dave's wiry, tired body.

You were so focused on him that you barely noticed the bite of metal into your flesh. Your eyes darting wildly as you clocked that your arm felt cold suddenly, watching with wide eyes as crimson spilt over your skin and began a somewhat steady stream into his mug, splashing over parts of his pale thigh that were exposed by the way he was sitting. Breathing harder and faster as adrenaline kicked in, Dave looking up and giving you that same coy, lazy smile that he always did as he held onto your wrist. Swearing slightly as you moved and you spilt some of yourself onto your floor, Dave frowned and mopped it up with his sock whilst trying to hold you still.

You brain decided it couldn't handle any more as he lifted your arm and your felt his cold, wet tongue drag up the skin and chase any rivulets that had escaped, and mercifully; everything went black as you passed out.

[sunboki]

004. SUNDAY’S PARADIGM — ANTHOLOGY

PAIRING. Hwang Hyunjin x gn. reader | WORD COUNT. 2.6k & 15 minute read | SERIES PLAYLIST. | WARNINGS. cursing | TROPE. college au, friends to lovers, she fell first but he fell harder (lmao), fluff

( ✉️ ) — hi everybody! i’m very happy to announce that this is the last addition to my mini-anthology “METANOIA”, thank you so much for the support this far and for so much anticipation and patience along the way— have a wonderful day!!

He was a cold person. Spiteful and brash to all people too close, scared to let his walls down. Except, to him, you’re a spectacle. A classmate he realizes he can’t exactly find reason to dislike while he sketched you from his stool in the art room.

Hyunjin knows your habits.

He knows when you’re talking to someone you like your voice becomes higher, knows you prefer to work alone on certain projects, and that you have a low social battery in public spaces. He knows when you're talking to the professor, when you’re anxious, you hold your arms close to your body.

In fact, Hyunjin may know more about you than your friends do. Except, Hyunjin isn’t your friend, nor a stalker or admirer. He’s just Hyunjin and you’re just Y/n, someone he never gets bored of watching from afar without knowing why.

Perhaps it’s the careful sculpting of your nose, the way your eyes perfectly fit with the rest of your face, rose hued lips curling when you smile. Oftentimes he wonders what shade your lips would be if he watercolor painted them. Dusty or dark, pink, or maybe red. He wonders.

And on occasions, he wonders why you aren’t the model for their class while one hand absentmindedly traces you, seated a few stools ahead of him while his canvas successfully blocks the repeated glances in your direction.

Maybe the endless sketches of you in his notebook are the reason he treats that thing like a porcelain vase, held dearly close to his chest as if a mere drop of water would rot the binding.

Hyunjin doesn’t like his sudden interest in you—doesn’t like how he can’t dislike you compared to his usual stark coldness for everyone and anyone, but he can’t help it.

There’s just something peculiar about you that he can’t put his finger on. He doesn’t like that either. But somehow, he can’t seem to get enough.

.

.

.

His lips pull into a frown, the usual one that unconsciously causes the rest of his face to turn grumpy. Oftentimes, Seungmin (the boy occupying the stool to his left) would snap his fingers just to watch surprise cross Hyunjin’s face for a change. He’s a strange kid.

Noticing a friend of yours stumble into the classroom, he can’t help but repeatedly peer from his work, memorizing the small creases of your clothings fabric onto the canvas.

For a moment, Sana (the girl whose name he finally remembered) pulled a small candy from her pocket and popped it in her mouth, urging you to take one as well.

She doesn’t like that flavor, she likes the strawberry flavor better. He thinks to himself.

And sure enough, after delivering a kind smile, you sneakily shoving the treat into your bag when she turns around. Hyunjin bites back the ghost of a smile creeping onto his lips.

Stupid. This is stupid. He tells himself constantly, but still finds his heart beating faster upon seeing you each day.

Really, really stupid, Hwang Hyunjin.

.. .

“I got it!” Sana shrieks, and you attempt to even your sudden panic as the girl begins gesturing wildly. Perhaps Hyunjin isn’t the only one getting surprised on a daily basis.

Frantically piecing together the thoughts circulating around her caffeine dispenser of a brain, she slams her hands down in front of you, another jump scare.

“He’s a ‘look don’t touch kind of guy’, that’s why every girl wants to be in our department!”

Crickets could’ve chirped in the amount of time you blankly stared at her.

She’s fervently nodding, seeming to have discovered an entirely new world in the process of describing your class spectacle as a ‘look don’t touch’.

“..Einstein would’ve stayed in his grave.”

“Would not,” She retorts, pushing her inky black tresses behind her ear and clasping her hands together. “In fact, he would’ve used all of his stone-dead energy to climb out of his grave just to tell me how smart I am!”

“Now that’s just wrong.”

So after more pouting, more glaring, and more unconvinced stares, you finally rise off the bench, shaking the iced coffee in hand.

It’s your lunch, and you would rather not talk about Hwang Hyunjin, but you might just have to give up even trying to avoid the topic at this point.

You don’t dislike him or anything, it just becomes a tad bit irritating once his name has been brought up forty five times in the last two hours, y’know? Because if there’s one thing Sana was right about, it’s that every girl is obsessed with him. Borderline. Obsessed.

Meanwhile, Hwang Hyunjin has no interest. In fact, Hwang Hyunjin doesn’t seem interested in anyone, nor much of anything. That is, unless it’s art.

Back when you had first taken the class the two of you debated on if he was gay, trying to find something that explained it. Although, by the third week you both concluded he acted like that towards everything.

Well, at least he looked bored.

Hwang Hyunjin was hard to read.

Setting your materials in their coordinating places, you steady the easel in front of you, prepared for Ms. Hoon to burst through the door and demand a new mock-up in five minutes or less. She’s known for being spontaneous in all of the wrong ways.

Except, today, Ms. Hoon saunters in, fingers nimbly adjusting her skirt that hangs close to her ankles—close to her tawny leather boots clicking when she walks. She’s pleased, too pleased.

Sana sends you a look saying the same thing you’re thinking:

We’re fucked.

Whipping a random roster from nowhere, her pointed index slides down names before looking up. Right at you.

“For our end of semester project, I want us to explore new options. I’m assigning all of you in pairs to visit different exhibitions around Seoul. Y/n L/n?”

You raise your hand.

“Your partner is Hwang Hyunjin, you’ll be visiting the National Museum of Korea’s Greece exhibition this Sunday,” She smiles, scarily resembling a Cheshire cat. “Infographics are here.” Ms. Hoon finishes, patting the stack atop the podium.

Never has there been so many eyes boring into your back.

And with that, the students either drag their feet or plow through to grab the papers.

Meanwhile, you’re feeling something only recognizable as impending doom.

You’re fucked.

.. .

Hysterically staring ahead, you flinch when a piece of paper is slipped beside you, forcing your eyes off the board.

Can I get your number? It reads, so when you notice Hyunjin’s name is addressed below, you’re convinced you’ve been trapped in some alternate universe. Mere seconds ago Ms. Hoon assigned partners, or did you miss something inbetween the lines?

Your number? Hwang Hyunjin, asking for your number?

Unbelievable.

Instead of darting for the door like you’d planned earlier though, you wait until the classroom is empty to approach him, looking unfairly handsome as always. But before he can say a word, you form a jumbled sentence through fast-blinking eyelids and manically expressive nods of your head.

“Hyunjin I— I’m sorry I’m flattered but I don’t think of you like tha—“

“Huh? For the project?” He replies, and a hundred tons of steel might as well drop on your head at this rate.

Not only are you fucked, but now you’re fucking yourself. And not on good terms.

Talk about a bad first impression.

Opening your mouth, closing it, and opening it again, you chameleon redder and redder the longer he looks at you, shakily typing your digits into his phone to spin on your heel and march out at an alarming pace.

Although, you don’t see the small quirk of his lips, nor how he named “Pretty Project Partner Y/N” as your contact.

“God I’m such an idiot!” Clutching your head, you prop your elbows on the kitchen island while Sana sifts through Netflix on the sofa. She chortles, but lets you wallow in your misery no less.

It’s your secret language, a coping mechanism in its own, sweetly bitter truth.

The day of and you’re still hung up about Hyunjin. Well, your overwhelming embarrassment about Hyunjin—something that kept you up well throughout the night.

Weird. Since when did you care so much about your impression on him anyway? He’s never been a particular stake in your road, but now he’s the sudden speed bump in every once-peaceful moment.

Your pocket vibrates with a notification.

Funny enough, he seemed to live up to that speed bump role.

Hyunjin : Can I come over? Chan’s a bit.. busy

You : Busy?

Hyunjin : Busy

You : Yikes, come over

Hyunjin : Thanks

Sprinting into the living room, you have to stop yourself, hoping to appear composed to the all-knowing best friend of yours.

“Hey, um, could you run to the convenience store for me?”

What a side-eye. She could slice cheese with that glare.

Number one rule? By no circumstances can you have Sana plotting something. Especially not with Hyunjin involved.

“Are you constipated?”

Here goes your ego.

“I’m in denial.”

She taunts. “You poor thing.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Fine, send me what you want and pay me back.” Waving her off, you take the opportunity to attempt at rationalizing what exactly you’ll do, say, look like, act like, and the other billions and trillions of possibilities you only have a few minutes to think about before he arrives.

Real reassuring.

Hyunjin : I’m here

He sends five minutes later, sequentially leading to your phone dropping on your face, slipping on the rug, and giving yourself a once-over (more like a thrice-over) in the mirror, where you greet him at the door.

First thing your eyes are drawn to are the bouquet of flowers held in hand.

Flowers.

Flowers?!?

“Look, they were on sale and it adds to the atmosphere.” He deliberately avoids your gaze. You don’t mention it.

You never took Hyunjin as the guy bringing you flowers. Come to think of it, you never took Hyunjin as a romantic either. Guess this project is teaching more things than just the philosophy of Michelangelo’s sculptures.

Placing said flowers into a vase you miraculously found in the cabinet above the microwave, you anxiously tap your finger atop your thigh.

It’s awkward, until it isn’t. Because Hyunjin is surprisingly good at small talk.

“Why are you like this to me?” Blurting, you wish you would’ve bitten your tongue. Luckily, he doesn't seem to mind too much.

Instead, he fixates on your face, noting your details as you speak. Dusty red is their color he decides, the watercolor shade matching your lips best.

“Like what?”

“Well,” You meet his eyes. He memorizes that color as well. “You’re just different in class.”

Leaning further into the opposing loveseat, he shrugs.

“For the record, Ms. Hoon wears that awful perfume every day. Not to mention everyone falls asleep anyway.”

He’s not half wrong.

“Aren’t you observant,” You muse, cheekily giggling to yourself.

He rolls his eyes, ears pink nonetheless.

Abruptly interrupting your teasing, there’s a knock, and you haphazardly edge to peer through the peephole, Hyunjin simultaneously tailing behind you.

“Who is it?” He whispers, uncharacteristic to his usual unbothered demeanor.

Shit, it’s Sana!

Already aware she’d find out something was up one way or another, you find yourself with no choice but to slowly open the door, a hand leant against the doorframe, another covering Hyunjin’s mouth where he hides on the wall to your left.

“Hey you better pay me ba- are you okay?” She hesitates, surveying the sweat on your brow and how off-balance you’re standing, plastic bag in clutch.

“Oh yeah, I just remembered! Did you buy the extra bag of potato chips?” Diverting the conversation, you nervously grin, feeling Hyunjin’s hot breath against your palm when he stifled a giggle.

Squinting incredulously, she scrolls through her messages without answering. Shaking the list you sent right in your face, you wrinkle your nose, putting on the best “please? I promise I’ll buy you lunch for a week” face you can muster.

Like you said. Secret language.

Sighing heavily, you thank whomever above when she slumps away and you excitedly slam the door shut, both releasing exhales of relief.

Checking the time, you glimpse outside, making sure the perimeter is Sana-free. You need absolutely no traces.

Great. Coast clear.

“Shhhh!” Shushing him, you carefully lock the door before running out of sight down the hallway at full speed. Bewildered, he chases along, mini ponytail swaying with each stride.

You have to cover your mouth to keep from laughing. Unusually, he’s doing the same.

Your unwavering, certainly monotonous class spectacle is laughing.

He’s pretty.

Wait. Duh.

He’s gorgeous.

Yeah. That fits better.

A soft hue decorates his cheeks, and he stumbles down the stairs like a drunkard. Yet, in the midst of your admiration, your foot slips—more drunkard-esque than him—from beneath you. Before your forehead makes contact with the marble floor though, a hand fastens onto your sleeve.

Hyunjin leans down, brows furrowed worriedly. Also uncharacteristic.

“You okay?” He asks, tone soft, voice concerned.

Responding breathlessly from both your near-death experience and how ungodly close you are to a prince, you meekly nod, allowing the boy to ease you upright.

Dear god what is with you?!

Navigating the exhibition tucked away near a library, neither of you waste time getting to work. So as the sky begins dimming to eve and you briefly think of Sana, likely beyond confused back at the dorm, you curve around to the last sculpture replicated, the world renowned “Bacchus”.

“Greek sculptures are beautiful, aren’t they.” He speaks, voice hollow and hardly audible unless you craned close. His eyes flit to every inch of the statue, taking in the precise attention to detail carving the fingerprints lingering on flesh, specific shadows emphasizing pained expressions or that of happiness, fingernails so deliberately intricate it terrifies you.

Hyunjin has a way of leaving you breathless.

“Yeah..” You mutter, scribbling some messy bullet points and getting a decent basis on the overall anatomy of the sculpture.

You often wonder how such masterpieces have remained perfectly intact after countless years. You wonder if Hyunjin is like that too. That, even if you got close to him, he’d stay the same. Bitter, uninviting. To others at least.

To you, he’s different. You like it.

Or, he’d change.

Perhaps become sweeter, lace his tongue in honey when he spoke to you.

You quickly force the thought away.

However, what you don’t realize is that you leave Hyunjin breathless all the same. Because with your attention being elsewhere (for a second occasion), you hadn’t noticed his gaze landing on you when he said beautiful.

.. .

Hyunjin is a gentleman. And in all honesty, this occasion, despite the fact you’re simply visiting an exhibition, feels more like a date than anything.

He’s geared you to the left of him while he shields the road on your walk home, he brought flowers, and even saved you from a catastrophe. You’d count that as a pretty gentleman-type move.

Arriving at your complex and promising to text more details to each other tomorrow, his hand—stirring déjà vú in your stomach—grasps your sleeve for a second time.

Gently turning you around, his thumb reaches up to lightly press against your bottom lip, index hooked beneath your chin.

You’re certain you’ve forgotten to breathe by now.

“Hyunjin.. What're you doing….?” You hesitantly drag out, phrase muffled.

Absentmindedly clicking his tongue, he maneuvers your head left and right, a slow smile crawling onto his cheeks upon witnessing your flustered state.

“Making sure I get the color right,” He responds nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t mere centimeters away from your lips.

Dusty red, he was right.

Leaning his head down with a small tilt, his breath barely ghosts over your face, mischievous smirk beginning to grate your nerves the longer he holds that smug cockiness.

“See you tomorrow?” He muses, shoving cold hands into his pockets while ensuring you get inside safely.

“Yeah Yeah..” You grumble, praying he doesn’t notice you trip up the stairs, mind buzzing wildly.

He does, and he laughs.

Hyunjin knew your habits, and now, in the middle of your coincidentally ideal project, he finds himself learning again and again. There’s so much to you, so many layers he hopes to uncover, so much that becomes hard not falling for.

He can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

.

.

.

“Y/n?”

Sana knocks on your room’s door. You hum in acknowledgement.

“Where did you get those flowers?”

> SERIES TAGLIST. @phtogravi @liknws @luckieleaf @jhstayy @meloncremesoda @chans1aptop @eternitywaveshello @meanergreener @ladylexis @love-gy-u @hanjingin @idkluvutellme @dark-anxel @yubinism @rachabreathing @seung-scrittore @fylithia @skzsupremacy @alrm02 @ener-energy @koliki @anskiiz @dprkbyn @bellamuerte1987 @ylixbok @hanjisung-enjoyer @youngunknownwitch @hwangflora @starlost-andfound @taeriffic @flwerfield

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[californiaboytoybilly]

Chasing Shadows (in the grocery line)

This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race! (@harringrove-relay-race)✨

I was passed the baton by the lovely @imsodishy, and I'm honored to close out the relay race with this piece. I've loved seeing all the beautiful creations coming out of this event and I'm blushing at even being considered alongside creators like these. summary:

What had he done to deserve this?

Billy's chest grew cold and achy as he stared at a tousled blonde head of hair, looking at his mother for the first time in years. Except she wasn’t his mother. Just a woman who could be her long-lost twin, if not for the color of her eyes — a cold gray compared to his mother’s ocean blues. tags: pre-relationship, post s2, panic attacks, implied/referenced child abuse, billy sees a woman who looks like his mother and doesn't handle it well, steve harrington is a sweetheart, emotional hurt/comfort, billy hargrove needs a hug word count: 3.4k

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Hawkins Indiana had been personally designed to be Billy’s own realm of hell, he was sure of it. 

It had been one thing to shoulder the previous levels of misery this town had to offer. The simpering girls with jelly spines in their pastel sweater sets and Indiana’s hilly, woodsy stretches of land with not a drop of saltwater in sight. Did it matter that every single house looked like it had been popped out of one of three molds? He only had to tolerate this place until the day he turned eighteen, at which point he intended to jump in his car and drive until he got back to California. 

It wasn’t worth bothering to ask why he would have earned such a punishment. He was at least self-aware enough to know he wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of kindness and social grace- he was sure plenty of people had quietly wished him to fall into the flames on more than one occasion. 

But this… what had he done to deserve this?

His chest grew cold and achy as he stared at a tousled blonde head of hair, looking at his mother for the first time in years. 

Except she wasn’t his mother. 

Just a woman who could be her long-lost twin, if not for the color of her eyes — a cold gray compared to his mother’s ocean blues.

His breath caught in his throat, bile lingering on the back of his tongue, but he couldn’t look away. It was like the supermarket tiles had grown vines, wrapped around his legs until he couldn’t have moved even if he’d been on fire. 

The woman was around the same age his mother had been the last time he’d seen her, too. Her face was youthful, untouched by age or stress or misery. Features soft in a way only reminiscent of the version of Dianna Hargrove that came out when Neil was away. 

The pounding of his heart was making him dizzy, the woman he couldn’t tear his gaze from utterly oblivious to the damage she was doing to him on a molecular level by simply existing here, in this place, at the same time as him. 

Panic was creeping up his throat- or maybe he was going to be sick. That was also a strong possibility. His vision was starting to pulse at the edges. He needed to get out of here; he needed to—

A hand clasped down on his shoulder, warm and firm, and Billy couldn’t control the violent flinch it earned from him. The hand moved immediately at the jolt, lifting in a gesture of surrender. 

Wild blue eyes followed the arm attached to the hand towards its owner. He took in spattered moles that itched at his brain but couldn’t quite connect why through the wash of panic until he turned his gaze up the rest of the way. 

Steve Harrington stared at him with eyes that were too soft, too big and concerned. He wasn’t used to seeing that expression on Harrington’s face and the perceived pity made him bristle. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He muttered, but it lacked the bite that may usually have been present. Billy hated the way his voice trembled like a scared little kid, keeping his gaze as far away from the dairy aisle as he could now. 

Harrington paused, brows furrowing in the middle, and he let out a little sigh in response to Billy’s order. Less irritated by his attitude than normal, more resigned, like a toddler had poured juice on his shoe. He wiggled his fingers as though in reminder that they were nowhere near Billy now, which made the blonde grit his teeth together. 

Then- in a voice a little too gentle- he spoke up. “Sorry if I made you jump. Just ah… looked like you were going to barf. Thought I’d make sure that you were–”

“I’m fine.” Billy interrupted, but the last syllable was weak, to say the least. “I’m fine, I have to go.” He dropped his full basket on a nearby shelf, ducking past Steve as his cheeks started to burn red with humiliation.

He’d be lucky if Neil didn’t kick his ass for not getting the groceries like he was instructed, but he couldn’t stay in this store even one minute longer if he wanted to preserve even a shred of his pride. Bruises would heal, they always did. 

At the door, in his hurry to get out, he almost smacked right into one of Susan’s friends. Cindy, if he wasn’t mistaken, was a brunette with hair bigger than a minivan and a gossiping tendency to match.  

“Well hello there, Billy.” She said in a sickeningly sweet voice, unknowingly just barely avoiding being told to fuck off. He had to remind himself that if he did, she’d run home and tell Susan and then he’d have a lot more problems than a panic attack and a few bruises to deal with today. 

He greeted her kind of flatly in response, but tried to smooth his face into something less shaken and more charming when she raised an eyebrow at his tone. “How’s the husband?” He tried again, even if his lungs still felt like they were in a vice grip.

She sighed dramatically with an eye-roll. “Probably sleeping in his recliner, as usual. Pretty sure he’d rot in that thing if he didn’t have to get up to eat.” 

Billy regretted asking immediately but nodded sympathetically, internally begging her to just fuck off and go do her shopping already. “Can’t live with him, can’t live without him, huh?” 

Cindy scoffed and twirled her hair, eyeing him a moment too long. “Oh, I’d do just fine without him. Unfortunately, the house is in his name.” 

Billy inched towards the door, just barely shuffling his feet an inch at a time to put more space in between them. Just when he was trying to think of an excuse to leave without having to pretend he cared about her shitty marriage, another shrill voice called out her name and she spun to find them.

Sandy, not Cindy. At least he didn’t actually call her by the wrong name out loud. 

Using her distraction, Billy all but threw himself through the glass doors and walked as fast as he could towards the alleyway between the store and the hair salon next door. An employee in a red store vest was smoking a cigarette against the wall, but Billy’s fracturing grip on his emotions must’ve resulted in a slightly terrifying expression on his face.

Dropping his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out, the teen- who Billy thought he vaguely recognized from school- faux casually booked it out of the other side of the alley before Billy had to yell at him to do so. 

Finally alone, Billy dropped down to sit on the red metal bench they’d thrown back here to rust away and put his head in his hands. It was barely three seconds before a strangled sound, not entirely unlike a sob, dragged itself painfully out of his throat, his shoulders curling into a hunch. 

With his eyes closed, he saw the woman again. The way the fluorescent lighting had sat so harshly on her corn-silk hair, the glint of silver rings on slender fingers. A shudder rolled down Billy’s spine as the version of her in his mind's eye turned to face him, eyes blue now instead of gray. 

“Billy, baby? Is that you?” She said so softly, voice lilting in surprise. She reached out a hand towards him, her own basket dropping to the too-white tiles as the eyes she shared with him welled up with tears and–

“Hey!” She spoke again, but her voice was lower. Too deep, not her voice at all. It wasn’t until the third repetition that the illusion shattered, careful footsteps on the concrete snapping him free. Billy’s head shot up immediately, pulse picking up speed, only to see Steve Harrington once again. 

“Don’t you have anywhere better to be?!” Billy snapped, his bitter attitude flaring up to protect the oozing, throbbing hole that had been torn straight through his abdomen. “Or are you so fucking obsessed with me that you’ve decided to follow me around and be a pain in my–” 

“Damn it, Hargrove. Just… take a breath. I’m not going to fight you.” Steve sighed and moved closer, like he wasn’t even a little afraid of Billy’s temper. As though Billy hadn’t left him a bloody, bruised mess in a fit of anger barely six months prior.

“What do you want, Harrington? I’m not in the mood.” He said finally, all the fury draining from his voice. He just didn’t have the energy to fight right now.

He was tired and sad, his chest felt empty, and he missed his fucking mom.

“I know you said you were fine, but you’re clearly not.” Steve said, hovering around the edge of the bench. He shifted back on his heels, heavy-looking plastic bags dangling from his fingers. The tears he’d shed embarrassed Billy. He could feel them clinging to his cheeks, but he couldn’t stop them from falling even now and it was too late to hide them. 

“Why do you care?” Billy muttered bitterly. “I’m an asshole to you. You hate me, I… I hate you.” That last one was a lie, and he knew it, but he wasn’t willing to acknowledge that to himself right now. “Shouldn’t you find this funny?” 

Steve set the bags down, using his knee to nudge Billy out of the way before sitting down on the bench like he belonged there. Billy eyed him warily, lip hauled between his teeth now. 

“Who said I hate you?” Steve said, tone still soft but with an edge like a teacher asking him for the date in history that the Old White Man of the Week had died. Billy felt any answer he may have so much as considered die in his throat. 

“And even if I did hate you- which I don’t- I still wouldn’t find you being miserable funny.” Billy wanted to protest the description of his mood, but it was more accurate than he wanted it to be. 

Eventually he managed a half-reply, “Didn’t mean you had to follow me.” 

Steve shrugged and settled further into the bench, leg just barely pressing against the blonde’s own. “Yeah well. Like you said before, I had nothing better to do.” There was a small smile audible in his voice, and when Billy peeked back over at him, he figured out that Steve was trying to lighten the mood. 

He didn’t exactly know that Billy was bleeding out beside him in slow-motion, so he had no way of knowing a joke wouldn’t patch it up. But the attempt was… oddly nice, even if Billy was still struggling to accept his presence as genuine at all.

“Just having a shitty day. It doesn’t matter.” Billy breathed, turning his gaze towards the gravel-strewn alley ground once more. A soggy flyer was balled up by his feet, which he aimed a kick at to get some of his tension out. It bounced off the rim of a rusted coffee can full of cigarette butts and then rolled off down the alley. 

Beside him, Steve made a buzzer sound under his breath and even as his chest gave another dull throb, Billy found himself snorting a quiet laugh. 

“I can still kick your ass on the court, missed shot or not.” Billy said defiantly, but his voice conveyed an attempt at reciprocated humor, even if it sounded a little flat. Steve just shrugged again. 

“Eh, you’ve got me there.” The brunette acquiesced instead of even playfully fighting him and damn it all, why the hell did that have heat flooding back into Billy’s cheeks? 

He knew why, but again, now was not the time. 

“Can’t believe Steve Harrington spends time buying his own groceries. What, give the staff a day off?” Billy said before Steve could inadvertently compliment him again, picking at the skin of his palm as a tactile distraction. 

“These aren’t mine actually, and believe it or not, I clean my own house, too. I know, shocking.” Steve drawled in a dry, light tone. Had he shifted closer? Billy could swear that he could feel more of Steve’s leg against his own than he had a minute ago. 

“You do grocery shopping for other people?” Billy cocked his head. That was an even more bizarre concept, for some reason. 

Steve shook his head, but his answer was no less cryptic. “Not often, just… sometimes I make an exception.” 

“Ooookay.” 

They both trailed off, silence creeping into the alleyway once again. Billy wasn’t sure when he stopped crying, but when he lifted a hand to wipe at his eyes, his face was dry. 

Maybe Steve wasn’t a horrible distraction.

Billy opened his mouth to speak, anything to fill the silence. He’d always liked silence; silence was the opposite of everything home was. But for some reason, he hated it right now. 

The problem was simple- what did he even say? He was still residually embarrassed and worn out. They’d never had a genuinely friendly conversation before- and Billy doubted this one counted as that either, at least not at the beginning- and he was genuinely grasping at mental straws trying to find a topic. 

Hey man, while we’re having a somewhat normal conversation, mind telling me what was in that syringe my shitbird sister stabbed me with? 

Also, I just casually hallucinated my mother in the grocery store because hey, if there’s a God, he loves taking his morning shit in my cereal. 

Yeah, he was sure that would go over super well. 

Billy’s hand lifted to rub over the spot on his neck that the needle had gone into, a slight shiver running down his back. That had been a weird fucking night. 

Steve seemed to notice his movement, because he turned his body towards Billy a little more. Billy suddenly felt very observed, and he shifted in place before digging into his pocket for a cigarette. 

As he inhaled a deep drag, he felt a little of the rigidness leave his posture. Even with the blonde woman still faintly burned into the edge of his vision, it was helping considerably. 

“Hey uh…” Steve started, then trailed off. He clearly also didn’t know how to break the silence between them. “Are you going to Jennifer’s party?” He said finally. 

Billy couldn’t help but smile at the obvious grasp of a topic, letting smoke curl out between his teeth. “Nah. I have to babysit.”

The displeasure in his voice was obvious. Even if he and Max were still in a weird, post-syringe purgatory phase of their hot and cold relationship, he didn’t exactly enjoy sitting at home and doing fuck all nothing but trying to keep her from sneaking out again. 

“Max?” Steve probed, but it barely sounded like a question. 

Billy raised an eyebrow at him. “You think I’d willingly watch any other snot-nosed kid in this town? If I needed money that badly, I think I’d be happier scrubbing out public toilets with a toothbrush.”

Steve choked on a laugh, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. Billy may be a little into the way he looked when he was angry, but he was unfairly attractive when he smiled like that. Fuck. It made Billy want to piss him off just so his brain stopped turning all useless and fuzzy. 

“Mm, yeah, that’s fair. Can’t really imagine you playing tea party.” 

Billy made a disgusted sound, forcing himself to look away from that smile. “Yeah, I’m good. No thanks.”

Steve rubbed his palms on his jeans, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “I should… get going.” He said apologetically, getting to his feet. “I have to get to… uh. Well, a job interview. At that new mall that just opened up.” He scrunched his face, looking disinterested in the concept as a whole. 

Clearly, this job interview wasn’t his idea.

Billy attempted to conceal his disappointment with the loss of body heat at his side, already sensing a small amount of the calm that had settled into his chest fading away. He cleared his throat. “Alright..”

Steve looked at him for a moment longer, then glanced over his shoulder towards the opening to the alley. Was Billy imagining things, or did he look as disappointed as Billy felt?

Though trying to get the words out felt like dragging a sandbag through four feet of water, Billy eventually managed to get out a quiet- “Thanks… for ah- coming out here.” He said slowly, not looking anywhere close to Steve while he did so. He heard a quiet hum in response.

Steve was smiling again when he looked back up and Billy felt that damn fuzziness start creeping back into place. Fucking Harrington and his stupid, pretty smile. 

“Not a problem…” Steve said, sounding genuine. “For… what it’s worth, I hope your day gets a little better.” Billy had to bite his tongue not to laugh sarcastically at the sentiment. He knew deep down it would only get worse. 

But he’d long since gotten used to evading the truth when it came to stuff like this. 

“I’m sure it will.” He lied, fingernails biting into the palm of his hand. 

Steve didn’t look convinced, the corners of his lips twitching downwards. If he did know Billy was lying, he chose not to call him out. Billy appreciated it. He’d already been far more vulnerable in the last half an hour than he liked. 

“I’ll… see you around, Billy.”

Billy. Not Hargrove or an insulting name. He was Billy now. It made his nerves skitter sparks, fingers twitching. 

Steve started to walk away, slipping his hands into his pockets. It was that movement that made Billy realize something. “Hey, Steve–”

The brunette turned to look back at him, waiting. 

Billy gestured lamely to the grocery bags on the ground. “You forgot your bags.” 

Steve looked a little red in the face, but he simply shrugged. “Like I said… they aren’t my groceries.” Then, like he hadn’t just thoroughly confused Billy, he left the alley entirely and vanished around the corner. 

Regardless of whether they were his or not, he was sure whoever Steve had been shopping for would’ve liked to actually get their groceries. He was surprised he had even managed to get all this. Wasn’t his basket basically empty when he’d approached Billy in the store...?

Billy blinked, eyes snapping to the bags on the ground with a new level of focus. Steve’s basket had had nothing but a jar of sauce in it. He was sure of that now. There were far too many bags sitting around his feet for Steve to have had time to get all of it and go through the checkout in the time Billy had been held up by Sandy at the doors. 

He hesitantly reached down to the one nearest his foot, pulling it open. As he scanned the contents, Susan’s grocery list flashed through his mind. By the second bag, his mouth was hanging open a little, and he abruptly realized what Steve had done all at once. 

“What the fuck?” He muttered, a little breathless. 

Steve had bought his groceries for him. He’d grabbed Billy’s full basket off the shelf, and he’d gone and fucking–

Billy’s face pinched into something conflicted as he tried to battle back the wash of confusing emotions now flooding through his body, fingers shaking slightly on the handle of the bag. Relief, gratitude, confusion, and something soft and warm and terrifying. 

Without even knowing the punishment that would’ve awaited him when he came home empty-handed, Steve had waltzed right in and somehow saved him from it.

He looked back towards the opening of the alley, even though he knew Steve was long gone now, with a dangerous fluttering taking over his chest. There was no coming back from this moment in time, that wave of warmth now far too strong to battle back even with his carefully honed talent of repression.

Steve Harrington had a terrible habit of messing up Billy’s plans- and brain- but this was a whole new level. This time, he’d gone straight for the heart.

Oh, Billy was so fucked. 

[bullyingfictionalmen]

Crow’s Lullaby

Summary: The year: 1925. The place: Linkon City. ‘Evol’ as a concept is only just being studied. A young singer with a sordid past and an infamous criminal with a penchant for jazz cross paths, perhaps not for the first time. She’s chasing her dreams, he might be the only person in the city with the sway to keep her safe. But will teaming up bring mysteries to light, or will it seal their doom?

Read on AO3

Word Count: 1.9k

CW: violence, main story/anecdote spoilers, fem!MC, eventual smut

1: A Siren Sings in an Empty Room

When you got the job at Sour Note, it was just waiting tables. You knew the jazz club held secrets that its meager stage belied, but the owner, Luke, had nearly laughed you out of the interview when you proposed a steady singing gig.

“Listen, doll, you’ve got guts, but moxie don’t pay the bills. You think a waif like you with no name recognition could draw a crowd, much less keep ‘em hooked ‘til the fifth cocktail?”

“You haven’t even heard me sing! What if—” but your plea fell on deaf ears. It was all you could do to convince him to let you wash dishes in the back.

But everything changes one slow, rainy night. Fall is fading fast, succumbing to winter’s biting chill. The club is nearly empty after the dinner rush dies, save a few regulars in the back having a hushed conversation. Their faces are obscured by cigar smoke, nowhere near needing assistance. Bored, you feel your eyes wandering toward the ornate grand piano, as they often do when you have a free moment. Unlike the rest of the muted décor, Sour Note’s piano is pristine, glossy, even. It’s old, but has clearly been treated with the utmost care. Luke has told you on multiple occasions that if you touch it, he’ll cut off your thumbs.

But Luke’s not here tonight. Your fingers are practically itching, and one little song couldn’t hurt. Quietly, you slide onto the bench, mind racing, hands hovering over the keys. For a moment, you feel paralyzed with uncertainty. Your throat clenches, your chest is heavy. No big deal, you reassure yourself. No one will find out. This is just for me.

You begin to sing, softly at first. Your breathing is a little unsteady, your hands are stiff. But as you continue your performance, the fear melts away. In its place swells the joy of pure artistic expression, the satisfaction of doing what you love. Your voice, a rich and warm contrast to this dreary evening, seems to soar and fill the room. The gentle, twinkling piano flows beneath it like magic. When the last note rings out, you feel an unabashed grin lighting up your face. Your dream has come true, if only for a moment.

Show, sharp applause breaks you out of your trance in an instant. Your gaze darts to the table of regulars, but they aren’t the source of it. At some point during the song, a gentleman you’ve never seen before has entered the club. Your panicked brain hones in on each striking feature, silver-white hair that’s perfectly mussed in spite of the rain, blazing red eyes, a neatly-pressed suit with a leather jacket draped over his broad shoulders. He exudes the kind of nonchalant self-assurance you’ve only ever associated with the exorbitantly wealthy. He’s lounging on one of the sofas like he owns the place, eyeing you with an intensity that makes you want to crouch down and hide like a scolded child.

“Well, now,” he drawls, standing up and taking a step toward the stage. His voice is so deep and melodic that it makes you shiver. “I’m shocked. I wasn’t aware that Luke had booked a musical guest for this evening.”

You feel a blush creeping all the way to your ears. Debate lying and lightly playing it off. But something about this man’s demeanor, the wry arch of his eyebrow, makes you feel like he can read your every thought. All possible excuses die before they can reach your lips. “He… he didn’t.”

The man laughs softly, and you’re sure he already knew that. “I see. Bold, aren’t we, kitten? There are few who would dare to lay hands on my mother’s piano. But you really gave it your all, so I’ll let it slide.”

You gasp, hands jerking away from the keys like you’ve been burned. “Your… mother’s…?”

The man’s lips quirk into a sly grin. “No need to be scared. Instruments are meant to be played, right?” He steps up onto the stage, looming over you. “Though I do like that pretty ‘o’ your mouth makes when you’re surprised.”

Your hands fly to cover your face. You try desperately to think of something, anything intelligent to say. Maybe, ‘sorry’? Or, ‘who are you?’. But all you can focus on is your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the pleasant, spicy smell of his cologne, and the imminent possibility of unemployment. When you feel composed enough to peek between your fingers, you find him staring at you again, chin propped up on his palm, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Are you a little calmer now?” You manage a nod, and the man gestures to the bench. “Scoot over a bit.”

Your conscious mind barely registers his request, but you do as he bid on instinct. When he sits down next to you, the soft leather of his jacket brushes against your arm. There’s barely enough room for the two of you, and you curl in on yourself a bit until he taps your shoulder. “You can relax. I won’t bite. And I won’t tell Luke about your little solo act.”

You raise your head so you can look him in the eyes. “Really?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I did, though.” The man says, absently running his fingers over the keys. “The person with final say on hiring and firing is the owner.”

You blink. “But Luke, isn’t he—?”

“He’s been kind enough to watch over this place for me while I’m indisposed.” As if to accentuate his words, the man plays a light little arpeggio.

“Do you own other businesses, Mister, um—”

“Sylus,” he offers you a handshake, and you take it, still a little hesitant. But you give him your own name. “To your question, I guess you could say I have my fingers in a variety of pots in Linkon CIty. Music just happens to be a fascination of mine.”

“For your mother, too?” The question spills out before you can wonder if he’d find it rude.

Sylus looks a bit taken aback, but his expression clouds with something you haven’t seen from him before. Fondness. You find yourself marveling at the way the emotion softens the intensity of his features. “She did love music. Jazz in particular. She would have been a great pianist herself, in different circumstances.”

This time, you know better than to pry. “I’m sorry for touching something of hers without asking. It’s a beautiful instrument, and I’m sure it means a lot to you.”

A low laugh rumbles in his chest, and you feel a twinge of warmth at such a lovely sound. “Quite alright. But, if I may ask, what spurred you to play that song in particular?”

You cross your hands in your lap, humming in thought. “Well, ‘Crow’s Lullaby’ was on one of the records my granny used to play all the time at the house. She loved to twirl around as she cooked or cleaned, singing her heart out into a ladle or a hairbrush. She was tone-deaf, but my brother and I still loved to dance and cheer her on. When I was a little older, she brought home a spinet from the antique shop, and that was the first song I learned to play on it. She… cried when I sang it for her.” Feeling a little misty, you swallow thickly, wiping at the corners of your eyes and forcing a smile. “Anyway, I guess it’s what I think of first when I get a chance to perform.”

“I see. She must’ve been a great inspiration to you. A prime reason you want to be a professional.”

Your spine goes rigid at his spot-on observation. Holding back a sheepish smile, you fiddle with a stray strand of your hair. “Am I so obvious that you can smell my desperation?”

“That’s not how I’d put it,” Sylus’ crimson eyes linger on you a moment, and you fight the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. “I noticed because you carry yourself like a performer. When you sing, I sense not only raw talent, but years of practice that make those notes seem effortless.”

His straightforward praise leaves you speechless for a moment, your heart rendered gooey as melted chocolate. “Th-Thank you. You’re too kind.”

“No, just observant,” Sylus asserts. “That, and Luke complained to me a few months ago about an audacious, unproven girl looking for a singing gig at my club.” Your blush returns full force, as does Sylus’ smirk. “Does your grandmother know you’re working here?”

You shake your head, gaze falling to your lap. “She, um, passed away a few months ago.”

“Ah… My condolences.”

The conversation lulls. As the silence stretches on, a strange, fluttering urgency takes hold of you. A desire to maintain whatever tenuous connection you have to this man. “D-Do you play the piano, Sylus? Or sing?”

“I do play a little,” Sylus’ lips curve upward. “As for singing, it’s one of my greatest loves. Unfortunately, I’ve been informed that I’m a little… tone-deaf. That’s actually the story behind the club’s name—a bit of a self-effacing joke.”

“Huh. Somehow, that’s hard to believe.”

“What makes you say that, kitten? Teasing me for my faults?”

“Not at all. I just thought that with a voice like yours, you could enthrall anyone with a song.”

“’Enthrall’ them…? What an interesting choice of words. They bring to mind sirens at sea.” Sylus’ eyes twinkle with mirth, and you’re one more embarrassment away from bolting into the rain. I can’t believe I just said that.

You turn away, squeezing your eyes shut. “S-Sorry, that’s, um… I meant—”

“So quick to cower,” Sylus muses, his fingers gently guiding your face toward his, “but you shouldn’t apologize.” Your eyes meet his again, and it’s not just his voice that enraptures you. “I could only ever feel flattered by such praise, delivered straight from a siren’s lips.”

His words are a spell, a honeyed incantation that robs you of all your sense. Your lashes flutter, red lips parted slightly as if a kiss is a forgone conclusion. There’s no doubt in your mind that if anyone here is a siren, it’s Sylus. Your fingers trace his forearm before clutching the fabric of his sleeve. Your breaths mingle, your eyelids fall closed in anticipation, and then—

“This damn weather! I swear I’m going to—” The two of you jolt apart at the sound of Luke’s loud, disgruntled voice. When the man catches sight of you sitting at the piano, his nostrils flare, eyes bulging in disbelief. “What in Astra’s name are you doing over there? How many times do I have to tell you, brat? Lemme see those thumbs—"

“Luke,” Sylus’ chides, but his tone is placid, without a hint of the regret or unease that leaves you silent and paralyzed, “I told her it was alright.”

Luke scrunches his brow and scoffs. “That’s rich, Boss, considering all the times you’ve threatened my life over that old thing. ‘Luke, if there’s so much as a smudge on that piano, I swear I’ll rip off your di—‘”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Sylus rolls his eyes. “I merely told you to be careful, and you have been. Besides, this one bent the rules in service of a greater good. Now, Luke, break out our best bottle of gin. I believe a celebration is in order.”

Your eyes go wide. There are many speakeasies around the city—hell, you’ve been to a fair few—but alcohol is illegal, and it’s unusual to discuss it so brazenly. “A celebration…?”

“Why, yes,” Sylus winks. He offers you a hand, helping you stand up from the bench before he leans down to kiss your knuckles. “In honor of your new job.”

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

seven - a joel miller story

pairing: post-outbreak jackson!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5k

summary:

Joel Miller has spent twenty years pushing the grief and guilt surrounding the death of his daughter, Sarah, to the darkest recesses of his brain in favor of survival. And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why

Living a more quiet life in Jackson means the ghosts of his past have returned to haunt him. He finds his solace in you, the town librarian.

author's note:

another work for the folklore anthology! i'd really love to hear your thoughts on this one, so please drop a comment or slide into my inbox if you're so inclined.

content warnings/tags:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, ANGST, themes of grief and loss, feelings of guilt, discussions of child loss and sibling loss (unnamed brother of reader), descriptions of panic attacks, nightmares, alcohol use, unprotected p in v, vaginal fingering, pet names, a reference to the harry potter series. let me know if any are missing!

“Look at me, daddy!” 

Joel watches as Sarah pumps her legs, soaring high into the cloudless blue sky. He has to shield his eyes against the painfully bright sun. He smiles as she laughs, the sound blanketing him in joy.

As she swings down back towards the ground, Joel hears a panicked shout. He turns, a man running toward him over the hill, arms waving. He can’t hear what the man is saying, he’s too far away.

A shot rings out and the man drops to the ground in a heap of limbs. Joel can see a line of soldiers, guns trained toward him.

“Sarah, we have to go!” He shouts, turning back to the swing set. The swing is empty. He searches frantically for his daughter but the little girl is nowhere to be found. “Sarah!”

He’s running, putting space between him and the soldiers. He begs and prays to a God he’s always had trouble believing in that he finds his baby.

He sees her, finally. She’s standing in the middle of a field, her back to him. It’s dark now, he’s not sure when that happened. 

“Sarah! Sarah, we gotta go, come on, baby,” he shouts. She turns, slowly, her arm braced around her stomach and a horrified expression on her face. Joel drops to his knees in front of her, taking her face between his hands. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

She lowers her arm, bright red blood smeared on her tan skin and a blossoming stain on her shirt. Her voice shakes as she whispers, “Daddy?”

Joel wakes with a shout, sitting up in bed as he struggles to catch his breath. His sweat damp skin erupts with goosebumps in the cold air of his bedroom. He presses a hand to his chest, the tight grip of panic around his heart easing incrementally as he fights for breath.

The brief glimpse of darkness between the curtains covering the window tells him it’s still early and a glance at the clock on the nightstand confirms as much. He groans, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. The floor is frigid against his bare feet and he shivers with the unexpected chill. 

In the kitchen, he makes himself coffee before slipping his leather jacket on and heading to the back porch. The dark sky has lightened the slightest bit, the encroaching dawn painting the inky sky a faded purple as the sun creeps up from its slumber. 

From his porch, Joel can see one of the side entrances to the cemetery. He watches as a figure emerges from beyond the concrete walls and it takes him a moment to realize it’s just you again.

You, the curious woman that runs the town library. He’s seen you on other occasions like this morning, where he’s trying to shake off the remaining webs of discomfort that have been spun in his mind. You shut the wrought iron gate and like you can feel his gaze on you, your head turns, keen eyes regarding him.

You approach his house, stopping at the bottom of the porch. You stand with your hands stuffed in your coat pockets, head tilted slightly and a smile on your lips as you say, “Up a bit early, aren't you?”

Joel takes a sip of his coffee. “Could say the same about you.”

“Early bird catches the worm,” you reply, smiling at him. He swallows. You make him nervous. Despite the few interactions he’s had with you, he feels like you know him to his very marrow, and that scares a man like Joel.

“More like a night owl.” 

You chuckle. “A bird is a bird. I’ll see you around, Joel Miller.”

He stares after your retreating figure for so long his coffee has gone cold. With a sigh, he returns inside, thoughts no less tangled than when he first stepped outside.

________

You survey the rose bushes you’ve cultivated, rows of different varietals beginning to blossom or in full bloom. The peony buds have gotten larger and any day now they should blossom as spring really begins to show her colors. The mornings and evenings are still cold, but the afternoons give way to hotter temperatures and thankfully you’ve been spared one last late winter snowfall.

You prune some of the faded blooms from the bushes, collecting them for composting. When you’re done, you return inside to wash up and change before heading to the library. As you scrub beneath your fingernails, your mind drifts to the specter of Jackson, Joel Miller.

There’s something about him that draws you in, despite the arms length of distance he tries to keep from everyone. You saw him the other morning after you made your way through the cemetery long before it officially opened, laying extra flowers around some of the less tended graves. It’s not the first time, and based on what you know about the older man, it won’t be the last.

________

Since Joel isn’t scheduled for a patrol for a few days, he decides to visit the library. Too much idleness is dangerous for a man like Joel, who is in constant search of something to keep his mind and body occupied so that his thoughts don’t drift to darker places. 

You’re sitting at the circulation desk when he enters, bent over a book as you read off the log number on it and write it in a journal under your hand. You look up, flashing him a smile that briefly suffuses him with warmth. 

“Hey,” you say in greeting. He nods, intending to just walk past you, but you continue to ask, “You need help finding anything?”

“No,” he replies shortly. You nod, smile faltering the slightest bit. Joel feels a flash of guilt before he tamps it down and walks deeper into the library. 

He explores the tidy shelves until he finds himself in the fiction section, reading cracked spines and faded letters until one catches his eye. It’s a small paperback sandwiched between two larger books, a pink spine etched with white lines and faded blue lettering. He wiggles it free, turning it over in his hands.

A Wrinkle In Time.

The blue cover with a snowy mountain scene, three children carried in an egg over a town by a flying white creature used to stare up at him from Sarah’s nightstand. It was her favorite book, one she had him read to her at bedtime when she was five. It was the same book he’d caught her reading under the covers with a flashlight past her bedtime when she was eight, the same one she carried everywhere until it fell apart and he had to replace it when she was ten.

Joel’s hand shakes and he has to steady himself by holding the bookshelf. His chest feels tight, too small of a space for his rapidly pounding heart. The words printed on the books in front of him all blur together as he tries to focus, tries to breathe, tries to stay in the present.

There’s a hand on top of his. Delicate, soft. A voice he knows he recognizes but can’t place is saying his name, but it sounds like it’s coming through layers of cotton in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut.

After a long moment, that vise grip around his chest eases and he swallows around the lump in his throat. He blinks, spots dancing in his vision as his eyes adjust to the light once more. 

“Joel?” You ask, voice quiet. It makes his muscles tense, coiled tight like he’s ready to run. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies roughly. He slips his hand out from beneath yours. “‘M fine.”

You’re silent for a moment, keen eyes making him feel flayed open and exposed as you watch him. Finally you ask, “Was it about your daughter?”

“No,” he snaps. Rage blinds him, white hot in his vision as he moves past you. 

“Wait,” you call out. Joel pauses but doesn’t turn. “It’s okay, you know. To still carry that pain. Did you ever even allow yourself a chance to mourn?”

He turns, looking at you incredulously. “What the hell do you mean? I mourn every fuckin’ day.”

“No, you grieve. You let the thoughts of Sarah—“

“Don’t. Don’t you say her name,” he hisses, stepping closer in his anger. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“—haunt you to the point of pain. You think I don’t know why you’re out there on your porch so early some mornings? It’s the same reason I’m out in the cemetery,” you confess. You take a deep breath. “You’ve been fighting for survival since the outbreak and you never gave yourself the chance to mourn. You owe it to yourself and to Sarah to try.”

Joel’s chest heaves, a venomous retort on the tip of his tongue when a voice calls out your name from the front of the building. With one last look that speaks volumes with no words, you disappear from the stacks.

Joel leaves the library and heads straight for the Tipsy Bison. A young man is polishing glassware when he storms in, door slamming shut behind him. 

“What can I get you?” The man asks as Joel slides onto a stool.

“Whiskey,” he demands. A glass is set in front of him, amber liquid poured until it's halfway full. He brings the glass to his lips and lets the alcohol burn its way down his throat and erase the taste of guilt on his tongue. Setting the glass on the bar he says, “Another.”

He drinks two more glasses in the same fashion, glaring at the boy when he hesitates to pour his third drink. He sips his fourth pour slowly, letting time pass as it always cruelly will.

Finally, when the light beyond the window panes starts to fade, he heads home, hands shoved in his pockets as he wills one foot in front of the other, gaze fixed on the pavement. It’s not a long walk but it feels like it as he cuts between buildings to avoid having to make conversation with people. 

When he reaches his house, he stomps up the steps as he digs in his pockets for his key. His boot knocks into something on the ground by the door. He bends over to pick up the object.

A Wrinkle In Time.

Joel opens his front door and collapses on the couch, book pressed to his chest as a dreamless, whiskey tinged sleep consumes him.

________ 

“Stop running! Put your hands up!”

Joel sets Sarah on the ground, raising his hands above his head. “We’re not sick! My daughter, she hurt her ankle,” he shouts.

The soldier keeps his gun trained on them as a staticky voice over the radio says something he can’t make out. His finger moves from rest to poised over the trigger, the barrel of his gun braced against his shoulder as he takes aim.

“No!” Joel shouts as the gun goes off. He launches himself in front of Sarah, wrapping his arms around her and bracing for the impact and the shocking pain. 

The pain doesn’t come. He slowly opens his eyes, expecting to see the soldier and his gun but instead he sees Sarah, a shocked look on her face as she clutches her stomach, dark blood staining her fingers. She’s far away, not right behind him like she had been.

That’s when Joel notices the weight in his hands, the cold press of metal to his palms. He looks down at the black rifle in his hands, then back up at Sarah.

“No!”

Joel wakes tangled in his sheets, panic coursing through his veins and a hoarse shout of Sarah’s name fading in the dark. As he chokes on the air his lungs are desperate for, he glances at the clock. It’s early again, too early for the rest of the town to be awake save for the people scheduled to return from patrol in a couple hours. 

He runs a hand over his face with a sigh before getting up. It’s been a couple weeks since he last had a nightmare, the product of back to back patrol shifts and helping with a building repair that left him so blissfully exhausted his traitorous brain couldn’t torture him, but it seems they’ve returned with a vengeance. 

Joel gets dressed and heads downstairs, making himself coffee that he brings out to the porch. He watches the cemetery gate, part of him hoping he sees you and a larger part hoping whatever haunts you has left your peace intact for the night.

Like his thoughts have conjured you from the ether, you step outside the cemetery gates. He sees the brief moment of hesitation when you notice him sitting on his porch, but a forgiving part of you must urge you closer. When you reach the porch, you regard him with that same look that makes him feel like you can see right through to his wretched soul.

“You’re up early,” you comment knowingly.

“So are you.”

“So I am.” You take a deep breath. “Come with me. I wanna show you something.”

You don’t wait for his response before you’re turning, heading for the gate and back towards the cemetery. Despite his better judgment, Joel follows, taking wide steps to catch up with your quick stride.

You walk the winding dirt paths between the headstones with sure steps that Joel follows with uncertainty. He’s never been in the cemetery, has never had a reason, so he appraises the headstones with a morbid curiosity, reading the names of people he’s never met. He notes that a number of the sites have flowers in various stages of freshness.

After a few minutes, you stop and Joel glances at the headstone you’ve paused in front of.

“Tommy had it put in a few years after he got to town,” you say quietly. “He told me about her…about what happened.” Joel takes a step closer, dropping to his knees. The damp earth cushions the fall, early morning dew seeping into his jeans as he reaches out to trace the carved letters of his baby’s name. 

“I’ll…I’ll give you some privacy. I just thought you should know she’s here.”

As you turn to leave, Joel reaches out and wraps a tentative hand around your knee. You look at him in surprise as he murmurs, “Stay with me?”

You lower yourself to the ground, settling in beside him as the sun rises and the world around you wakes from its slumber. 

________

You sit together in front of Sarah’s headstone for about an hour before Joel stands with a groan and mumbled curse. He holds a hand out to you to help you up, the gesture leaving you nearly pressed together. You search his brown eyes, hoping for a glimpse of relief but it’s still too soon to tell.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, stepping back and clearing his throat. “For snappin’ at you in the library.”

“I understand. I made a lot of assumptions that day,” you reply. He laughs, though it’s strained.

“Yeah, well, if there were still a lottery around I’d tell you to buy a ticket. You were right on the money.” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Thought I was gettin’ better. After all that time with Ellie…I felt like I had a purpose again.”

“Maybe that’s the issue. Thinking your purpose is tied to someone else.”

His brow furrows. “How do you keep doin’ that?”

“Doing what?” You ask.

“Seein’ right through me.” 

You smile at him. 

“Like attracts like, Joel. Remember that.”

________

Joel starts visiting Sarah’s grave regularly. Sometimes it’s early, the result of another nightmare or returning from patrol, and sometimes it’s later in the evening, when fireflies begin to flicker in the grass as spring wears on. He takes the worn copy of A Wrinkle In Time that you left him, reading a chapter of it out loud each time as he sits with his back pressed to the stone marker.

One thing he notes with growing intrigue is how there’s always flowers on a number of the headstones, including Sarah’s. It’s a reminder that he’s not the only victim of loss, even if his own still feels like a gaping wound some days.

He visits the library again, a bag full of books he found on his last patrol shift heavy on his back as he enters the building. You look up from a book you’re reading as the door shuts, smiling at him. 

“Hey,” you say in greeting. “You need any help finding anything today?”

“No. Brought you somethin’, though,” he replies, hefting the bag onto the counter and opening it to reveal his bounty. “Found ‘em last patrol.”

You reach in and pull two of the books out, your grin downright ecstatic as you look at him. “The Lord of the Rings?”

“Complete set. You ever read it?”

“When I was younger,” you murmur, fingers tracing the cover of the book. “Thank you, Joel.”

His heart pounds as he looks at you, smile bright and eyes soft. You remove the other books from his bag, laying them out and checking them for damage. He likes watching you work, the gentle way that you flip through the time worn pages soothing to him as he stands there. 

“What’s your favorite book?” You ask, glancing at him as you work. 

“Not much of a reader. Sarah was, though. She would tell me about the books she was reading,” he says, voice catching on Sarah’s name. “She loved A Wrinkle In Time. Started the Harry Potter series, too. When the last one came out she made me take her to the bookstore at midnight just to get it.”

“My brother did the same,” you reply. “Dressed up and everything.”

“Your brother, huh?” Joel asks. You stack the books, avoiding Joel’s gaze.

“He was about Sarah’s age. Twelve. I was seventeen when…everything happened.” You pause. “The night that everything started happening, I had actually snuck out of the house. Went to a party in the woods. I made it back home just as the grid went out but when I got inside…”

“You don’t gotta tell me this,” Joel says.

“When I got inside, my brother was sitting at the table, covered in blood. Our parents had attacked him and he fought them off as best he could. He could feel the infection, you know? Knew something was wrong. He told me to leave.” You take a deep breath, your eyes returning to the present. A tear slides down your cheek and you brush it away quickly. “If I had been there—“

“Don’t,” Joel interrupts. “You can’t blame yourself.”

You laugh, looking at him incredulously. “Pot meet kettle!”

Joel laughs with you, a boisterous sound he hasn’t heard in years. It feels almost rusty in its disuse. “Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says when quiet descends once more. 

“It’s only fair, right? A tragedy for a tragedy?”

“I don’t think that’s how the sayin’ goes.”

You shrug. “That’s how the world goes, though.”

________

As spring starts to fold into summer, Joel finds himself growing closer to you. It starts with visits to the library when he’s off from patrol, helping you shelve and catalog books. Soon, he’s spending so much time there that he’s still around when it’s time for you to lock up and he offers to walk you home or to the mess hall for dinner. 

Dinner turns into the occasional drink at the Tipsy Bison. Those nights are his favorite, watching as you try to play darts after a few drinks and laughing when you pout after each missed shot.

Better days still give way to troubled nights, though. He wakes on one such night drenched in sweat, the nightmare just a haze of fear in his mind. It’s early, of course, so he takes a brief shower and dresses before grabbing his coffee and A Wrinkle In Time to make his way to the cemetery.

The ground is soft beneath his footsteps as he takes a now familiar path to Sarah’s headstone, seating himself on the damp dirt. He reads for a bit before the creak of hinges alerts him to someone’s arrival.

You enter through the front gate, a pile of flowers wrapped in butcher paper in your arms. He watches as you lay flowers around the graves with care, moving steadily among the rows until you’ve reached Joel.

“You do the flowers?” He asks. You take a seat beside him, gathering a wilted white rose from in front of the headstone and replacing it with a spray of yellow flowers. 

“Some of them. Sometimes people come to me for arrangements to bring themselves,” you reply. 

“Why?”

“Because I still believe in beautiful things,” you tell him with a shrug.

Joel watches you set the flower carefully on the ground in front of Sarah’s headstone and it feels like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place. In the silence between you, his mind drifts to Tess, who he cared for but couldn’t give himself fully with the way he was when he knew her. He thinks about Bill and Frank and the kindness they showed him even when he didn’t show his gratitude. He thinks about Ellie, who stuck by his side despite everything he had to do to make it here. 

Then there’s you, who’s planted roots in his heart like the flowers you grow and filled him with a light he hasn’t known in a long time and it leaves him feeling damn near winded. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, when a crack of thunder precedes the opening of the sky, heavy raindrops filtering through the tree branches.

“Shit!” He curses, shoving his book into the waistband of his jeans beneath his shirt to protect it from the rain. “Let’s go,” he says, tugging you up from the ground and keeping your hand gripped tightly in his as you both sprint for his porch. 

You’re both drenched from the sudden summer downpour, rain dripping from your clothes and hair to the porch as you race up the steps. Another crack of thunder has you jumping, laughter spilling from your lips that joins the melody of the rain on the roof. 

As your laughter fades, Joel pulls you closer by the hand still held tight in his. He searches your face for any sign that you might not want this, might not want him, but to his relief he finds none. He wraps an arm around your low back, pressing your rain soaked body to his as he tilts his head to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

The kiss remains soft, gentle, a smooth glide of his slightly chapped lips against yours. You taste like rainwater but feel like sunshine, a perfect dichotomy. Joel pulls away slowly, not wanting to lose the connection but starting to feel uncomfortable in his soaked clothing.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s get some dry clothes.”

He leads you inside the dark house and upstairs to his bedroom. He finds a shirt and boxers for you, turning to give you the privacy to change as he does the same, setting the damp book on his nightstand and leaving his wet clothes in a heap on the floor. 

“I’m decent,” you announce. He turns, breath catching at the vision you make wearing his clothes, your nipples pressing against the worn cotton shirt. He reaches for you, wrapping an arm around your waist and a hand behind your neck to pull you into another kiss. 

You pull away first this time, stepping back and crawling into his bed. You burrow beneath the covers before lifting the edge, an eyebrow raised at him in invitation. He slides in beside you, blankets settling over your bodies as you rest your head against his bare chest.

“I’m scared,” Joel says, a whisper in the dark. 

“About what?” You ask, lifting yourself up to look at him. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Losin’ you. Losin’ Ellie. Losin’ Tommy.” A pause. “Like I lost Sarah. And Tess.”

“Fear doesn’t stop death, Joel. It just stops you from living.”

________

Something changes in Joel with your words. He lifts his head from the pillow to kiss you, his body shifting beneath yours to push you onto your back so he can hover over you. This kiss is different, more desperate as his tongue slides against yours and his teeth dig into your bottom lip. 

You slide your fingers into his hair, nails scratching against his scalp and making him moan into your kiss. He trails his lips across your jaw and down your neck as he urges your legs apart and fits himself in the space between your thighs.

His hips rock against yours, the friction making you gasp and pull on his hair. He chuckles against the skin of your neck before sinking his teeth against your pulse point, sucking a mark into your skin to match the one he’s left on your heart.

One of his warm hands lifts your borrowed shirt, bunching the material beneath your armpits and exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. Joel dips his head to pull one nipple between his lips and he swirls his tongue over the hard bud, looking up at your face as he does. He does the same to your other breast, the delicious sensation of his mouth almost enough to distract you from the slow drag of his calloused fingers across your tummy and beneath the elastic of the boxers he’s leant to you.

He groans as his fingers circle your clit, gathering your wetness and spreading it over your folds with his movements. He leans up to kiss you again, deep swipes of his tongue exploring your mouth as your hips chase his hand with increasing fervor.

“You’re so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs. There’s a bright flash of lightning that illuminates the room, giving you a clearer view of the adoration simmering in his eyes.

You press a hand to his cheek. “You deserve good things, Joel Miller.”

He drops his head, forehead pressed to your collarbone. He slips two fingers inside of you as thunder rattles the windows, the storm overhead matching the one in your body as he works his digits with slow, methodical movements, curling them with each pull from inside of you. 

“Need you,” you whimper, “please, Joel, need you.”

“You got me,” he says, sitting up to tug the boxers down your thighs and pull the waistband of his down, freeing his cock that he takes on his fist, rubbing it through your folds.

He notches the thick head of his cock at your entrance, pressing inside of you with a single deep thrust that has you gasping his name. There’s another crack of lightning as he bottoms out, hips pressed flush to yours.

Joel starts to move, setting a leisurely pace, notably unhurried as you relish in the weight of him against you. His forehead drops to yours and he peppers your face with soft kisses, from your forehead to your nose to your chin. You smile at him and to your surprise and delight, he grins back.

He sits up, gripping your hips for leverage as his rhythm changes to something more carnal, more desperate, sharp thrusts that drag against something inside of you that makes stars dance across your vision. You’re moaning his name with each collision of his hips to yours and his head drops back with his own deep groan as you tighten around him with your release.

“Fuck,” he shouts, withdrawing quickly and taking himself in hand, hot splashes of cum hitting your stomach as you gasp for air. Joel leaves the bed for a moment and returns with a damp cloth he uses to wipe you clean before tossing it to the pile of wet clothes and climbing back into bed beside you.

He pulls you close and with your head on his chest, you let the pounding rhythm of his heart lull you back to sleep. 

________

“Look how high I got, daddy!” 

Joel watches a young Sarah deftly climb the limbs of a tree she found on their hike. He laughs as she straddles the last branch she can reach, waving down at him with a bright grin on her face. 

“That’s mighty impressive, baby girl, but can you get back down?” He shouts up at her. 

“Of course I can!” She insists, slowly working her way back down the branches. She makes it to a lower branch but she can’t reach a foothold from where she hangs by her arms. “Daddy!”

“I gotcha,” Joel says, moving to stand below her. “Just let go, I’ll catch ya.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

Joel’s eyes flutter open. The first thing he notices is the sunlight streaming through the open window. You must have woken up before him and opened it. The room is warm from the late summer sun, but there’s a breeze that rustles the curtains as he stands and stretches.

He can hear the clink of pans downstairs and he follows the noise, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen as he finds you whisking something in a bowl. It’s been weeks since that early morning together in bed and every day since you continue to help put him together piece by jagged piece.

You must feel him there, attuned to him as you always are, because you turn and grin brightly at him.

“There you are,” you say, crossing the kitchen to kiss him. “Was wondering when you’d finally wake up.”

“Can’t a man sleep in once and a while?” He asks, pulling you in for a second and third kiss. “What are you workin’ on?”

“A cake. It’s July 20th.”

Sarah’s birthday. 

Joel’s breath leaves him in a rush. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and holds you tightly to him, your arms wrapped around his waist as you squeeze back.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Always.”

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist.

[lueurjun]

costars to lovers — beomgyu.

in which beomgyu is a world renowned actor who harbours a little crush on the gorgeous costar, who also turns out to be his love interest. how interesting. lovesick actor!beomgyu x whipped actor reader! — brain fog turned into this :/. requests are open if u want something specific<3 thank u for the support!

CHILD ACTOR BEOMGYU TURNED HEARTTHROB

because who’s heart wouldn’t throb for him?

this generations leo ;) ❪ but a less of a creep ❫

known for being rowdy and wild but the second the cameras are rolling this boy IS IN CHARACTER

talk about professional

why’s that hot tho? someone revoke my simp privileges the bar is in the ground

he’s the wild golden boy that has the world wrapped around his finger

enter you

gosh.

good golly

the people’s prince/princess/royalty whatever u wanna go with bby

i see you having the same hype as zendaya

bc why wouldn’t you? LOOK. AT. YOU! you have it all

save some perfection for the rest of us bae

when people heard that THE y/n y/l/n and THE choi beomgyu were going to be sharing the same screen

PEOPLE DIED!

not literally but i’m sure someone went into cardiac arrest

it was me

because this was HUGE!! two of the biggest young stars at the moment on one screen???

set to be the next big thing purely just because of you two

not even exaggerating twitter crashed

and when they found out you were playing love interests?

oof. the internet damn near exploded

and when the two of you met??

leaked pictures of the two of you EVERYWHERE

every single person in the area was absolutely astounded

because?? choi beomgyu?? was speechless??

YOU HAD BROKEN THE UNBREAKABLE

i c o n i c

he couldn’t form a sentence

obviously he knew what you looked like and he knew you were beyond attractive

but there was something different about you in person?

you aura, just everything about you stood out to him and it left him completely tongue tied

BREATHLESS EVEN

and you’re no better because you’re sure your mouth dried up the moment he cracked a smile

absolute simps

love at first sight vibes

STOP THATS SO CUTE SORRY

lingering glances and shared shy giggles

SHARED SHY GIGGLES

like one of you cracks a joke to ease the tension and you both just erupt into a fit of laughter together

and no one else is laughing?? just you two?? in your own little moment

as the filming days roll along and the two of you grow more comfortable

beomgyu is more laid back and you get to see the real side of him

but not the one the media sees like yes he’s rowdy and wild but he’s also?? quite sensitive and tender

you learn so much about him that others would never even dream of knowing and he’s the same with you

he knows the tiniest mundane details about you

but to him they’re the most interesting??

like he loves knowing what your favourite beverage is?

and he’s fascinated by the design on your duvet at home because he knows your blanket brings you comfort

it’s the small things that no one else would even care about

but he does and you love that!! because finally someone wants to know you as a person not just as an entertainer

he enjoys the fact that you’re not afraid to act all weird with him on set

and he’s comforted by how comfortable you are with him??

it’s a dynamic neither of you have experienced before and though new can be scary, it’s also really nice because you just get each other

i just wanna smoosh both of your pretty faces together!! so goddamn cute! so cute! it’s all just soooo cute! gosh!

come here. bring it in. i need to hug the hell out of you both for being so damn cute

before long the staff are starting to place bets on how long it will take before one of you falls

your hairstylist bets you

what a traitor

but your director — who has worked with beomgyu on a number of occasions — knows that it’s gonna be him

because he’s never seen beomgyu so smitten

and he believes that beomgyu has already realized his feelings

over the course of filming the two of you hang out off set

beomgyu keeps up his ‘rowdy’ image and attends countless parties

but he’s never arriving nor leaving with a random person on his arm

instead, he’s arriving and leaving with the same person everytime

oh em gee? can you guess who?

you!!

stopped countless times by paparazzi who have no regard for personal space or privacy

and you both insist you’re just friends

but there’s something about the way beomgyu holds you by the waist or keeps his hand on your lower back everytime

that has them questioning whether there’s something more there

and to be honest

so are you

because choi beomgyu is so confusing

you don’t deserve that. i reckon u should come to me instead;)

you know he’s naturally flirty but the way he flirts with you is different to how he flirts with other people

romcom player core

he’s never explicitly said he likes you or anything

but he goes out of his way to compliment even the smallest things about you

makes an extra effort to open doors and pull out your chairs for you

even his friends are surprised by his behaviour

but low-key don’t blame him because you’re y/n y/l/n and they would be the same

beomgyu is a very hard person to read so you can’t tell whether he’s doing this because he likes you

or whether he’s just trying to gain even more hype for the film

the mixed signals are KILLING YOU

but you keep your mouth shut because making things awkward is the last thing you wanna do

nah i say go off on him! i’ll even stand behind you and hand you toilet rolls as a weapon! LETS GET HIM

instead you decide to distance yourself just a little

you couldn’t do a whole lot considering you worked with the boy

but you decided to limit how much you hang out with him in your personal time

which soon comes apparent to you both that you spent pretty much every second together

and neither of you liked the sudden space

poor beomgyu is lost because why are you so busy all of a sudden?

you’ve had at least four dental appointments in the last week

bae you act for a living and you can’t even make up a good lie?

sorry that was judgemental ily but still HOW ARE YOU SO BAD AT LYING?

anyways after your fifth dental appointment and nineteenth doctors visit, beomgyu is starting to get a sneaking suspicion that you’re avoiding him

nooo? really?? who would’ve guessed?

he’s a lil slow

since you’re all booked and busy, he decides to confront you at work

legitimately barges into your trailer and slams the door shut

staff members walking by are like 0>0 side eyeing each other bc they live for the gossip

it’s me. i’m staff members :P

you’re in shock because why is bro literally standing like a troll in your trailer?

troll gyu lowkey hot

absolutely kidding :D

breathing like he just ran a marathon

though you take a sec to notice the muscle tee he’s wearing and how it clings to him in all the right places

proof or it didn’t happen

“are you-“

“why are you avoiding me?”

he’s so blunt with it but you don’t expect anything less from beomgyu

“i’m not?”

why u always lyin?

“yes you are. talk to me!”

“i am talking to you. this is a conversation, is it not?”

smart ass

truth be told you’re embarrassed

and the fact that beomgyu looks quite upset is only making it worse

nah i’d evaporate if i ever made him sad

“no one visits any medical professional that much in two weeks. i’m starting to believe that you didn’t even shrink your bones now.”

so he believed you miraculously shrank your bones but not that you would have to visit a medical professional frequently?

yeah cos that makes so much sense

how beomgyu of him

“fine. i’ve been lying to you.”

nah. fr? nah cos i thought you really shrank your bones

“why?”

he sounds so disappointed and it actually hurts your soul

what makes things worse is that he grabs your hand and peers at you through big puppy dog eyes

“did i upset you?”

instant guilt

“no-no. not really. it’s—it’s more me than you? like—”

you’re well aware that none of what you just said made sense

and beomgyu is also confused now and you just sigh in defeat

me every three minutes after writing a sentence that makes no sense :(

“i don’t know how to say it.”

“then say words and i’ll put them together.”

instantly swooning

literally does not help your case because now you’re blushing

he literally didn’t even do anything but it’s the way he said it

the chokehold this man has on you—

“like—okay fine. i guess i feel like you’ve been kinda giving me mixed signals and i just didn’t wanna get hurt…”

cocks his head to the side like a little puppy

“mixed signals?”

you just nod and fiddle with your hands which are still being held by him as you wait for his brutal rejection

“i’m sorry? i didn’t mean to…”

you: *sniffs about to break down* nah it’s good, i literally don’t even care about you

he squeezes your hands tighter and takes a step forward

which sends your heartbeat wild because you did not prepare for him to enter your square of personal space

“i’ve never been the best with words so i usually try and show how i feel through actions, and i guess that was my first mistake. i didn’t mean to confuse you, i actually really like you and just assumed by being affectionate and such, it would become clear.”

:O

quick everyone act shocked

he’s very close now

and the only thing you can focus on is whether your breath stinks or not

he’s not dry heaving yet so you assume you’re good

“oh.”

you’re a person of many words, i see

in true beomgyu fashion, he takes another step closer with a gleaming smile

“so…what do you say we practice that kissing scene a little early?”

wot 🧍‍♀️

you literally shut down

did he just ask to kiss you???

“in like a friendly way like two actors practising for a scene or a—”

beomgyu doesn’t let you finish before he cups your cheeks and presses a kiss to your lips

butterflies.

fireworks.

his lips are so soft and suddenly, you never want to experience the feeling of not knowing what it’s like to kiss him

though you’re still a tad confused

sweet little oblivious dumbass<3

“so was that a practice or—“

beomgyu can’t help but laugh at you

because you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen

needless to say, you had many more ‘practice’ kisses after that

and when news broke of your relationship?

the world exploded.

running off four hours sleep ready to plan your wedding rn

yes i’m using my lack of sleep to blame if this was bad :D