#i have more to add ! may even turn this into a proper fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starillusion13 · 1 year ago

Text

Winning Dessert

Pairing: boxer! San x f! reader x manager! Wooyoung

Genre: Strangers to lovers, Mature, SMUT

W.C: 6.3k +

Warnings: sexual themes,explicit SMUT, nipple play, oral (f receiving) , m x f x m, threesome, double penetration,unprotected sex(please don’t do irl),aftercare (please idk if anything more needed to add or not.)

Request from: @kitten4sannie

Network: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity

Thanks for helping me out to come up with an idea with woosan fic @mymoodwriting

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @vvshere @yeoobin @anyamaris (I thought you may like it) @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames

Note: Thanks for joining the event and loving my works. I love interaction so please do tell me how you all like my works.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT UNDER THIS POST 18+

*under the cut*

🏆

Boxing Clubs? Are you really interested in them? No, not really. Your opinions don’t matter to your friend who is really jumping around like a fool in your bedroom for finally getting the tickets for herself and you to watch the tomorrow’s event of the Django Boxing Club. You have heard about the boxers in your town but never got the interest to dive deeper into the information about them. Your friend has mentioned her favourite’s name a lot in your conversations but you only pretended listening her.

“When are we going there?” You asked her in a bored tone contrast to her over-excited self. She stopped jumping and sits beside you, resting her palms on your shoulder and turning you to face her with excitement overflowing her eyes.

“Finally, I am going to their special show and even with you. I would probably faint there when seeing them that close but you will catch me okay! We will hang out to nearby café before and then we will go the event’s place. It will start at 9 o’clock.”

“No way! We will be out there late at night.” You didn’t expect to be a night event, you never been to any place at late night so you are a bit conscious right now.

“It’s okay Y/N. Many audiences will be there and it would be pretty much crowded to become somebody’s target for bad intentions.”

“I don’t know how to not worry but please we have to come back as soon as possible after the show ends.”

“Deal. Anyways I’m heading out for my home because I need to get a proper sleep today’s night even though I know I can’t sleep knowing I will be meeting Sa-“

Suddenly a ring interrupts her statement. The call was from her boyfriend asking her when will she get back home. She hurriedly makes her way out of your apartment waving you a quick farewell for the end of the day and you smiled in return to see her so excited for every little thing in her life. Maybe, you should also date someone then it would make yourself a little bit more interested in life.

Preparing yourself to the bed, you are still lost in thoughts about tomorrow’s event as to what can happen there. Not that you are expecting something worse but as you never been to such places and also late at night, you are a bit confused and overthinking.

————

Next day, early in the morning, your sleep got disturbed by a call from your friend to remind you about the events for the later in the day. You spent your Saturday morning as usual with treating yourself a nice healthy breakfast and cleaning stuffs all around your apartment.

Afternoon comes with the arrival of the exciting-self of your friend. Looking at her, you realized how she always dolls her up for every little occasion and being excited for her favorite stuffs. Where on the other end, you are always so bored with your usual plain life and dress up in casuals with no make up and all. Shaking your head to let this thought out of your mind, you picked up an outfit of a baggy pants and an oversized t-shirt.

“Are you wearing that?” your friend made a disgusted expression on your choice.

“Yes. Why? Is there something wrong with this?”

“Of course. Everything.” She moved you aside and starts to rummage through your closet and chose a light pink shirt with a white sketchy skirt. The skirt has a descent height to cover your thighs properly but to you the outfit is a bit too scandalous for the event.

“I’m not wearing that to a place where there will be lot of boys and men.”

“Its not like I’m asking you to wear revealing clothes to attract boys but atleast wear something girly please and perhaps this will look good on you maybe you will get a boyfriend for yourself there.”

Trying out the outfit, it reveals not that bad to wear to such events and eventually you agreed on it with her. You leave your wavy mid-length hair open and put some lip tint to go with the casual look.

Feeling of refreshment hits your body while walking along the side of the streets with your bestfriend. Maybe you should go out often to such exciting events or you will die of boredom in your room someday.

————

You spent your evening quite nicely with your friend in the café and later hanging out in the nearby mall. It was a thirty minutes way to the club from the mall so you left at 8:00 pm. Due to traffic, you both reached the place at 8:45 and on arriving, you could see how these events actually look like. The place is not bright enough to read the posters in the alley to know the information written on them. The club is situated at the end of the alley and while making your way towards it, you can feel people spread in the alley are eyeing you both up and down which making you a bit uncomfortable but your friend reassures you repeatedly not to mind them because they always look at others in that way. Reaching near the club, you could feel a lot more girls are there which made your anxious self a bit calm. The girls were either in groups of two or many but all were immersed in some exciting topics and with posters in their hands.

“Take this. This is a cheering board. I have only two hands so I can’t hold this and I will be holding these two photo sticks.” She shows her two sticks with one having a picture of an attractive male and other one with a name written on it, ‘Choi San’.

“Is this your favorite boxer?” Taking the cheering board from her hand on which is written,

‘I am cheering for you so do your best Choi San.’

You chuckled on her hardworks on making all these for the event. To your question, she nods her head aggressively with a big smile on her face. You both look towards the entrance finding out that the people have start entering the club because it’s already the time for the start of the event. Not realizing what to do, your friend dragged you hastily inside to get a better place for the best view to the show. Fortunate enough, you both got the front row from where you can see the ring of the wrestling show from an eight feet distance and the bright lights above it is making the surrounding view of the ring clear as well.

“Y/N! I swear if you don’t fall in love with the wrestling shows today. Just have a look on San’s match.”

Nodding your head reluctantly, your gaze focused on the various displayed posters around the ring of San. In every picture, his intimidating sharp eyes with a slick jaw is making you attracted towards him. His black hair complimenting his look even more and now you are hoping to see this individual in person soon. You look to your side to find your friend busy texting her boyfriend and so you start to look around to get in the surroundings more.

The place is only brightly lit in the center where the stage ring is situated so that every audience can have the clear view of the show. To the end of the ring on your right, a table where two judges were sitting and discussing something between them. Behind them, a man was standing who caught you staring there and then he smirked at you while checking you out all over. You shifted in your place and he shook his head and turned back to enter a door. Creep!

To your back, some were either sitting or standing but everyone has an excitement in them with energetic self for the show. You were looking at each person to recognize whether you know anyone or not when suddenly an announcement brought back your attention towards the center.

“Hello, everyone. Welcome to Django Club’s Night Show. This is the most anticipated show for you all and us as we know our boxer Choi San of our district will be competing against the State’s most renowned boxer Johnny. Let’s begin the show and cheer for them.” Everyone cheered on the end of the announcement and not to think otherwise but suddenly you were also excited for the show.

The cheering went wild when San entered the ring, one hand holds the middle ring rope tightly to make a swift entry from beneath it. His other hand is adjusting his white sando on his sweaty body. His muscles are well reflected for the sweats under the bright lights, looking like a fresh exotic meal served in a 5-star restaurant. Oh gosh! What the hell are you imagining now.

The stage is made of wood plank so his sudden steps made a thud sound and your friend is grinning for the excitement to see him so near. There are four steal beams in the corners of the ring stage covered with foam padding and a canvas mat is covering the wooden plank with a fabric skirt on the elevated sides to cover and prevent the spectators from seeing underneath. He made his way towards the bean on your left to lean his back on it when his opponent entered the ring from the other side in a similar way and the cheering from his end was also quite loud. The man whom you saw before behind the judges appeared again but he is having some deep conversation with San. He is whispering into San’s ears and you were squinting your eyes to know what is going on.

Oh girl! The moment that mysterious man turned around and all he found out is you being interested in his private life. He smiled at you and you got startled on this sudden interaction. He tapped on San’s shoulder and again whispered something but now they both looked at your direction and both of them having dirty smirks on their face, while San is smirking with a dark expression and the other one with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Your wide eyes quickly look over your friend, who turned towards you the same moment.

“Have you seen them looking in our way?”

“Yeah, I have but who is that man standing behind him?”

“That’s his manager, Jung Wooyoung like I have heard they are best friends more like brothers but whatever decision one has to make, they always consult with each other before hand. The manager is quite popular among girls because of his flirty nature but as far as I have heard that they both are single so you can have a chance.”

“Shut up! What the hell are you even talking about? Me and them? Never is this happening in this lifetime.” You hit her arm and both focused on the match which has started with San punching Johnny directly to the jaw and making the man stumbled to the floor. Everyone cheered on the act and your friend literally stood up and started jumping. She made you hold up the board a bit higher and then she is waving her sticks to cheer. The match was going quite well for San’s end because he was on the winning edge and now it’s the time for the last round. San is leaning to the beam same as before and Wooyoung came up to him with a bottle to give him some drink. They were talking between themselves when suddenly they abruptly turned their heads towards you. You thought at first that they were looking at someone else but you could see his lips were moving as if he is reading out something.

“Y/N he is reading the cheering board you are holding and see everyone is staring at us.”

Okay! So, all this time, you thought they were having those little interactions with you but it was only them looking at the audience cheering boards and posters. Maybe you are really overthinking. But why are you feeling a bit disappointed on knowing this!

The last round started with a loud whistle followed by the cheering sounds from the dimly lit place from every corner of the club. At this point, the atmosphere is little bit a mixture of smoke and alcohols and even you can hear people betting money on the contestants in a small corner of the club. Suddenly, San made an eye contact with you and you were doing your best to not think it that way and can see his opponent approaching him when he suddenly got a hit on his face and falls to the ground. He closed his eyes on the impact and resting his body on the knees and on two palms to take deep breathes. Panic starts rising your mind as if you are feeling guilty of the cause. You were looking all around to see whether any eyes are accusing you or not but all you could find is eyes focused on the stage and a wave of disappointment washed over the audience.

“What the hell! Where was he looking at?” You look over your shocked face.

“Maybe something distracted him.”

“But what?”

Me? Oh no! it can’t be even possible. This is your first time coming to this sort of shows and probably they have seen lot more beautiful girls in their life. Your eyes travelled back to the stage where san is now wiping the drop of blood from the corner of his mouth and also you can see a cut on his forehead which might be causing pain to him. You failed to notice all this time after the hit, Wooyoung’s gaze was all focused on you and following your every action. San glance at your direction and punched his opponent in such a way that the man couldn’t hit back and didn’t have anymore energy left. San’s white sando is fully drenched with sweat and his squinted sharp eyes are focused on the man before him when he pressed his elbows one on the neck and the other on the lower back to restrain him from getting up and with the time up, San is declared to be the champion of the show.

The digital board above the ring displays

‘ Choi San The Winner 🏆’

You smiled on the result and as expected your friend is shouting his name on top of her lungs. You calmed her down and looked to your phone to see it’s almost 11 at night and urged your friend to head home. San is staring at you while receiving the prize and you hesitated to look that way. You friend is still not willing to go back home but people emptying the place indicates you should head back soon before any worst thing happens.

————

When you both were about to walk out of the exist, a voice made you stop.

“Hey you girls!” a high-pitched voice calling out in your direction so on turning your head, you found out the manager is on the stairs beside the front row and looking in your way. Your friend smiled towards the man and he winked at her. He comes near to your presence.

“Hello girls! Myself Wooyoung, you can call me Woo in short. I have something to ask and that’s why I made out some time to speak with you.” All this time he is speaking, his gaze was focused on you.

Your friend happily introduced herself and you as well in which he extends his hand for a shake and before you can give in your hand, your friend shakes his hand aggressively. You and him chuckled on her excitement but he suddenly spoke up.

“Well! Can you stay a bit longer? I have something to ask.” You and your friend looked at each other in confusion as to what this man has to talk about.

“Us?”

“No. Only you.” He is directly staring in your eyes.

“We can’t stay here further because its too late for us to stay outside and even in this place.”

“Hey Wooyoung!” A familiar voice calls out from behind you all and you all turned towards it to find out your friend’s boyfriend Yeosang is standing at the doorway. Your friend run towards him and hugged him tightly and then they both quickly exchanged greeting kisses. They walked to where you and Wooyoung is standing.

“Yeosang? Do you know them and is she your girlfriend?”

“Ah yes! I never introduced her to you because I knew how crazy fan she is of San. She would probably leave me for him.” They both laughed and your friend hit him and yeosang turns towards you to give you a smile. “And she is her bestfriend. Her name is Y/N.”

“Oh cool! I was going to ask her to come help me with something and now when we all know each other then it would be much easy.”

“Help?” You watched how Yeosang and Wooyoung exchanged glances as if they were silently communicating between them. Wooyoung’s expression become dark and Yeosang laughed lightly, “Well we are leaving as am taking her to my house for tonight and I suppose you can help him. Trust me you are safe with him because he is my bestfriend and also knows how to fight well.”

“Y/N I trust yeosang so if he is assuring you on this matter then please trust him for me.”

Your thoughts are debating on whether to trust them or not but deep down you want to escape the boredom of your life and experience something thrilling so you accepted the offer. Your friend and her boyfriend took a leave and you know well what is their plan for the night so you just chuckled and turn towards Wooyoung with raised eyebrows to know why you are here exactly.

His gaze is on your legs and you just brushed your skirt to show your uneasiness for his act. He quickly looked up and grinned, “You are really pretty but you should not have worn this dress which is apparently looking too good on you and getting the attention it needs.”

“Thanks but I don’t usually go out and that’s why I thought to wear this maybe don’t know when again I would get the chance to wear it again.”

“Never.” Wooyoung whispered but when he saw your confused look, he quickly spills out the reasons to keep you here.

“Well Y/N, you did notice how San got the punch there and do you know why did that happen?”

You shook your head when suddenly he came forward and slide his hand around your neck to pull you closer, “Umm Wooyoung….”

“Yes?”

“Why did it happen?”

“Because of you. Your pretty face was distracting my boy and it leads to him getting a punch.”

“Me? But I-“

“You are not sorry for that?” you shyly look down but his other hand grips your chin to face him.

“Are you not sorry for that?” You nodded and he smiled when his gaze moves down from your eyes to your pink lips.

“You need to repay for that you know so come with me to our van and clean up his wound. I hope you won’t deny this.”

“I am sorry but I need to go home.”

“I will take you back home only when you help my boy to clean his wound and pain.”

Your eyes taking in his look, he has a sharp facial feature with veiny neck which is revealed due to his black and white Versace-Greca printed shirt which has three buttons open from the top revealing his chest teasingly with a black baggy pant. You quietly agreed with him and he took you to the backside of the club to a darker alley where on one side a van was parked. Every step nearing the van is making your heart beat faster and also being so close with wooyoung is not helping the situation.

————

Coming to the side of the van, he moved away from you and entered the front passenger seat. You are following his movements to contemplate the situation accordingly. You can only see him turning back inside and removing a curtain separating the back portion of the van which is almost like a travelling mini room with a quite enough space for two persons to sleep and also rest of the space to hang clothes and keeping all necessary place. These were not visible properly so out of curiosity you were leaning a bit forward to see what was inside and suddenly you meet San’s eyes, he smirks.

Wooyoung came out and holds your hand to take you to the back of the van. He opened the door and signalled by his head to you to enter it. The yellow hue light coming from inside the van is the only bright light in that alley right now and then when you looked inside, you can see everything clearly what you were imagining from outside and out of all things, the most eye catchy to you now is that San is sitting leaning his back to the driver’s seat staring at you.

“Hi sweetheart.” The way he said the nickname to you is so seductive and the deep voice is making the nickname a sweet venom from his mouth.

“Ummm Hi….” You entered the van and quickly sit on the seat which is taking the half side of the van to whose other San is sitting. The seat is in a somewhat shape of a sofa which can fit almost two people to sleep. Next in the way, Wooyoung entered the van and shut the door.

“Help me.” He is not asking you, this way he is totally commanding you so you quickly asked them for the necessary medicines and cotton and water and lastly the bandages. His black loose leathery pants are matching with the way his sweaty muscles and neck are shining under the yellow light seems like a smooth buttery material is wrapped around his skin.

Wooyoung provide you with all the things you asked for and you scooted near san to start clean his wounds but his hands pull you close and made you sit on his lap while his one leg is folded to make you sit on it and the other one is spread in front and near the feet, Wooyoung is sitting eyes bored in his phone.

“You need to come closer to take a proper look at the wound.” You want to scream for this close proximity but keeping your mouth and mind shut, you just nodded on his words.

You are so immersed in cleaning his wound, you didn’t notice a small smile on his lips and the way his hands moving upward to caress your back. The sudden touch made you shift in your place and when you look at his eyes, they are still closed. You brushed off the feeling and continue doing your work when his one hand grabs your neck tightly but not much to make you uncomfortable and the other hand holds your hand which was resting on his shoulder. You stopped what you were doing.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

“I a-am do-doing it.” You know he is up with something but a tingling sensation inside you is making you excited and let him to do whatever he wants.

“What happened? Is there something making you uncomfortable?”

“……no.”

“Then continue.” You resume your actions but this time his hand holding your other wrist leaves it and put it on your knees and sliding them upward in the way folding your skirt slowly revealing your thighs and the grip on your neck tightens. This cause you to scratch the wound a bit.

“Ah!” your and wooyoung’s worried eyes looked his way. Wooyoung asked him when taking his and yours position precisely, “What hurt you again?”

“Nothing Woo, just someone is being a bad girl here.”

“I’m sorry but……” But? What will you say? That your damn hand is distracting me and now you have to repay me for distracting me from my one-night healer job? You remained quiet.

“But?” Woo asked you from behind so you turned your head to see him smirking.

“I think she is not willing to help me with this so maybe she can help me with something else.”

“Huh?” You didn’t get what San is referring to when he suddenly make you sit facing Woo and leaning your back to his chest. You tried to sit up but he grabs your throat lightly and pressed your torso down.

“Woo why don’t we celebrate the night in our own way?”

“I’m liking the celebration already.”

“Celebration?”

San whispered in your ears, “You are going to help me in this celebration or you are not getting home tonight. I know your body is also aching with the excitement for this.”

Wooyoung scoots near to your figure and he unbuttons your shirt revealing you in a white bra underneath it. His hungry eyes scans all over the exposed part and in action your hands moved to hide them but got held back by San.

“No need to hide this prettiness from us.” Your eyes following how wooyoung shifted your skirt a bit upward to reveal the dark wet patch on your panty.

“San she is already so wet for us.”

“Mhm….She is equally excited for us to devour her as she is our main dessert for the celebration for my win.” His hands slide down your shirt from the shoulders to prepper your neck and shoulder with wet kisses and biting on some places. You whimpered when he bit you near the ear and then he got to know that is your sweet spot so he repeatedly bit you in that region. Meanwhile, Wooyoung slide down your panties slowly and removing your shoes in the way. He placed himself between your legs and him sitting on his knees holding your knees apart to view your folds.

“San I want to taste her first. I want to taste whether the dessert is as delicious I have expected or more than that.” San chuckled on Woo’s dedication and paused on his way of devouring you. He grabs your chin and made you look at him, “Woo please eat her out and I want to see how long she can keep her little mouth shut from us.” Then San kissed you, a dominating kiss and when he said you are their dessert, he really meant it because the way he is sucking your lips and then he bit you to open your mouth and obediently your mouth opened to which his tongue exploring the inner mouth all over. Wooyoung’s tight grip on your inner thigh and his hot breath fanning over your folds made you alert of his presence between your legs and your exposed parts.

“Mhmmmm” this is what you could manage to say between the kiss when your aching heat comes in contact with wooyoung’s hot breathe.

Suddenly, Woo takes a long strip from the lower regio to the upper fold and this made your body arche but held back in place by San. San detach his lips from you to look at Woo and you also followed his gaze to see him looking upward with lust in eyes and your leaking arousal on his lips.

“She really tastes like the most delicious dessert than I ever had.”

“She tasted exactly the same up here as well.” San replied to agree with Woo.

San pushed your head on his shoulder when his one hand grabs your throat and the other one on your thigh. His mouth attached with the side of your throat to suck on them. Woo is sucking your folds as if that is his favorite dessert he got after years and this is the last time he has his hands onto. The overwhelming sensation is causing to building up a knot in your stomach and you close your eyes tightly to keep yourself enough with the feel of taking you to the edge.

“San….Woo….”You breathily moaned and then San spoke up. You gripped Woo’s hair tightly making him grunt in pain and pushing his face more inward while the other hand is gripping SAN’s thigh, almost your nails digging in.

“You are not going to cum unless we are satisfied enough to let it loose.”

You shook your head as it was already too much for you to control and now his commanding voice is making it impossible to hold it in. To your disapproval san’s hand travelled down to your clit and starts rubbing circle adding to the already stimulated region.

“SAN!......please no….please….I want to….”

“Should we stop?” Your ears are taking in the wet sounds of woo sucking your folds and San’s wet kisses on your throat but his words warned you.

“NO.”

“Then take what we are giving or else we are leaving you here.” You are totally whimpering under the touches and sucking of two males. Woo’s grip on your thigh is making a read handprint and while san’s other hand is messaging your covered tits and one is rubbing circles. Woo’s tongue entered your wet folds and San inserted one finger into the hole making a sloppy sound. Thrusting of tongue and finger is too much for you and keeping you on edge for so long is making you overstimulated with the sensation.

“Cum.” San’s whisper sends an electric wave to your body and you let it loose.

“Woo!…..I- I-…. San.” You are heavily breathing and you didn’t notice that San has removed your cloth covering your tits and woo removed the skirt from your waist. Woo tiredly comes up to take one of your breasts into his mouth and messaging the other one.

San again welcomed you to a more rough and needy kiss this time. During the kiss, San removed his sando and woo got up to free himself from every clothing from his body. You look towards Woo and then you see how well built his body is. Probably he also goes to practices with San. Woo smirked when he caught you staring at him.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Do you need one?” Why is this man suddenly interested in my private life? I mean I know I am having nothing to hide here at this point but still.

“ I don’t know.”

“ But we know.” San suddenly interjects between you and Wooyoung.

“What?”

“You don’t need boyfriend anymore when you got us.”

“Us?”

“Oh Y/N, our sweet dessert. The moment we saw you in that cute pink outfit, we were determined to make you our only dessert.” Woo made his way near both of you.

“Moreover you are my fan.” San spoke from behind when Woo took you from him to hold in his embrace and facing you both towards San. Your eyes following him how he throws away his pants and quickly get off his boxers revealing his hard length to you.

“I’m not your fan. I just came here to accompany my friend and that’s how you saw me holding that sign board.”

“That’s pity that you are not a fan of my boy but you are still my girl.”

“I’m not your girl.” San quickly made his way in front of you holding you tightly to enter your entrance. His length teasing you and Woo’s hard length poking in your lower back from behind making you anxious to feel them inside you.

“Look at me.” Your eyes quickly look up to meet San’s eyes.

“Have you done this before?”

“no.”

“We will keep that in mind but we won’t go easy on you .”

“We?”

“We both will enter you the same time and maybe then we will take turns if you can keep up.”

“ I don’t think-“ San entered you and his big length makes your eyes teary and san kissed away your tears and cooed you.

“Its okay sweetheart. I know you can take us. Trust us and everything will be fine."

You nodded your head on his words and he entered your entrance with ease again and his length widens your holes which cause your eyes to water even more. Your hands move upward to touch his abs and to feel him more close than already he is.

“SAN!”

His thrusts are sloppy and he is caressing your back and cooing in your ears to make you calm. He kissed away your teary eyes to make you feel the little comfort in that state. Woo entered you from behind and the pain for taking another length makes you to cry out.

“Woo..”

“It’s okay sweetheart. Take it. You can do it well.”

Woo added, “ I know you can do take me too.”

You made your concentration focused on the two lengths inside of you to make you at ease. You didn’t have sex with anyone before but you have taken off this sexual frustration off from you on your own. Relationship is a big deal for you as you overthink about every little thing in your life but tonight you let all of your thoughts to be aside and just go with the flow.

Their thrusts are sloppy and in sync with each other. They are praising you with their nicknames of their own, San is calling you his sweetheart and woo as his girl but the common name they have given you is ‘Dessert’. Why not because tonight you are their desert for the celebration for his win.

“San….Woo…”

You can feel a familiar knot is building up inside of you and their thrusts are increasing in pace. SAN’s thrusts are more aggressive and faster in pace while Woo’s thrusts are rhythmical and a bit gentle.

“You are so tight…agh…” woo growled and sucked on your neck.

“You feel so good wrapped around me. You are doing so well for us.” San praised you and pulled your hairs backward to rest your head on woo’s shoulder and then he leans forward to kiss your chest and gliding his mouth to one of your breast and sucking them hard and messaging the other in process. Woo’s one hand gripping your hip similarly like San to maintain his pace and the other one playing with the nipple of the one San is messaging. They repeated the same action with the other one in the same way.

You are a whimpering mess now and under all these touches with two males thrusting inside of you making you talk rubbish. Your are choking on your words because of the pain and also the pleasure you are feeling making your vision go white. Their pace increase and you are about to let it burst and you can feel by their words that they are also at their edge.

“SAN I’m about to cum. Woo please let me cum. Please San”

“Yes sweetheart. I know , just wait a bit more.”

“My girl. I will cum soon.” Woo thrusted deeply and after three thrusts he came. He rested his head on your shoulders and breathing heavily. SAN’s thrusts increase again and the sloppy sound in your entrance making you to let it go by any instant. Woo hold one of the breast and the other hand rubbing circle on your clit when he suddenly puts his lips on you.

“Woo….please…this is too much.”

“Cum.”

“San!”

You both cum together but he didn’t take it out of you rather sloppily thrusting inside you. The exhausted self of yours is very sensitive to this overstimulation but they didn’t stop their action until you all ride out your high.

“ my girl is the best and did so well.” Woo leaned to his back and let you rest against his body. San pulled himself out of you and pulls a cloth from nearby hanger and wiped your face. He threw that cloth away and take you on his lap and embraced your body as if protecting you from the whole universe.

“Sweetheart you did so well for me and for us. Thank you.”

“Hmmm…” San is rocking you on his lap. Woo sit beside him and caress his hand all over your body to make you feel at ease.

“My girl is so sleepy.” Woo caress your head lightly.

“SAN I need to go home.”

Woo asked you, “ Do you think you can walk?”

“It’s okay sweetheart. You sleep and we will drive you home later.”

“You don’t know my address.” Your eyes are hooded and can’t think of anything as your brain is still foggy brain.

“It’s okay I don’t need it when we can take you to our house as it’s also yours from today.”

Woo added, “ if we need your address then we can ask it from Yeosang.”

You nodded and clinged to San and your other hand hold woo closer to your body. San kissed you on your forehead and woo kissed you on the shoulder and pulls a cover over to cover three of you.

“Sleep my girl. We have so much to talk about tomorrow.”

“Sweetheart don’t worry about anything as you are now with us. We have to take care of you, our dessert who has melted with all the exhaustion and we are not letting you go now. Sleep.”

Maybe this is something you really needed in life. A life with these two about whom you didn’t know anything few hours ago but now they are the ones comforting you in their embrace and protecting you from the whole universe. Your life possibly can be better with them and maybe something more interesting the future holds for three of you.

You fell into slumber and them holding you close tightly in their embrace away from the whole world.

In the silence of the night, there is a sweet dessert kept warm. The happiness can only be ended on a good note with a dessert.

———————————-

This is my first time writing SMUT so please do tell me whether I should write further any smut fics or not.🥹

———————————-

#cultofdionysusnet #kvanity #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #poly ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez au #ateez fic #ateez poly #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #ateez san #ateez wooyoung

1K notes · View notes

vxxxxed · 14 days ago

Note

I'd love to talk about Butcher!Simon. >u<

He's my favorite fucked up special boy. I like to think he has a set of Damascus knives that he keeps perfectly sharp.

Maybe he sees the reader coming in, buying the cheap stuff, barely talking to the cashier, scared when the package bleeds at the edges. He watches for them again, sending the cashier on break so he could talk to them finally.

Maybe they hand him a crumpled wad of bills. He notices the bruises on their arms. So what if the cut of meat he gives them is worth more than they paid? Can't have his shy birdie going hungry.

Maybe they come home one day to him sitting on their couch. Their abusive partner is gone. The tub is a little pink, but that's okay.

Maybe he reassures them through their tears that he's nothing like the meat he cuts up.

[TWs for idek how to tag this, brief implied cannibalism and kinda mentions of how you'd butcher your lover to eat them but it ends there and none of that actually happens and no one's intending for it to you're just talking about it?]

I was gonna say I don't have anything to add to this but if I may go off on a tangent (excerpt from a fic I'm working on), Ghost who is in the 141, left his old life behind (not like he had a choice when it was all taken from him anyway), but he retained all the stuff he learned when he was younger. You see a couple YouTube shorts from hunters explaining how to cut up their kills, and get interested about the process. And maybe that turns into some sort of weird form of intimacy between the two of you. (Alternative working title: Autism be Damned, That Boy Can Meat)

..."Bloody 'ell, watch the pet names there, luv. I might start thinkin' you fancy me or somethin'," he teased, his voice a low rumble that was honestly weirdly satisfying to listen to now that your cheek was pressed to his sternum. "If you wanna learn about cuts a' meat, might as well 'ave a quick lesson. You got a pen and paper there?" He asked dryly, his own form of humour as he rubbed circles against the back of your neck with his thumb.

"Start with the basics, yeah? Prime cuts are gonna be the tenderest, 'cause they come from the least-worked muscles. Ribeye, sirloin, that sorta thing. Gotta keep 'em cold to preserve the fat, though. You let that melt, and you lose flavour."

As he spoke, Simon's hands moved almost unconsciously, mimicking the motions of breaking down a side of beef. His slightly chilly fingers traced invisible lines across your back, mapping out different sections, trying to remember. "Then you got your secondary cuts - brisket, short ribs, that sorta thing. Tougher, but full o' flavour if you cook 'em right. Need time and low heat to break down all that connective tissue."

He hesitated, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he tried to remember more specifics. "Ah, you got your off-cuts too. Offal, bones, all'at. Nothin' goes to waste in a proper butcher shop. Even got some fancy restaurants that'll pay good money for that stuff nowadays." Another pause, "Well, used to, anyway."

---

"Trying to figure out how you'd butcher me, Simon?" You'd giggled at the feeling of his fingertips tracing your ribs, but there was nothing but trust and love in your eyes.

Like his own perfect little lamb.

#call of duty #current wip #cod #cod mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #butcher!simon #butcher!ghost #this is shitty

108 notes · View notes

actually-a-girls-name · 4 months ago

Text

Second chance

Another little fic is up! For @calaisreno may prompts but better late than never I guess :)

read and/or comment here on ao3

Prompt: Do-over // Words: about 1k

Royal Air Force Northolt, London.

A white jet waits ready on an otherwise empty runway. Five people are standing next to a black car, few meters away from the engine. Everything else is grey and green. Some words and embraces are exchanged quickly, then three of them step away, leaving the other two standing face to face. The man on the right is tall, he has dark curly hair and is wearing a long coat and a blue scarf over a tailored suit. The other one is shorter and thicker, he has sandy hair and is wearing a pair of jeans and a black jacket over a creased shirt. Few words are exchanged again before the silence settles and stretches.

The atmosphere is thick and the sun doesn’t quite reach through the clouds. The short one rocks on his toes a few times, looking at the ground while the taller man swipes the place around with his gaze out of focus.

Dr John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Saying goodbye.

Watson takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders.

“I used to go to your grave a lot you know.”

Holmes looks back at his companion’s face and waits.

“To talk,” he adds. “I could never say what I really wanted to but I’d go there anyway, and it felt like you could hear me. Even after you came back to life I went a few times.”

Sherlock opens his mouth slightly, but the doctor cuts him before he can interrupt.

“Let me finish.” He takes another deep breath and casts his gaze into the detective’s. “I went back because I was trying to remember how I wished I was braver when you were alive. I thought – when you were gone – that, if I had the occasion, I would be able to say it to you because the alternative was not… bearable. But then you did come back, and I was too angry and too hurt. And after that I became too afraid, and… and I was never bra–” his voice breaks but he fights through– “I was never brave enough.”

Few seconds pass, their heartbeats seem loud in the silence.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” John adds, almost whispering now.

Sherlock swallows hard, his eyes are glistening.

“What is it that you wanted to say?”

“You see even now I… I can’t. And what would be the fucking point anyway?”

His voice is higher than usual.

“Please.”

He closes his eyes before raising his head and opening them again.

“I love you, Sherlock. As in I am in love with you. I think I always have been and always will.”

He nods then and watches with his jaw clenched the reaction of his friend. Sherlock lets out a shaky breath, his lips quivering. His face crumbles a bit, and his shoulders fall slightly. He shakes his head.

“I should be the one apologizing, John. I love you and have so desperately for so long. I should have told you, I just didn’t… I didn’t know how to and if…” he trails off, his voice shaking. “I could not bear the thought of losing you,” he adds, regaining a bit of composure as he plunges his eyes into his partner’s.

John turns his head to look around, desperately trying to push back tears. Sherlock reaches for his hand and holds it gently.

“You would not have lost me,” he finally replies in a murmur.

“I know that now. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be…”

John’s gaze drops to look at their fingers intertwined and they both stay still for a moment. When he looks up again, his face is steadier.

“I know you don’t do vows but can you… can you promise me you’ll come back? You’ll come back and this time I will be waiting for you. I promise I will. And we’ll have a do-over, a proper second chance! No more time wasted, what do you say?”

“What about Mary?”

“I’ll sort it out. She’ll survive.”

“And the baby?”

“I will still be her father – God I’m not used to this word in my mouth yet… And I hope I’ll be a good one. We’ll manage, Sherlock, if you’re ready to welcome her in your life too… I mean if you want to...”

“Of course I do,” he cuts. “I’ll be happy to. And there is nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for you, you do know that by now, don’t you?”

“Start by staying alive.”

Sherlock smiles softly and nods.

“Promise me?”

“John, I…”

“No, you don’t understand, please Sherlock.”

Holmes' deep blue eyes stare at him. They are wet with tears but the man remains silent.

“I need you,” he adds desperately.

“And I you.” Sherlock squeezes lightly his friend’s fingers in his. John clasps it with both his hands and presses harder. “I’ll do my best.”

Watson shakes his head, “not enough.”

“It will have to be, John,” the detective replies gently, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyebrows are raised in a silent plea.

John closes his eyes, still refusing to let the tears fall, and inhales slowly. When he opens them again, he looks resigned.

“Ok.”

Sherlock right hand join the others and he delicately rubs his thumb against John’s skin.

“If you let me hold you I will never let you go,” the doctor states softly.

“Ok, then better not,” Holmes replies, smiling tenderly as his eyes implore him to do it anyway.

“Yeah, it wouldn’t look right to battle Mycroft to death I suppose.”

They both chuckle lightly. John doesn’t hold him.

“No, it wouldn’t,” the detective conceals.

Another silence stretches out and John breaks it again.

“Ok, go then,” he says, forcing a little smile as his eyes are begging him not to.

The sky is low and heavy on the tarmac. They part reluctantly, left only with the cruel ghost of each other’s warmth where their hands had met. Sherlock doesn’t stay. He turns away and climbs the stairs without looking back. John follows him with his eyes until he disappears through the door. Alone again. But who leaves and who stays, it doesn't really matter, he thinks then. Because, between the two of them, damned be anyone knowing where one ends and the other begins.

Their hearts beat and break the same anyway.

#may prompts 2024 #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #ficlet #sherlock fanfiction #ao3 link #tarmac hell #bbc sherlock fanfiction #johnlock fanfiction #mine #mayprompts2024

28 notes · View notes

forbidding-souda · 3 months ago

Note

Hii!! May I please have some headcannons with Gundham, Kazuichi, and whoever with a gyrau s/o!!! Please and thank u!!

Gundham Tanaka and Kazuichi Souda with a SHSL Gyaru S/O

here's another gyaru s/o fic i did with mondo, shinguuji, and kaito! it was rather recent too since when was i posting in 2022 what the fuck. i didn't add any characters because i realized i had three that i have already done so there's more mwahahahahaha

i love gyaru's rawr rawr i'm so excited to write this ty anon

-Mod Souda

Gundham Tanaka

❤ It's clear you two are a couple. You both have a very eccentric way of speaking which makes you guys such a good couple wow, nobody is surprised when you tell them you're together. They can probably guess that. With you two having voluminous hair and heavy eyeliner, it's as if your aesthetics were compatible. Though being in two different subcultures, the overlapping stylistic details adds a charm to the times you've walked together hand in hand. Your both overdramatic way of talking makes people group you together.

He departs from the barn, quickly making his way back to the main building, where you wait on your phone. He doesn't have to look for you. Your appearance is eye-catching. Your loose shirt, a more casual one, is heavily wrinkled from how quickly you put it on this morning. You're not even wearing any of your iconic belts. You wanted to join him despite how early it was. Your eyes flick up to his once you hear him approaching. "Are you done?" You ask. You turn your head towards him, makeup still perfectly done (you focused more on that then your outfit, which you did last). Before he can respond, you squint at his name tag. "That's cute." He grumbles and unpins it. His mind was too busy for a proper conversation. He was logging all of the animal's names in his head and the medications and treatment they needed it. While you two walk, he places his hand on the small of your back, a simple form of affection to tell you he was still paying attention. But when you yawn, it breaks his thought process. "You're tired?" You nod. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yawn like that." "Nonsense. Perhaps we can arrange an hour of slumber." You nod. "Can it be more than an hour?" He hums, thinking for a second. "As many as you need, my dear enchantress."

❤ Oh my god if you wear more dark colors or purples (else a goshikku gyaru) you could absolutely be the same color palette as him. Purple and black pleaded skirt with eyeliner in your waterline omggg. Or a zip-up with skeletons on it.

❤ He absolutely loves your style, he adores anything vaguely alternative and subnormal. Ur definitely getting some more romantic nicknames like "my muse" or "my agony".

❤ Ya ya ya it's unhygienic but you can share makeup if you can't find something (aka you probably left your eyeliner in your purse but completely forgot).

❤ You will scream and cry when you tease your hair and then you go to visit animals with him and a giraffe just starts licking it.

❤ But the hamsters love your hair / wigs.

❤ You can probably convince him to wear more eccentric earrings.

❤ And necklaces. Omg matching necklaces. From the one dogtag he wears, you can convince him to wear a chain or a bunch of layers of silver.

❤ I doubt he has social media so he doesn't see your persistent presence, but he will take pictures of you with the animals for some posts.

❤ When you start using a bit of his lingo online no one questions it.

❤ Also in the scenario thing above I fought the urge to say you were playing dress to impress.

Kazuichi Souda

❤ He was so nervous around you. He wasn't as bold as he was with Sonia. He'd give you compliments and then promptly walk away after you say thank you. It takes you and your boldness to finally get him to have a lingering conversation ("No, no, you get back here"). He's such a charmer, you loved the conversations, and whenever you gave him compliments back he was fighting the urge to completely melt.

❤ You post a lot of photos of you two together. You just love his pink hair and it tends to fit your layout perfectly. Some of them aren't just cutesy selfies, it's things like him with his jumpsuit tied around his waist as he's too focused on his work to realize you have your phone pointed at him. He's started to do the same to you. Taking pictures as you're posing yourself for your own camera. You love the candid photos he takes of you so much you end up posting them instead. He loves your online presence. He's gonna pick up the slang you use and it's gonna be funny LMFAO.

Upon entering the house, he spots you sitting on the couch with a sugary snack in your hand. You immediately smile. "Sorry," you say, "I couldn't help myself." He was planning on a real meal for tonight, but of course, you've indulged in the popular snacks you love so much. At least your well, that smile on your face says as much. He kicks off his shoes, leaving them scattered by the door. You study him for a moment, wondering if his sour mood is because of you or whatever job he had outside. "Are you good?" You ask mid chew. He eyebrows furrow a bit and he nervously scratches at his jaw. "I lost the necklace you gave me." "What?" "I took it off and I don't know where it went, I'm an idiot." You place your snack aside and stand, approaching him. "Dude," you place your hands on his cheek. "It's not that serious. I have a thousand of them. I'll get you another one." "But you gave me that one." "And I'll give you another 'that one'. You worry too much." He sighs, placing his forehead against yours, the small thunk drawing you back, but you don't pull away. He's constantly fearing offending you or disappointing you. But you always assure him that things are alright. The simple things he stresses over are never things that will push you away, and he needs to understand that.

❤ He loves it when you scratch his back with the long, decorative nails. Or when you massage his scalp when he's trying to sleep. His small, half-awake hums are soooo cute.

❤ He'll want you to do his hair. He trusts your stylistic abilities with his life. You're not going to be able to do the dramatic makeup on him, nice try. But hair yesss. He'll want to add small braids to your style as well.

❤ His work is a little too messy for you and if he gets motor oil on you you're gonna fight the urge to throw a fit. On your yellow shirt? Kaz. You piece of shit.

❤ ^ Frantic cleaning-related google searches.

❤ ^ On the rack beside the front door, you keep your shoes far away from his.

❤ He gets you a lot of those glitter, bajeweled (or whoever it's spelled) reusable cups. He uses them a lot for himself though. He wanted an excuse to have them, and you definitely figured this out LOL.

#danganronpa #x reader #gundham tanaka x reader #kazuichi souda x reader #kazuichi soda x reader #peko pekoyama x reader

20 notes · View notes

thegildedbee · 3 months ago

Text

Appreciative: May 32nd Prompt for @calaisreno

I have arrived, at last, to the end of my May prompts, this being the one for the 32nd of May, a day I decreed to exist so that I could add one last prompt of my own for myself, in honor of @calaisreno,😘 and the magnificent, awesome festival they brought into being with the May writerly shenanigans! So much creativity unleashed, all at the invitation of one very special person. 🤗 As you may have guessed from the title, the word for my own personal May 32nd 🙃 is: appreciative.

.................................................. This last chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3. Program Note: In the penultimate chapter posted at ao3, I added a note saying that I've decided to take these thematic seat-of-the-pants daily prompt responses and (fingers crossed) turn them into a real story. It will take a while, as it needs to then have, like -- AN ACTUAL PLOT -- but now I'm curious about all the ins and outs of how this premise I've been winging might work 🙃 -- of John figuring out that Sherlock is alive and strong-arming Mycroft into allowing John to secretly shadow him as protection -- so I'll try to figure it out! tldr; one of these days, look out for take 2 of my May 2024 prompts as a proper fic of its own: Threading a Shadow through the Eye of the Storm :-) ................................................. Warning: This ended up being 3x as long as any daily prompt chapter has a right to be . . . ................................................. Sherlock slips through the jetliner’s door at the last possible moment, very nearly missing his flight from Zagreb to Split. Feeling skittish after suspecting that he was being followed, he’d chosen to advance his departure by one day, erring on the side of caution that it was time to move on. His concern had been sparked after a bank visit to obtain funds to support his travels in Croatia; after moving down the steep set of stairs into the crowd of bodies milling about Jelacic Square, he had registered some sort of movement in his peripheral vision, giving rise to a judgment that he was being tailed. An impression of an instant was of dubious value for making decisions, but turning around for a closer look would have negated any slight advantage he might have gained.

He had disappeared behind a horse-drawn carriage, slipped into an alley and swiftly turned the corner, placing himself at the back of a cafe next to the rubbish bins. He’d made quick work of switching out of his navy blazer and forest green button-down shirt for the precautionary items in his briefcase: a white and red striped athletic shirt, a camo patterned bucket hat, and a worn gray rucksack. He binned the briefcase and his original clothes, and melted back into the crowd, reasonably certain that his wardrobe change undercut any efforts to resume tracking him at a distance.

Later that evening, he’d called the hotel and made a false arrangement to extend his stay for a week, attempting to wrong-foot any unwelcome players he may have attracted. He had purchased a new ticket on a different carrier using his Norwegian alias, and was reassured that, at least for now, he had neutralized any threat. He’d been on the road for so long, however, that he'd lost any sense of whether such actions were evidence that he was executing sterling tradecraft, or if he was seeing shadows refracted through a prism of paranoia.

An hour later, he arrives in Split without incident, and makes his way briskly toward the arrivals hall, stopping momentarily to rotate in a circle until he spies signage for the shuttle to Trogir, a city of 10,000 or so, a short distance away. He’ll be housed there for a few days – or at least until he determines whether or not there is more intelligence to be had in Croatia – before he boards the train that will carry him to Sarajevo for a similar stop, and then on to Belgrade and the risks it poses.

His fellow riders on the shuttle appear to be innocuous – locals returning from holidays or shopping trips, visitors touring the Dalmatian coast, house cleaners and sales clerks and restaurant staff on their way home after a day’s work in the city. As he leaves the transport, his anxiety is goading him to move quickly, but he forces himself to approximate a meandering gait, so as to appear innocuous himself.

He completes a circuitous route to end up nearly where he began, making his way to the DHL baggage station to retrieve a package holding the address and keys for the safe house, along with a miscellany of other items: colored brochures, bulky printouts, grainy photos. It’s been some time since he’s had a report from home; he doubts that there will be anything about London, and a quick glance tells him that his supposition is correct. He is never sure whether or not the lack of content is a good thing or a bad thing. Hearing nothing, were he to admit it to himself, is probably the better option, since it keeps him from having to battle the misery that arises when confronted with how long the tally of days marking the presence of his absence extends.

By the time he's located his lodging, dusk is beginning to close off the day; he opens the door to a one-bedroom apartment in a small building that is currently unoccupied. It's a relief to have a door to lock behind him, to be enclosed within four walls where he can begin to dial down his hyper-awareness of his surroundings.

The place contains nondescript chairs, a dining table with a stained surface that has seen better days, and lamps with dusty shades, but it seems comfortable enough. His needs are few, pared back to essentials – security and quiet being the most important among them. He leaves the lights switched off, and walks out onto the small balcony, brushing away the pollen that covers the wooden chair, which he uses as a front-row seat as the sun sets over the sea, a silent and solitary figure who becomes less and less visible as darkness first enshadows him, and then fully cloaks his presence.

He's worn-out, through and through, his emotional being as much as his physical state; he feels as if his nervous system is made of cast iron filings, heavy and tending toward rust, a corrosive scraping of his soul. He tries to shake off his turn into a viscerally maudlin state and to keep any further negative waves at bay by putting himself into motion, rising up from his seat and returning to the apartment in search of something to eat, if only for a distraction. He supposes it may be too much to hope that there is food waiting there for him; he regrets having made such haste to get to this new phase of his mission. Perhaps he’ll find some overlooked cartons of one sort or another; after all, his contacts aren’t hoteliers, but busy agents in the field, tasked with many more matters than dancing attendance on him. He moves toward the kitchen, turning on a few table lamps along the way, and is pleasantly surprised to find that there are food parcels to unwrap.

He tears off a portion of lepinja, the local flatbread, which he has come to like very much. There is a carton of eggs, a bottle of olive oil, tins of sardines packed in coarse salt, and fresh lemons. Packages wrapped in wax paper turn out to be several kinds of cheese, and inside a carrier bag there is a container of jam made from plums and another from figs, and a trio of multi-hued jars of honey.

His flagging spirits lift slightly, and he mocks himself that a loaf of bread and the taste of plums he licks off his fingers has made the difference, as he can’t provide an objective rationale for how such a mundane circumstance has dispersed some of the inky clots lodged in his mind. He savors the reveal staged by the opening of the door of the refrigerator to see if there’s anything inside, and is pleased at what he finds: a crockery bowl of cooked pasta which looks to be sauced with truffles, prosciutto, grilled sausages, bottled milk, and orange soda. He closes the door and turns to the other end of the counter, where he is particularly appreciative to find a plate of phyllo pastry containing a surfeit of cherries, and a version of shortbread biscuits stamped with outlines of bees. He dips his already sticky fingers into the cherry pudding and licks them clean, and then bites into one of the biscuits, which explodes on his tongue with the simultaneous taste of pepper, cloves, and cinnamon, and then quickly gathers up the rest, biting into a second one. Mrs. Hudson couldn’t have done better, he thinks, with a wistful nod of approval, as a whisper of melancholy reaches out and wraps around him.

He brings the plate of biscuits and the milk to the table to inspect various items that have been placed there. The most obvious is a map of Southeastern Europe spread out across most of the surface, and next to it, a tidy pile of travel guides for Croatia and Serbia – he finds the idea of a travel guide to Serbia to be grimly humorous, given the peril that he is bound to encounter when he arrives there and tries to disrupt the organization he hopes to set on a path to destruction. He rolls his eyes, finding it doubtful that its pages of advice on local highlights will contain anything relevant to his tasks . . . but then quickly reverses himself and thinks again: information of another kind may be exactly what he finds has been added. He’ll look at it more closely later, and sets it out of sight for now on the empty chair he’s standing next to.

He opens the cover of a book entitled Omis: The City of Pirates, produced by the city's board of tourism, and pulls out a chair to page through it, losing himself in another world for a few moments, adrift in the gulf of Venice in the twelfth century, having set sail from the former pirate town, aboard a medieval corsair preying on Adriatic shipping, which slips surreptitiously into one of the multitude of small coves and inlets that form a jagged saw-toothed edge along the Dalmatian coast.

His pleasure turns to delight when he puts the book aside to find a reprinted volume of A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the most notorious Pyrates from 1724, and he luxuriates in the indulgence of re-visiting tales about Blackbeard and Calico Jack. When he finds to his chagrin that he has eaten all of the biscuits, he decides it is time for something approximating a proper meal, or at least as proper as it can be, with himself leaning against the counter, as he’s not inclined to set up a place setting for one, for reasons that are unnecessary for him to devote attention to excavating.

His tabletop search later turns up one more item: a dvd set of an American historical adventure series, Black Sails. He remembers watching most of the first season at 221B with John – in the time before he’d abruptly had to make his exit from London. The totality of his haul of riches here reminds him of the safe house in Vienna, where he’d found a similar cluster of goods seemingly tailored to his tastes. Sherlock thinks acerbically that big brother must be experiencing prickings of guilt about his little brother's odyssey, and therefore has been supplying agents with a tip list. He finds it hard to credit, to be honest. It's certainly uncharacteristic for Mycroft to indulge him so, but perhaps he is becoming sentimental as he ages, or perhaps believes he needs to balance the books given the hazards that Sherlock is currently facing. He remembers that the safe house in Vienna had been stocked with a dvd set entitled Good Omens, which he’d sheepishly welcomed as an auspicious portent, despite knowing that such flights of fancy are nonsensical. That the current option on offer is Black Sails, is, he acknowledges, a reasonable augury of what lies ahead once he boards the train that will take him across the border from Croatia into Serbia.

For now, he feels fleetingly cared for and content, a rare state of existence in the two years and more since he has been away from London. A short while later, he puts the first disc into the player, and lies down on the sofa with a cushion wedged under his head; within minutes he falls into a deep sleep that lasts for seventeen hours.

When he awakens, it’s to a workshop in his mind palace, where he finds himself sharpening a steel bar capable of taking the brunt of a flinty determination to spark an endgame to his Moriartian exile. As he leaves the workroom to wander through the corridors, he opens the door to the tower that represents the last fortress to be breached. He doesn’t know if his chances of survival would benefit from an effort to be optimistic, rather than remaining resolutely realistic, but he’s dubious that he will be able to conjure up a positive vision of the future if he tries, without devolving into a spectre at the feast, and decides against making the effort.

He studies the Serbian guidebook with fierce attention – it is indeed rife with coded information – until he thinks it’s been shorn of all the surplus value that it contains. As dusk approaches, he realizes that he’s been sitting in one position from his awakening in the early hours of the morning until now; his muscles ache, and so does his head. A restlessness sweeps over him, and he decides there’s no more to be done at present; he’ll be waiting at least another day or two to rendezvous with sources who can update his earlier forays through Stockholm, Copenhagen, Malmo, and Gothenburg, the power base of one of the most dangerous of the arms of the Serbian mafia, built on a foundation from the mass immigration of Yugoslavian guest-workers to Sweden in the 1970s. Buttressed by the Yugoslavian secret services -- who made use of the expat criminal outfits as informants and assassins, providing them with weapons and legal protection -- the gangsters had grown to be formidably wealthy. The horizontal sturcture of the organizations have given Sherlock a great deal of trouble in bringing the personnel into the light, one of the reasons that he has been gone so much longer from London than he had ever imagined. Moriarty the man could well have been the god of chaos, but Moriarty, the institution, was a model of stealth order.

He decides to take a breather and to play tourist for the evening and thumbs a ride into the city, using the opportunity in conversing with the driver to re-acquaint himself with Lukas Sigerson’s accent and demeanor. By the time his friendly volunteer transport service has dropped him off near the city center, he’s realigned his presentation of self -- despite lacking enough of the bearded scruff to be completely in character, and the fact of his hair currently being a russet-tinged shade of Venetian blonde -- but he can make it work for his persona . . . he thinks. The lighter locks may lend themselves to being expected to be inhabiting a more gregarious disposition, which may be an insurmountable hurdle.

He's intrigued by what he sees before him as he makes his way further into the city center, the extensive Roman garrisoned fortress and monumental-scale palace built in the late third century for the emperor Diocletian to inhabit in a splendorous retirement, and even ever after, as his imperial remains were contained within the custom-built mausoleum. As he strolls around the perimeter, examining the walls, he drifts in and out of different tour groups being conducted in Croatian, English, Japanese, German, and Italian, hearing how several hundred years after Diocletian’s death and the fall of Rome, townspeople elsewhere in the region fled from invaders who had razed their city, seeking out the safety of the empty palace, where they had re-constituted their lives, incorporating their houses and workplaces within the impregnable palace walls and the cavernous barrel-vaulted cellar. In doing so, they had seeded the emergence of the city that now exists, and set the conditions for the continual presence of local people living and working within its precincts on up until the present-day, several hundred buildings, with several thousand people. Sherlock hears snatches of tales and questions and answers, including a 20th century description of the palace as “the most serviceable ruin in the world.”

He chooses to enter the palace compound itself from the east side, through the walls of the so-called Silver gate. He walks lightly down the pathway that takes him to the round vestibule that served as the first section for the corridor leading to the emperor’s apartments, and stands quietly, hands clasped behind his back, imagining the reverberations that music played within its circular wall would generate. He gazes up through the oculus at a waning crescent moon, acutely aware of the intangible stretching of earth connected with sky. As he wanders the compound, walking across stone streets gleaming from the passage of uncountable numbers of feet from ancient times until the present, he makes a game of deducing the palace's transformations, feeling rather smug when he reads on a plaque that his estimate that the emperor’s body had been jettisoned by later inhabitants to a place or places unknown, and his mausoleum repurposed as a Christian church is correct. He nods approvingly at another informational plaque that sardonically conveys the historical fact that the church became a cathedral named in honor of St. Domnius, one of the Christian spiritual leaders that Diocletian had persecuted and executed.

He wanders without purpose through the labyrinth of narrow passages and hidden courtyards, occasionally noticing someone looking out from higher up, or reeling in the washing hung out in lines above the streets. He wonders idly at the gamut of emotions that have restlessly circulated through the formal halls and the private corners, allowing himself to lower his threat level, determinedly eschewing his usual practice of straining his ears to identify hints of adversaries who seek to thwart him. He is rounding a corner when he hears strains of jazz music reverberating against the walls, a silky contralto whose words sing of wanting something cool, off to the right somewhere a bit further beyond. He decides to allow the music to pull him toward its source, and the vibrato leads him to a door with a sign that announces that what lies within is Marvlvs Library Jazz Bar.

“And what might a library jazz bar be?” he muses, peering closer in the shadowy space at the explanatory plaque on the wall, which says:

"You are standing outside where once the home of Marko Marulic (1450-1524) was located, a man whom contemporaries styled as the Christian Virgil, and who later came to be known as the 'Dante of Croatian literature.' Among his many works was the epic poem Judita (1501), based on the Book of Judith.”

He steps across the threshold, after first giving way to a cat who darts around his ankles ahead of him, to see what he'll discover. The space is of a piece with the rest of the palace: the contemporary layout is built atop the ancient stone floor, and incorporates the original graceful arches, as well as a wooden beamed ceiling and other touches that are likely five centuries old, from the time Marulic was held to have lived here. Starting near the entrance, books are shelved everywhere one looks. As Sherlock walks alongside the rows of neatly lined-up titles, he discerns an organizational logic, although not one based on alphabetization or time period. What stands out for him at first is how the subject matter moves from the physical world, to the biological world, and to the social world, moving then into representations and culture, from lies to truths, and from hearts to minds.

The bar is relatively empty at this late hour of a week-day evening, with only a few pairs of scattered patrons, and a lone bartender towards the back, so he commandeers a generously sized table intended for a group, that is placed beneath a massive painting of "Saint Jerome in His Study" – he is surely seated in the only bar on the planet which features a depiction of the patron saint of translators, encyclopedists, and librarians. He is charmed to find that the menu is itself a multi-paged book, filled with small stories, quotations, and poems woven in between the items listed on offer. Sherlock returns to the menu’s prologue, which he had skipped initially; the owner, it appears, is himself a poet: in fact in his introductory comments he remarks that he considers himself “to be married to his poetry,” and Sherlock feels a flicker of satisfaction at the second-hand encounter with a kindred spirit.

In keeping with the literary rationale of the bar, Sherlock has retrieved some volumes to skim, chosen from the nineteenth century: Bees: Their Habits, Management, and Treatment by the Reverend J.G. Wood; a second edition of Samuel Bagster’s The Management of Bees, with a description of the ‘Ladies Safety Hive’; and Thomas Nutt, Humanity to Honey Bees: or Practical Directions for the Management of honey-bees upon an improved and humane plan by which the lives of bees may be preserved, and abundance of honey of a superior quality may be obtained. He also has brought with him a mid-twentieth century volume with an enticing cover: H.J. Wadey, THE BEHAVIOUR OF BEES – and of bee-keepers. He considers it to be unlikely that he’ll eventually realize his dream of settling somewhere close to the sea and becoming a keeper of bees himself. But surely there is no harm in imagining that it might be so for a few hours.

He loses track of time as he immerses himself in his haul, until he senses reverberations from a tapping sound coming from the table, and then, startled, looks up, noticing the bartender he’d glimpsed after his entrance, standing beside him. He tamps down his threat response: it's merely a neutral personage, a pleasingly graceful young man whom he assesses to be twenty-six or twenty-seven, sporting a medieval phoenix tattoo, beautifully colored, that can be glimpsed from under the rolled-up sleeves of a soft, sky blue linen shirt tucked neatly into the snugly-fitted jeans that are at eye-level. When Sherlock raises his face, he sees a sun-kissed complexion and a deep set of dimples, dark brown eyes that match the color of the man's hair, which is cut longer at the crown and angled rakishly over his right eye, the tapered sides fading until they touch the open skin at the collar of his shirt. Although not a threat, Sherlock's pulse has yet to completely return to its baseline.

“You look like you’ll be thirsty soon,” the blue-and-brown speaker says teasingly, “if you’re not already, with how hard you’ve been going at your research. May I bring you something to eat or drink? We'll not be open very much longer, so it's now or never."

For some reason that escapes him at the moment, Sherlock can’t seem to summon up a vocal response, although this doesn’t seem to put off his visitor.

“Perhaps you’d like something regional, to soak in the aura of the place more deeply?”

Sherlock narrows his eyes. “If that’s a roundabout way of suggesting slivovitz, please, no thank you, please. I know for certain that I am not going to be in Croatia long enough to develop a taste for it.”

“Well, yes, it did cross my mind,” the bartender says with a cheeky smile that activates his captivating dimples. “But I’d like to stay on your good side. No, I was thinking of something that would pair well with your bee-keeping books.”

“And that would be?” Sherlock asks, his voice softening slightly, awarding the young man points for fine observational skills.

“Medenica,” the bartender says confidently. “A honey-based brandy. It is well-known in these parts as an excellent aperitif – to stimulate the appetite and open the digestive system – and, as it happens, as an excellent post-meal digestif as well. Which is not to say that it is not an excellent drink to have first thing in the morning, as an aid in ‘cleaning the body,’ although it is also true that it really is suitable for any time of the day, or night, for that matter, such as when alone, and perhaps needing some assistance in ensuring a restful sleep. So, you see, no matter what your state of being presently, it is a superb option.”

“Well,” Sherlock says dryly, “It seems as if the only possible answer is . . . yes. So, yes," he offers, with the slightest of smiles.

“Wonderful! Feel free to wave me off, but perhaps you’d like to join me at the bar, keep me company, while I prepare it for you? It will take a few more moments than how we typically serve it, as I’ll warm it before pouring. Oh, and I should introduce myself ," he says with a slight bow. "My name is Petar.”

Sherlock nods his head in response, and says primly, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Petar. I’m Lukas.”

Once he’s seated at the counter, Sherlock finds that he is mesmerized by the thick, golden liquid sliding down the side of the glass, and then realizes that he’s lost track of whatever Petar has been saying, and tries to catch up. “I’m sorry, what was it that you asked?”

Peter laughs. “If you work with plants? Or if you are perhaps an entomologist?”

“Not presently,” Sherlock says. “Perhaps one day. My work is in the field of computer science.”

“And what is your area of expertise, Lukas?”

Sherlock looks at Petar skeptically. “You really want to know?”

“Really," he replies, his hand brushing against Sherlock's as he places the heavy, warmed glass in front of him.

Sherlock pulls up the relevant details from his background cover. “Computational intelligence. Fuzzy logic.” He takes a sip from his glass, and shakes his head in wonder at how good the honeyed brandy tastes. “My research entails trying to program computers to answer questions that can’t be solved in exact terms, with either a yes or a no, because the questions arise from processes entangled with highly complex, changing variables, that are open to chance.”

“Something like the weather,” Petar suggests, beginning his evening clean-up, drying glasses, and hanging them in the hanging overhead holder.

“That’s not a bad example,” Sherlock concedes. “My focus, however, is in using biological instances as a characteristic approach. Think about the survival of a species – that’s a problem that requires a solution. Natural selection doesn’t offer a yes or no answer; it inherently diversifies the possible range of solutions through mutations, which themselves are impacted by open-ended sets of variables.”

“And how is it that these interests have brought you to Split? Although I can make an argument that we live amongst fuzzy logic here," he chuckles, "So perhaps that answers itself."

“I was in Zagreb for a meeting of the Computational Intelligence Society, at a conference hosted by I triple E – the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers.”

“And how is it that a computer man finds himself having traveled from technical proceedings to wandering about an ancient palace?” Petar asks.

Sherlock shrugs. “I’d never seen the Adriatic coast, and the thought of all that sun was appealing. Living in the northern latitudes inspires one to seek out occasions to escape the darkness." He sips thoughtfully, closing his eyes as the liquid moves from his mouth down his throat. “I have a question for you,” he offers. “The informational sign out front explains the reason for the library theme, as it is presumed to be the site of a lauded author. But how did the choice of jazz music come along with it?”

“That’s an easy one,” Petar replies. “The owner didn’t feel compelled to carry through the theme completely, as he thought late medieval, early modern music would be unlikely to draw crowds.”

“Fair enough,” Sherlock responds, and then tries some teasing of his own. “Working from the information in the menu, mightn’t a writer of moral and theological treatises feel compelled to haunt the premises, unamused by the rhythms of modern jazz permeating his home?"

“Well, the owner claims that Marulic wrote on a wide range of topics. For example," Petar says, with a wink, "I’ve heard it bandied about that he wrote glosses on the erotic poetry of Catullus.”

“Did he now?” Sherlock responds, an inviting lilt accompanying his words. "Do tell.”

Petar grins. “I’m sure we have a volume of Catullus’ poems at the ready if you give me a minute or two. In the meantime, would you like another drink?" and his smile broadens when Sherlock agrees. “My shift is almost over, as it’s nearing time for us to close. Would you mind waiting for me for a short time, with your bee books to keep you company, while I finish tidying and then lock up? After that, I can join you with a glass of Medenica as well, and we can chat at our leisure.”

Sherlock offers a small, lop-sided smile. “That sounds acceptable.”

“Well, then, Živjeli, to us!” Petar says, warmly. "The night has only just begun, and there are so many possibilities before us.”

......................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #sherlock bits and bobs #may prompts 2024 #johnlock #better late than never?#happy end of may #all you cool cats and kittens :-)#‘Another d-mn’d thick square fic!#always scribble #scribble #scribble! Eh! Mr. Gibbon?’

34 notes · View notes

snorky · 1 year ago

Text

Ride Into The Sunset, Would I Lie To You? Well I Got Somethin' To Say

Hey y’all! Sorry for not posting a story in a while, I have some works in progress and lots of ideas! I’ve been extra busy in my personal life so I apologize. I thank you all for your patience and support! This story is about cowboyish Arber Xhekaj (I saw a pic of him in a cowboy hat and I couldn’t help myself) and the title is based on “Hang ‘Em High” by My Chemical Romance. I hope you all enjoy this fic, and remember to take care of yourself!

Pairing: Arber Xhekaj x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Slight angst, Mentions of ex-friends with benefits?, (Let me know if I should add anything)

—

Loud, upbeat country music filled the dark-lit bar, jam-packed to the brim with bodies all pressed up against one another. It was a particularly busy Friday evening, where the entire city seemed to pour into the bar more with every hour after sundown. Voices all talking over one another, the stench of beer and whiskey hanging in the air, and a feeling of trouble lingering.

Montréal wasn’t sketchy by any means, it was loud and lively, just like any other city. But it was the people. Even if it was just one person though, it still seemed like he lived through others. Little fragments of him scattered all around the city.

She wiped down the counter, allowing the next patron to be seated and served. “Next! I’m taking whoever is next!” she shouted.

A man dressed in all black sat down, his cologne so faintly recognizable, and it stung her like a sharp memory. She felt his smirk. She knew every detail of his stupid smirk, even with her back turned to him.

“Hey, angel.” He placed his hands on the countertop. “Didn’t know you were workin’ here tonight,” he sighed. “If I did, I’d dress up a little nicer for you.”

She turned to look at him, setting the rag down on the counter. Looking into his eyes, it didn’t seem like he was going to want to lose tonight. He was here with a plan, an idea that he constructed himself.

“Don’t call me ‘angel’ Arber. You know how it is now between us.” She gave him a stare before turning around, grabbing a glass to serve him a drink. “Now, how may I help you today?”

Arber looked her up and down, the memories of their past flowing back into his mind. All the heated touches, all the longing stares, every single one of their memories. Some were under the scorching summer sun, the ocean crashing against the shore. Some were under the moon-lit night, the city quiet beneath his apartment.

“Just a neat whiskey, darling.” He drew the last part out, looking up at her. Their eyes locked, a fire burning inside of him. “Take your time,”

She took a breath in, her gaze fixated on him. He looked older now. Darker. More handsome, but she didn’t want to admit that. Although they had only grown apart a few months ago, he seemed more tempting now than ever.

“Alright, neat whiskey coming up for the gentleman.”

As much as she wanted to hate him, or even, as much as she did hate him, she needed to earn an extra tip or two that night. A little sugar-coated lie wouldn’t hurt. Because he wasn’t a gentleman, no. The way he played dirty didn’t help. The way he wouldn’t listen to her didn’t help.

Her hands drifted to the glass and a towel to wipe it down, before setting it down on the counter before Arber, his eyes watching her every move like a hawk. She poured some water into the glass, then poured the whiskey into it, the amber liquid swirling with the water.

He motioned for her to come closer to him with his two fingers, and to his surprise, she leaned closer to him. His hands slowly went up to her cowboy hat, and adjusted it on her head ever so gently.

“There you go, lookin’ like a proper cowgirl now, sweetheart,” he murmured into her ear.

She felt a chill run down her spine, her face heating up at his words. It was stupid from how easily he could melt her in his hands like this, but he enjoyed every bit of it. He let out a light chuckle as she walked away to serve the next customer, his gaze fixated on her.

Oh how he hated when her attention was on another patron though, her smile more genuine, her eyes more bright, and what he hated the most, was that she talked to him more sweetly, sugar water dripping from her tongue.

He just missed her so much. He longed for her voice, her sweet gestures that she would give him, even though he didn’t ask for it. She was the most caring person in the room no matter what, even if they were just friends.

Taking a long sip of whiskey, he turned around and looked for his friends who came with him. Without a familiar face in sight besides hers, he got up off of the stool, and made his way to the dance floor, his boots stomping on the ground with each step.

The music continued to flow through the air as if the tension in the bar was nonexistent, humming tunes of acoustic guitars, harmonicas, and gravelly voices. He danced smoothly, his steps solid and precise, the heel of his boot tapping against the ground to the beat of the song.

She’d be lying if she said that he wasn't tempting her. The way his large hands grabbed the front of his belt. The way he looked so concentrated with his tongue poking out between his lips. The way his strong arms flexed underneath his shirt when he danced. She kept her gaze on his figure, those slight shadows that seemed to flow through the dark, and she observed his every move.

Arber looked up, his eyes locking with hers from across the bar, seeing her attention focused intently on him. He smirked, that wickedly enchanting smirk, knowing that he had her focus in his grasp, and she was under his spell. His gaze was focused on her reaction, and he loved how she seemed to tense up with each of his movements, each and every step of his.

He shot her a wink that sent butterflies fluttering in her body, her face flushing with warmth against her will. Thank goodness for the dim lighting in the bar. She didn’t want to be seen like this, her strong exterior faltering just because of him.

But she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Arber was just, too tempting. He was like a mirage of cool water on a hot day. A false paradise to a thirsty creature.

She turned her attention back to the patron in front of her, apologizing briefly. “I’m sorry about that ma’am, what can I get for you?”

“No need to apologize.” The woman smiled sweetly. “Just some water is alright for me.”

She nodded her head and turned around, filling the glass with water, and set the drink down in front of the patron.

As the music came to an end, Arber glanced up, hoping to catch her in his sight. To his disappointment, all he saw was an empty bar, filled with patrons, but no sight of her. He sighed, wiping his palms on his jeans and adjusting his hat.

“Looking for someone, sheriff?” a voice spoke behind him. It was a voice he could recognize so easily, a voice his heart knew by memory, no matter how it could’ve ended.

“Didn’t expect you to see you on the dance floor, sugar.” He turned around slowly, his strong figure bold and overwhelming.

The memories came rushing back again, his eyes glimmered with the same sparkle from when they first met at a party. That one late summer party in September in someone’s backyard where there was laughter, banter, and lively music buzzing in the air. That one late summer party in September they met each other.

“You don’t seem to expect much, Arber.” She looked at him, gazing at his facial features.

He looked at her confusedly, wondering what her words meant. “What’da’ya mean, sweetheart? Callin’ me stupid?”

“Didn’t mean that.” She placed her hand gently against his chest. “Meant that you don’t notice the little things that add up, the deep details,”

Arber leaned in towards her touch, his attention fully on her.

“Just meant that,” she paused, “you always never asked for anything.” Looking up at him with warmth, she noticed something in him.

And just like that, they were back at the party when they first met. He remembered her eyes that seemed to sparkle under the fairy lights, her soft and sweet smile that made his lips smile in return, and her contagious laughter that made him blush. He remembered how he walked over to her as she was grabbing a drink from the cooler, her lovely sundress amplifying her beauty, and introduced himself to her with a simple handshake.

It was a fuzzy memory, his words blurred in his mind, not knowing what he said or even talked to her about, but he knew for sure that he almost fell for her right there. Almost.

Arber didn’t want to hurt her. He never did. He wanted to treat her right. She was too precious to him. Although they had never met before this, he knew about her from mutual friends. He heard stories that sounded like fairy tales about her, how she always carried a gentle smile, a kind heart and soul, and warmth wherever she went. He didn’t believe it at first, assuming that his friends just really liked her. But then he understood.

“I never asked for anything because I wanted to treat you right,” he spoke softly, his hand gently cupping her face. “I never wanted to have it end up like this.”

She leaned into his hand, savoring the warmth of it, memories drifting back to her. She missed him and she knew it damn well. She missed how he held her on the stormy, restless nights, how he laughed at her jokes, how he cared for her tenderly when she was sick that one week. “It’s okay, Arber.” She whispered.

“It really isn’t though, I hurt you and it’s so painfully obvious,” he sighed, his voice cracking.

The bar was now emptied out, chairs up on the tables, silence ringing in the air, and the majority of the lights turned off. It was just the both of them there, close to one another, just like that one September evening.

“Listen to me.”

He looked at her, taking off his cowboy hat and holding it to his side.

“It wasn’t your fault, we both got busy and changed a lot. Life happens.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Silence stood between them again, and yet they still stood close to each other, afraid that if they let go, they would be apart forever.

“How about I take you somewhere tomorrow?” he asked. “Somewhere that I could treat you right and we can catch up with your favorite meal?”

“Oh, so you already know me, Arber,” she laughed as they both walked out of the bar, the cool breeze rushing past them.

“Just wanna know you a bit more. And proper this time.” He smiled. She was going to see that smile more often.

#hockey #nhl #nhl hockey #nhl writing #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey imagine #arber xhekaj #arber xhekaj fic #arber xhekaj x reader #arber xhekaj angst #montreal canadiens #arber xhekaj imagine

91 notes · View notes

bp-zb1fics · 1 year ago

Note

hello !! i just binge watched the bridgerton and i was wondering if you could write something with lee jeonghyeon ! like the reader (it would be a girl but you can change it as nonbinary if you prefer) is secretly dating jeonghyeon, they have a dance/bal and someone is flirting with the reader, you can add whatever you want for the following part like smut or fluff or wtv haha !! btw could the reader be really kind and a bit blunt

Fill your heart with me

pairing: leejeong x fem reader ft. twin brother ricky

genre: regency/bridgerton era au, fluff, suggestive themes

tw/tags: regency etiquette, gossiping aunties, ricky is lowkey unbothered i guess, except when you call his full christian name, gyuvin is a gorgeous mess as usual, dancing, unwanted attention from some unnamed man, leejeong ex machina, banter, many "improper" kisses, leejeong simp lives on

wc: 1825

summary: your favoured suitor and soon-to-be fiance comes to the ball unexpectedly.

a/n ty anon for this! this is really so late but I really do love this req and i wanted to do it justice so I hope you enjoy~ also! there's a lot of like etiquette at play so this is the source i based it off if anyone's interested! also also xiǎo mèi means little sister (reader is the younger twin lol)

check my pinned for more fics!

“Miss Shen is indeed one of the jewels of the season”

“Certainly, she is of fair face and has many virtues.”

“I’ve been told that she is quite skilled in the art of languages, she plays the pianoforte quite well and her deportment is incomparable.”

“And the Shen family is quite wealthy, any gentleman would consider himself lucky to have her as his bride.”

You pointedly ignore the aunties whispering among themselves as you make your way across the floor. Your mother has taken ill this evening, leaving your brother to escort you around. It wasn’t too bad. If an overeager suitor was not to your liking, all Ricky had to do was stand tall and look down his nose at them. Unfortunately, that also went for the suitors that weren’t too bad as well.

“I didn’t like him, Xiǎo Mèi” He says to you as you both watch the poor man make his way back into the crowd, proverbial tail between his legs.

“Richard,” You hiss, drawing yourself to your full height which doesn’t really do anything since your brother is disgustingly vertically gifted. “You need to stop calling me that.”

“I’ll stop calling you that when you stop calling me Richard.”

“It’s what’s proper.”

“And I care because?”

“Ugh, you are infuriating.”

“And you have feathers in your hair.”

If you weren’t wearing one of your best gowns, low cut, splendidly embroidered white satin, trimmed with hideously expensive silver thread, you would have lunged at him already. Instead you settle for squeezing the arm you’re holding a little too hard, glad that your gloves would conceal how your knuckles strain. To your chagrin, you get nothing more than a slight wince.

Fortunately, someone else decides to barrel into him and if your brother was any less steady, he would have been knocked clean off his feet. Meanwhile, you’re fighting the urge to laugh hysterically. Kim Gyuvin may have half the ladies in the room falling over themselves for him but he possessed the grace of a newborn foal and the personality of a rambunctious puppy.

“Ricky-ah!” He greets your brother effusively before turning to you and playfully dipping his head into a pseudo-bow. “Miss Shen.”

“Mr. Kim.” You reply with your own little curtsey.

There’s nothing more enjoyable than the look on your brother’s face right now. All the eligible ladies on your side of the room are giggling and whispering among themselves, definitely charmed by two of the season’s most eligible bachelors. You would be too, except one of them’s your brother and the other one is just as good as that in everything but name. None of them know about the time Kim Gyuvin threw a fit after your brother called his beloved lapdog something he probably shouldn’t have. You do. It sort of ruined any semblance of his image for you.

“As much as I know your brother makes delightful company,” Gyuvin begins.

You stifle a giggle beneath your gloved hand. If the whole of polite society wasn’t watching, Ricky would’ve definitely punched him by now. You resist the urge to make an unladylike snort as Gyuvin extends his unnervingly large hand towards you.

“May I have this dance, Miss Shen?”

“You may.”

You let Gyuvin lead you across the floor. For all of his awkward deportment, you know he has proven time and time again that he is an excellent dancer.

“Is there any lucky gentleman that you have your eye on tonight, Miss Shen?” He asks as you make smooth circles around the room.

“Not particularly, Mr. Kim.” You spin once, the light fabric of your skirt almost floating. “And you? Is there any lucky lady that has caught your attention?”

If Gyuvin had not been a childhood playmate and old friend, then perhaps you would not be so improper. But alas, you’ve known each other from the moment you could toddle. He graces you with a secretive smile.

“Perhaps, we shall see.”

The dance comes to an end a moment later and you give each other a courtesy bow. Gyuvin means to escort you back to your brother but some nosey mother pulls him away, likely to try and introduce her daughter to him. Thus, you are left alone, searching for your brother’s blond head. Unfortunately for you, it seems that your lonesome state has caught the attention of some gentlemen on the hunt.

“Miss Shen, what a pleasure.” A particularly bold one comes up to you. You greet him in kind, although you are well aware that his eyes have fixated themselves on your chest, ogling the low cut of your dress. Still, you must make conversation although you curse the rules of propriety in your head.

“My mother has taken ill this evening unfortunately.” You say trying your best to angle yourself away from his uncomfortable stare and excuse yourself. “So it is my brother who is escorting me this evening. I need to get back to him actually.”

“Oh well he seems to have stepped out, might I keep you company in his stead?”

You’re about to outrightly tell him to leave you be when a familiar voice speaks up first.

“My apologies but I will be accompanying Miss Shen in the meantime.”

Both you and the man turn. You can’t help the smile that blooms on your face when you see your soon-to-be betrothed.

“Mr. Lee, I didn’t know you were joining us tonight.”

“I’m glad that Miss Shen is delighted to see me.” You move forward and take the arm he offers as he turns to the other man who has quite a sour look on his face. “Excuse me, good sir.”

Both of you watch as he leaves with a huff. The ladies and their mamas whisper but you pay them no mind. Soon they would all know anyway.

Lee Jeonghyeon has been courting you since the season started. He was 2 years your senior, good friends with Ricky and from a family that your parents approved of. Everything had been very private up until now as both your families finally began to talk about a public engagement and an even more public wedding. It was to be expected with both of you coming from aristocracy.

“May you do me a favour of having your next dance, Miss Shen?” He asks you as the quartet hints at the beginning of a waltz.

“You always have my favour, Mr. Lee.”

You’re already facing him, one of his large hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you towards him, perhaps a bit closer than the dance called for but with enough space between you to keep it appropriate for the many discerning eyes on you. His other hand holds yours, almost hiding it completely in his grasp. And he looks nowhere but at your face and you would almost feel shy as if his eyes hadn’t traced over your features so many times before. Still, you can’t help but blush at how brazen he is in such a public space.

“In the upcoming events this season,” he murmurs quietly, almost intimate in such a crowded room. “I hope that you could give me the privilege of having your first dance.”

He can have all of them, you would have told him plainly but you need not scandalise the ladies even more. So instead, you say.

“Then that privilege is yours.” The way he looks at you definitely holds almost too much passion for others to look upon.

Later, when you’ve found your brother and Gyuvin again, sharing a drink by the refreshments table, he asks another favour that makes you go completely and unattractively red.

“I heard that the garden is lovely at night, would Miss Shen like to accompany me for a walk outside?”

It’s a bold request. And you’re glad he spoke quietly enough that only your brother and Gyuvin are within earshot. Nevermind that the latter very nearly chokes on his drink. It’s surprising that he’s this shocked considering both of them had the misfortune of walking in on you in the back parlour doing things that were at the height of impropriety (you were just kissing…rather passionately).

Still, you’re suddenly glad your mother is not here but perhaps that is exactly the reason why Jeonghyeon asked. Ricky exchanges glances with you before he speaks.

“If my sister desires it.”

You weigh out the consequences before producing a beatific smile.

“It’s a little stuffy in here, perhaps some air would do us all some good.”

So as the crowd falls into another dance, you slip out, your brother and Gyuvin trailing behind you as a semblance of a chaperone. The garden is indeed beautiful at night. Even better, the foliage is grown enough for both of you to slip behind it, creating a little corner of your own. Meanwhile, your supposed chaperones linger a respectable distance, conversing quietly and letting you have your privacy. Finally, Jeonghyeon’s hands slide to your waist, holding you as closer than earlier. You allow yourself a little impropriety, pouting at him, just a bit.

“You should have informed that you would be attending, Mr. Lee.”

“If it pleases my Lady, I shall give her prior notice on the next occasion.”

Boldly, you stand on your toes and give him the lightest peck, your lips barely brushing his. This time, he flushes, ducking his head like a bashful schoolboy.

“It would please me very much.” You beam up at him. He leans down and catches you in a longer kiss, leaving you breathless as you shove at him gently. “We shouldn’t be so hasty here with so many around.”

“Very well,” he says, looking at you so intimately as if you were the only star in the vast dark sky. “Grant me one last favour this evening then, Miss Shen.”

“And what is it that you desire, Mr. Lee?” His face is still so close to yours that you feel faint.

“My name,” he whispers. “If you could call me by my name this evening, just once, I would be most happy.”

You can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat. It feels almost illicit to utter something that you’ve only ever addressed him in writing, have murmured in the most quiet of moments. Here, in the garden, where your willingly oblivious chaperones chat among themselves, with the crowd but a doorway apart, with the stars hanging above you to witness. Still you grant him his favour.

“Jeonghyeon.”

It is but an almost silent breath. Yet the way his eyes slowly shut, as if relishing in the moment, makes it feel like so much more. And oh, your heart flutters as he looks at you again, breathes your name into the air between you because it is for you and you alone.

His hands grasp yours gently and everything fades into the background. It’s only him.

“My darling.”

And you let him kiss you again.

111 notes · View notes

thelastbarricade · 4 months ago

Text

Bloodhound Part 2:

Vacant

pt. 2 of ?

[ read on ao3 ]

summary:

"You think that if you burn down you'll be fine

and I'll forget all the times you lied." - 'VACANT' by Echoes

Your words echo in Cooper Howard’s thoughts.

‘Shoulda’ killed me when I was under, Coop’.’

Doesn’t he know it.

word count : 3.3k

tags: the ghoul x you, the ghoul x oc

warnings: violence, swearing, drug usage, emotional abuse, mutual pining, character study, multiple pov's (will add more as the story progresses)

notes:

Cooper's POV, more or less!

Say hello to my first fic attempt in...two years? Oh boy. All comments and feedback very much appreciated and feel free to hit me up in my messages and start a convo!

Narration and form may not be entirely polished so please pardon my dust.

xx korine <3

The stint he’s fashioned against his leg is a temporary fix at best. The tattered garb shoved deep into the gash is already swollen with fluids. If he keeps it in any longer it’ll just impart the healing further. Cooper relents.

Mirages danced across the dimming light above the sprawling sands just beyond Cooper Howard’s reach.

Fuck.

Daylight’s been on his side since you’d gone down sometime before dawn.

He couldn’t blame you. You didn’t know what whiskey, hell—a proper drink—was. Hadn’t the luxury of it in your short little life. When he’d come across a sealed shelf label bottle somewhere in the wastes trades, he’d jumped on it. Didn’t matter what it’d most likely (definitely) been cut with. The fire and flame coating his throat comforted all the same.

A perfect opportunity. For him or you, Cooper just couldn’t be sure anymore.

You’d enjoyed what taste you’d had. He was sure of it. The carefree curve your lips had softened into as your body began to give in to the pleasures of your drinks domestic pleasures. Pleasures a man like him was not near deserving enough of to bear witness to. But you’d been dropped into his lap like some twisted form of comfort and consequence.

A better man might not have obliged.

Cooper grinds out his complaints in hushed curses and heavy breaths as he climbs. The withering metal structures surrounding the perimeter of the building moan and groan, steps preceded by the low hum of the growing winds at his back. He shimmies his way across a deteriorating overhang leading into the next factory’s building over. The dunes covered his ascent and the mangled scraps of gutted warehouse roofing created a constant cover.

Cooper had only cleared a couple of hundred feet between the both of you.

Was he a fool to stay in such close proximity?

Of course.

Did he have another option?

The once-man-turned-ghoul eyed the wavering silhouettes of the wilds in the distance. If he was still in this wounded of a state when darkness fell—

He’d be a fuckin’ sittin’ duck.

Cooper sneers.

Nope, not an option. Didn’t matter how many bullets he’d have or how many he’d be able to take then. He knew when to make a move and when to wait out the storm. Literally. And mother Mary and all hells that hailed in-between—there would be a fuckin’ storm to be had.

—

The fiends you’d both encountered two nights ago had damn near carved his entire thigh down to bone with how deep their blade had dug. He’s lucky his flesh was kind enough to cling to him then. Not that he’d managed it alone. Of course you’d been there; calling him ‘grandpa’ and cursing reflexes of his you were convinced were slowing.

‘What would you’ve done without me?’ That sly fuckin’ smirk of yours was always tugging at your lips when you knew you’d had one over on him. It happened more than Cooper was willing to admit, and he’d only be willing to admit it when he was stone cold, turned over in his grave for the final time. At one point he had even toyed with the idea of you being the one to put him there.

But that was nothing more than a farce. A fairytale. Something to keep the loneliness lingering in the hearts of all who inhabited the surface, like Cooper, at bay.

A tale meant for ignorant children and self-righteous Vault dwellers.

Bitter to the bone and stubborn as a mule he was. He knew it, didn’t even try to deny it.

You’d put up with it for this long, hadn’t you?

It was then that he pictured you bound and writhing. Wounded temple still weeping because thick as you were, you’d gone and taken the brunt of a hit or two for him.

He told you to never stick your neck out for him—for anyone—ever.

Ever.

The look of betrayal in your eyes shouldn’t have even been a cause for pause, but he had. He’d fucking hesitated.

Canon fodder, Cooper’d said. As if words of that caliber were ever so simple. Easy.

It was like putting down a sick dog, in a way. At least that’s how he’d convinced himself of it—a mercy.

He hadn’t the heart to put the bullet in your head then, though. Not from the moment he’d laid eyes on you. Sickly little thing that you were. Starved and beaten, barely fit for exchange. Wrong end of a shit bargain he’d reckon. Not a surprise. He’d seen it before. You either found yourself strength in numbers in the Waste of became strong enough to cull the lot and likes around you.

Cooper had become the latter. Never was much of a team player, that one.

You on the other hand…

A knot twisted in his stomach.

Cooper would be lying to himself if he hadn’t asked himself and the higher powers above for that insight once or twice. Insight into how a sweet little thing, equally full of bark and bite, had landed yourself in Sorrel Bookers’ keeping.

Booker kept in line a gang of incompetents with little more prestige and skill than your average raider. The “Govermint” had considered you one of their assets at one point. Even his former associate Booker couldn’t be bid high enough on to elaborate. Cooper hadn’t pried into what had caused the tables to turn with you at the shit end of that stick. Not that you would have given him a real answer. He’d never been the type of man to give you one either.

All he knew was he had gotten his 200 caps worth. A small price to pay in the way of a break when it came to one of his bounties. You were sold to him like a dog—starting bid barely worth the sorry excuse for clothes on your back.

“This one’s worth more than fifty of her size and build. Only thing is she’s got a fuckin mouth on her. I’ll leave any ‘bodily modifications’ up to you though, Coop. Be warned, she bites.”

Booker had you bound and gagged in some shoddy storage room in one of his Govermint outfit stations. Your skin watercolored in bruises and superficial cuts in several stages of healing. Your eyebrow had been split sometime in the past day, knuckles bloodied and raw—no doubt a matching set to wounds some of Sorrels men now carried. Men Cooper had noticed lapping at their wounds and steeling away prides with swigs hooch on the way in.

Christ Almighty.

Cooper had remembered how precariously you’d eyed him as he’d stepped into view through the splintering door frame. He leaned in, unimpressed leer on his lips like always. You’d barely blinked as your gaze steadied on his. He thinks he remembers your eyes above all else from that day. Wide and dark, analyzing every movement of his. At one point it’d felt like a damned staring contest. Left the Ghoul feeling like he was the one being sized up and on trial. Not the other way around. You didn’t look afraid…didn’t show the faintest concept of repulsion towards him. You were fucking curious. Naive. A lost cause fallen into the very hands that would find themselves around your throat.

He should have put you out of your misery right then and there.

“I ain’t lookin’ for no pack mule, Booker.” Cooper had heard many a bargain in the way of women. Sorry souls caught up in even sorrier Wasteland body and labor exchange. He steered clear from these outfits for a reason. He wasn’t a good man by any means, but he also wasn’t without his own code of conduct.

“I’m in the business of one thing and so happens I’m in the middle of a job already.”

Cooper should have known he was signing onto some bad shit from the grimy grin Sorrel had given him then. He should have kept walking.

Sorrel Booker shoved you to your feet without a second though and puffed his chest out, hot-dogging you around like a god damn show pony.

“This one’s about to make yours a hell of a lot easier.”

Booker had even thrown in a free muzzle, for your troubles.

You had been a grim reminder for him of how dog-eat-dog worked in the Wasteland. Ghouls weren’t excluded from the order, either. Even a ghoul the likes of Cooper. Two centuries had come and gone with him and still he stood. Top of the food chain came with a price. You didn’t pay that price by makin’ friends. And you? Well, you’d been in debt it seemed; layin’ down with the dogs and here Cooper was washing you of your fleas.

That was four months ago now, give or take. You’d far repaid your caps in chems and vices alike in the first few weeks and here he’d left you alone: on an infested warehouse floor with fiends on both your heels.

Four months.

A fuckin’ eternity and a half for the smooth skins who survived it.

Cooper would know, but somehow it hadn’t been long enough for him to escape…this. These emotions.

You weren’t long for this world, darlin’, but Cooper Howard was. That’s just how it had to be. How it’d always been. Would be. Cooper Howard could be a sorry excuse for a man. It’s no wonder why the fates had designed it so that he no longer was one.

—

After circling the compound for what felt like decades the Ghoul settled own. Deciding to rest backed against a small alcove, right above a stoop of roof tiles obscured by fallen metal sheaths. A seasons worth of solidified sand stood to insulate either side of him from view.

It would have to do.

The suffocating humidity of falling rad-rain on the heated horizon began to kick up sheets of steam in the distance. Cooper lifted his gaze to view the turmoil brewing in the sky above. Dark matter overflowing with hues of vile greens and putrid yellows lurk uncomfortably close.

A tightness curled in his chest and clawed deep in his wretched depths. The Ghoul rummaged about his pack, makeshift atomizer gracing his fingertips. The little bubbled vial that sat atop was dangerously low on its contents. Empty vials clattered like wind chimes against his hip as he shoved them aside. The tepid yellow liquid sloshed and sputtered as Cooper drew in one deep breath.

It would have to do.

It would never be enough.

His lungs filled, expanded. Mind began to blur with days’ highs and lows…numbing them all. If just for a moment.

A moment.

Visions of soft doe-brown eyes and even softer curls crossed his vision.

‘Daddy, give the thumbs up, please! Just one more time.’ Janey’s toothy grin was faded in his memory, no longer near as sharp as the knife the thought alone wielded was.

Just one more time…

Cooper replayed the ghostly nudge of Roosevelt’s nose against his knee over coffee and a crisp morning paper.

The smell of Barb’s gardenia perfume wafting over a fresh cut cigar. Sunlight warms his skin through an open window. His wife’s freshly manicured nails tenderly teasing at his forearm. Lipstick staining his collar as she drew him nearer, arms wrapped around his waist to pull him closer—deeper.

The Ghoul tried his damnedest to remember the sound of their voices.

He bargains with what god cares to hear him.

Just a moment, please, one moment more.

Another voice barrels through the fog of his thoughts. The sands shift in the dunes overhead, metal creaking under a sudden shift in weight above.

“Times up, Coop.”

The heel of your boot slams against his temple, full weight knocking Cooper entirely sideway into the hardened walls of sand. He watches you shrug off your pack before he’s even able to draw on you. Quick little thing that you were.

A knee drives itself into his dominant shoulder, knocking his gun off trajectory and sending a stray bullet into the ground. Radroaches chitter and shriek somewhere in the dark abandon beneath you.

Your wild eyes meet his.

Gods of course you’d make it a fuckin’ ordeal.

You could never just go quietly, could you?

“You son of a—” He watches you lick your lips from above him. It’s picturesque.

Your bare knuckles connect against the sharp curves of his face: bone to flesh and back again. He feels the warmth seeping from your splitting skin and its apparent you’re not in the right mind too stop. Not that he wants you to.

Chems could only numb so much, and a kiss with a fist was better than none.

Cooper hisses when your knee finds itself bearing down on his injured thigh, other knee strewn diagonal to weigh down his shooting arm. You push away his weapon with little effort, hooking it on one of your belt loops as you straddle him roughly. Fingers find their way to his jaw as you observe him in slow like he had you. You slap at the Ghoul’s sunken cheeks, attempting to wake him from whatever daze had given you the element of surprise.

Cooper laughs and rolls his neck to ease the ache in his skull where you’d bludgeoned him.

“Little mutt,” He spits, smile betraying his venom. “They warned me you’d have some bite left in ya’.”

Your eyes dagger at his insult and Cooper notices the smirk about your lips evaporate. Cooper expects you to strike him. In all his months of knowing your true name he still reverted back to pet ones. Insults of ownership.

Instead he’s met with eyes that search his far longer and far deeper than he’d ever be fuckin’ comfortable with. He’s almost sure you catch his facade falter because you cock your head in thought just like he did when he noted something, and well—Cooper’s had just about enough of that.

He meets your weight with the tank that is his own. It was almost an insulting ease. Cooper towered over you in the sum of inches and pounds; muscles that had solidified over the course of two centuries. Nothing about him was soft any longer. Hadn’t been in a very long time. You knew this.

Your supple skin is heaven and hell beneath his hardened grasp. He flips your straddle with ease, shoving your legs between his, even in a wounded state. A gasp escapes your lungs as you orient yourself. He doesn’t even try to block your wrist when you snake it between the both of you; pitiful little pairing blade at his jugular like it’d do a damn thing.

One hand rests against the exposed length of your throat. His elbow buried deep in the soft connective tissue connecting your shoulder and upper arm as he pins it down. That ushers a whine from your lips.

Oh, What a burden it must be made of delicate living flesh, he muses to himself.

To feel like the consequences of your actions with every fiber of your being.

“Gonna’ come make good on yer’ threat there, darlin’?” He trails his free hand down the flare of your ribs, ghosting over your hip like a starved lover and then it settles: just over the barrel of his weapon you’d so kindly pocketed.

The flicker of a shadow dances in his peripheral, just behind the cover of a mound of sand.

Just a little closer.

Cooper scoffs as his gaze flickers down to yours.

“Or,” He cocks the gun against the warm sand. “you gonna’ make go through with mine?”

Cooper leans into the blade at his throat, drawing your chests closer together as he closes the distance between your beating hearts. He knows he’s won when your eyes linger on his lips for even a fraction of a second. The Ghoul smiles in his triumph, steadying the grip on his gun as the shadow teasing his vision shifts.

You tense.

He draws.

He feels you scream beneath him and it is of the things that shatter dreams.

If I’d been a better man…

The blade at his throat sinks in instinctively and the Ghoul couldn’t have blamed you even if he wanted to.

I’d be afraid of me too.

He grits his teeth and his free hand releases your throat.

Your breath heaves beneath him and you scramble out from under his weight when you realize the bullet not been meant for you.

The body of the fiend not more than five feet from the both of you slumps to the ground into a pile of its own brain matter.

You’re shaking. He sees it. Adrenaline pumping and confusion beginning to settle in—

What Cooper was not expecting, however, was the elbow that connected with his jaw just then.

Your elbow.

He lets out the smallest of surprised scoffs and licks at his lips.

Yeah, he’d deserved that too.

He’s almost proud of you.

“COOPER?!?!” The Ghoul watches as you scream your demand of him. Bewildered and shaken you stand. Doubled over—weighing your hands on your thighs to keep upright as the fight or flight leaves your body through bleary eyes.

Cooper takes its all.

Your hesitance, your rage—your indignance and your pain.

Turns and faces you like its nothing to him at all.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?”

There’s a hint of desperation on your tongue.

‘Just tell me, please.’ Cooper can almost hear you begging, but you won’t. Not here. Not like this.

He pulls the small blade from his throat, wincing with a flick of his chin as he throws it to the sands before you both. You pause and Cooper grimaces. He motions to the blade, signaling he wants you to pick it up. To Cooper’s surprise and utter fucking dismay, you do. Almost without a second thought.

He watches you tuck it into your pants pocket, diverting those ever watching eyes back to him. Like you saw something he couldn’t.

Why?

Why are you like this?

“Grab your shit.” He growls out. “We’re moving.”

You don’t move, though. You just stare. Doe-eyed like the fraudulent fawn you were.

“Git’!” He clicks his tongue in annoyance. Not at you, not entirely.

That lone fiend Cooper had shot down had been a scout and it was clear to him now that the others wouldn’t be far behind. Fiends usually never tracked their prey through the dunes for half near this long. Just both of your’s fuckin’ luck.

But you wouldn’t know that would you? How could you? Cooper protected you from far too much. Even things that would kill you.

Cooper could smell trouble brewing on the horizon closer than he’d been prepared for. Something wasn’t right and it was his job to figure out what. Even if it meant you resenting him for the time being. He’d been more comfortable with contempt anyway. It fit him like an old glove and embraced him like a familiar lover, no strings attached.

“I hate you.” There’s a resound defeat in your voice.

Cooper nods in slow, jaw clenched. He knows your tired. Sees it in your face and hears it in your voice. He’d spent all these months dragging you through the dessert with promises that never came and made you compromise on every value you held dear that he could. With no end in sight.

He’d just been selfish to let you go.

And you? You’d been too scared to leave.

Scared of what?, he constantly wondered.

What lay out there between the dunes and ruin that could possibly chase you back into the likes of the man like him…time and time again?

Your words echo in Cooper Howard’s thoughts.

‘Shoulda’ killed me when I was under, Coop’.’

Doesn’t he know it.

#fallout tv #fallout fic #cooper howard #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x ofc #cooper howard x oc #the ghoul fic #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x ofc #the ghoul x oc

14 notes · View notes