#i just want my stomach to cooperate in the mornings

[silvercaptain24]

.

[marsmaximoff]

💔; crimson pain -a different kind of blood

content warning: gn!reader who plays as number 028. (dating) angst. mentions of death, financial struggles, vomit, blood and fainting.

word count: 1935. i got a bit too carried away 😬

author’s note: finally, here it is. i’ve had this idea for so long but the universe wasn’t on my side, it seems. i really wanted to post it sooner 🥲. as always, constructive criticism is welcomed, and i apologize for the mistakes (english is my third language). oh, and tysm for the support on the jun-ho headcanons post! what do you mean over 1000 likes? that is insane 🤧🤧. i hope you’ll enjoy this one too. 🩷🩷🩷🩷

the sugary umbrella lays on your shaky hand, under the excruciating yet unmasked gaze of the soldier. once the ‘pass’ is given, you stand up ready to get out of there. “you made it!” the voice of the one that has become the closest thing to a friend you could have in here relaxes you ever so slightly. “i almost didn’t. can’t believe i’m adding umbrellas to my traumas list.” having chosen the hardest doesn't surprise you much, not with unluckiness being a part of your life since you can remember. “well, im just happy you did. i thought the square was simple, but now i feel like we should have just chosen the triangle instead, you know? take a look at the survivors; most of them chose it and….” his words fade as an eerie feeling takes over your body, like something’s wrong. turning around, you’re met with one of them, staring right at you completely stiff, not even holding the weapon, merely some feet away.

“is he looking at us?” he can sense the uneasiness too, it seems. “let’s just go.” you can still feel his unfamiliar gaze on your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

the doors opening break the silence and the rare calmness of the room. “player 028?” your body freezes completely. a stomach drop follows, and your heart rate skyrockets. no. nonono. you’ve done nothing wrong. is it the dalgona? the figure was perfectly carved out; you made sure of it. are they gonna kill you? two soldiers stand by the entrance, waiting. with a final glance at your friend, who is most definitely thinking the same, you reach the pink guards. you don’t even know what to say, should you beg for mercy? try to stay as cooperative as possible? “be quick.” what? the other one grabs your arm and begins to lead you somewhere. “i-i don’t-” your hands are shaking. “please, i didn’t do anything wrong...” begging it is. “keep. walking.” the words are almost a whisper, tho demanding. a hint of desperation can be heard as well. “okay, okay, ok-” wait. why did those words- no. you’re going crazy. it’s just the anxiety, the fear. 

the stranger takes you to the bathrooms and quickly closes the door. you step back. again. and once more. what now? he wouldn’t shoot you here, right? and why the hell does he look so tense? his hands move to his mask and make it disappear, and with it, the remaining bit of sanity you had.

the nausea from a few seconds ago comes back stronger, maybe you will die today. “jun-ho…” your voice is almost unrecognizable, tho a miracle, given the struggle breathing has become. “what are you doing here?” “i could ask you the same thing.” he’s angry, of course he is, but the hurt in his eyes pains you the most. “no….you need to get out of here.” god. you can feel yourself spiraling. nothing makes sense. “i will. and im taking you with me.” “h-how- when did- i-“ cold sweat has completely taken over your palms. “wait….wait. was it you?…. this morning?” he nods. “i found the damn card they gave you at yours and my brother’s house” what? “in-ho…?” why does everything keep getting worse? “have you seen him?” surely you would remember something like that, “n-no. maybe before the first game…..” you heed your legs’ warning to give up and sit down. “why are you doing this? i dont understand.” it’s not like he could. “they let you out. and you didn’t seek me. you hid yourself. again. i had to learn what was going on from a random man at the station. not you!!” silence between you had never felt this suffocating before, nor the atmosphere so uncanny. “don’t you realize how dangerous this is? they are killing innocent people! haven’t you realized?! 79 have died today. just because of a stupid cookie? what do you think you are doing?! you could have gotten yourself killed! you have no idea how worried i’ve been.” you don’t look at him. this shouldn’t be happening, he wasn’t supposed to find out.

“please, honey. this is insane and you know it. let’s get out of this madness.” the change in his tone of voice is evident, bordering the plea. it’s obvious he’s making an effort to remain calm, to use less confrontational comments. “i can’t.” “yes, you can. we’ll leave the same way i got here, don’t worry. no one will see us.” but you really can’t. you know that well. he sighs, “why didnt you tell me? how could you hide something like this from me? i thought we trusted each other.” 

distress seems to have replaced the blood running through your veins. “i would have helped you, always. i can still do it. if you need money, i’ll give it to you, it’s not a problem.” he keeps going after your negative. “i will. we can find another way-” “there isn't.” “of course there is. i have my savings, we’ll use them. i can ask for a raise. mr kim owes me after all this time. and i could do more hours-”

“its not FUCKING ENOUGH!” the sharpness of your words cuts all over his face. pain flows out, dripping a bloody red. more silence. you could drown in it. well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“my parents’ house is gonna get seized.” a burning throat accompanies the confession. “i messed up like crazy.” the expected embarrassment doesn’t show up, instead, regret does. “it’s not your fault.” how can he say that? “it is. i got them into this, I'll get them out.” “and you think risking your life here is the only way to do it? thats not true. god, why didn’t you tell me?” you rub your temple. “that doesn’t matter now. you-you need to get out, all this is suspicious.” you are not only trying to avoid the question, the guards could notice at any moment. “i told them you were gonna throw up.” “vomit or not you’re still in the bathroom with a player.” for some seconds, the only noise that can be heard is the shatter of your heart. “honey, listen to me. your parents wouldn’t want this. they don’t even blame you, im sure. how could they ever wish for something at the expense of their daughter’s life?” but the guilt is too heavy, too imprinted on your mind. “it’s not about me. if it were my house, i wouldn’t care, but it’s theirs. i would never forgive myself for not doing anything.” “and there are so many things you could do that don’t need you participating in some psychopaths’ games! do you really not see how dangerous and demented this is? please leave with me.” “jun-ho. think about it. if i ended up here, even after they gave us a second chance, it’s because i want to. no one forced me, and i’m old enough to know what i’m doing.” your replies are getting colder, which you hate. but it’s the only way to make him understand. “besides, they’re all kids' games. they’re easy.” you can only hope he won’t sense your attempt at self-persuasion. “they are shooting people. you could be dead. and i would have never seen you again, or known what had happened.” the urge to cry gets stronger with every word, to dive into his arms and finally feel some sort of calmness, warmth, love.

“i’m sorry that i hurt you, that i made you worry and feel like i couldn’t trust you. but i won’t apologize for being here.” “i don’t want you to apologize. i only want you to get out of here and not die.” his desperation has increased so much it’s swallowed your own distress. “i’ve already won two, i can make it to the end.” you refute. but you read him easily, he is planning to get you out without your agreement, somehow.

“please.” now it’s you that pleads. “if you love me, let me stay.”

his eyes widen, you see them watering. his heartbreak drowns out yours. you are aware you’ve never said anything as painful before. it hurts. more than anything they could do to you here. perhaps you are already dead. “how can you ask me something like this?” maybe you’re desperate, or too blinded by the blame that’s rotting on your insides. or perhaps it’s love. “get out of here. stay safe. and don’t tell the police, jun-ho. don’t even think about stopping the games. i need this, don’t ruin it.” god you don’t recognize yourself anymore. how nice it would be to go back when things were easy. when remorse didn’t control yourself, and you were happy with him. “what do you expect me to do if you die?” “i won’t” “you can’t know that! how can i let the love of my life risk it all when i know i could do something?” understanding such perspective is effortless. if it were the other way around, you too would act like he is.

you approach him for the first time, god how you craved it. your hands cup his pained yet beautiful face and a tear drops. “i missed you.” he says quietly, unable to stay angry at you for long. “i missed you too.” you answer back, wiping the tear. “i missed your face, your voice, your touch. i miss your kisses.” things already ache enough like this, so you give in. the kiss is soft, so fragile, like a bit more intensity would make it disappear. “i love you.” he whispers resting his forehead on yours. “i love you too.”

a knock on the door destroys the illusion. shit. “lay on the floor.” “what?” “lay on the floor”, he repeats, walking towards the door while putting his mask back on, “and play along.” the door opens and the same voice from earlier speaks. “what do you think you’re doing in there?” may that unluckiness give you a rest for some minutes. “she passed out. she was taking too long and not answering back so i entered and found her unconscious.” footsteps grow louder. “player 028…. i don’t remember any health issues on the file… fuck.” you stay as still as possible, it sounds plausible, given the stress. “take care of it, i’ll let the boss know. and don’t take longer.” with that, he exits the room, and you thank his unwillingness to deal with sensitive issues.

sitting back up, jun-ho kneels to your level. “you look good for a faint.” a hint of a smile appears on your face. “are you mad at me?” “i was. mostly worried. i don’t like this at all.” you grab his gloved hands. “i’ll be okay, believe me.” he doesn’t. he can’t. “please, be careful. and think about it. if you change your mind, i’ll be waiting.” you won’t. you wouldn’t let yourself. but you nod. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i hope you’ll carry that with you. i love you so damn much.” his voice breaks, and you tell yourself it’s time to go back, this conversation can only get more and more devastating for you both. you offer the bleeding and broken pieces of your heart. not meaning to cut him this time. and he takes them. how could he not treasure them? you kiss again. it tastes different this time. like farewell. 

and when you get out of the room, you both know that was the last time you’ll see each other. 

[lila-lou]

✨Little Soldier✨

Summary: Ben’s approach to parenting is all grit and discipline, just like the way his own father raised him. But with a little nudge from you, he starts to see that being a good dad is more than just teaching strength—it’s about showing love too.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff, (Ben is mistreating your poor son)

Word Count: 9291

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

It was one of those crisp winter mornings where the air bit at your skin, but the sunlight danced across the snow, making everything shimmer like a dream. The backyard stretched wide, blanketed in white, untouched except for the paths Ben and your son, Logan, had carved into the snow as they trained. Ben stood tall and imposing in the center, the green jacket of his suit open just enough to let the cold sting his chest. He didn’t seem to feel it. Soldier Boy never did.

Logan, just eight years old, was across from him, his small fists raised in a stance that mimicked his father’s. His breath came out in quick, visible bursts, more from effort than the cold. He kept glancing toward his feet, unsure of himself, while Ben paced a tight circle around him.

“Come on, kid”, Ben said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. “You think anyone’s gonna wait for you to figure it out? Eyes up. Watch your opponent. Always”.

You knelt nearby in the snow, your four-year-old daughter, Lila, bundled up in her puffy coat and mittens, happily building the base of a snowman. Her little hands moved clumsily, her giggles breaking the quiet each time the snow didn’t quite cooperate. You helped her pack the snow tighter, gently guiding her hands and brushing her hair away from her flushed cheeks as you did.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Logan glancing over. Logan’s gaze lingered on you and Lila for just a heartbeat longer than it should have, his eyes filled with something unspoken. He wanted that—building a snowman, laughing, playing without a care in the world. He wanted to feel the warmth of your praise, the way you smiled at Lila when she held up a misshapen clump of snow as if it were a masterpiece. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not when his dad was watching.

He straightened his stance, forcing the longing down into the pit of his stomach. He was a man, or at least, he was supposed to be. That’s what Dad always said. “You’re not a little kid anymore, Logan. You’ve got to be strong, got to take care of the people you love”. So even though his arms ached and the cold bit at his cheeks, Logan clenched his fists and focused on his father.

Ben noticed the hesitation, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What’s with the looking around, huh? You think your enemies are gonna stop because you’re distracted?”. He stepped forward and lightly tapped Logan on the forehead with two fingers. “This? This is your weapon. If you don’t keep it sharp, you’re dead, kid. Now, eyes on me”.

“Yes, sir”, Logan muttered, his small voice barely audible. He squared his shoulders, his knuckles raw from the cold.

Ben circled him again, his boots crunching against the snow. “Better. Now, hit me like you mean it. Don’t pull your punches just because I’m your old man”.

Logan hesitated for a split second, stealing one more glance at you and Lila. Lila was giggling again, her tiny voice ringing out like a bell as she held up two sticks she’d found for the snowman’s arms. You caught Logan’s glance once more, and your heart clenched. He looked so torn, so much older than his eight years in that moment.

But Logan turned back to his dad, his small frame trembling as he stepped forward and threw another punch. It landed on Ben’s open palm with a dull thud. Ben caught his wrist, holding him in place.

“That all you got?”, Ben asked, his voice calm but challenging.

Logan sighed quietly, his breath visible in the cold air. He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the snow before muttering, “I’ve got my laser eyes, Dad… do I really need to learn how to fight? I could just… laser an enemy”.

Ben froze for a moment, his grip still on Logan’s wrist. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t amusement. It was that half-smile he wore when he was about to make a point, the kind that sent a chill down your spine as much as the cold air did.

“Your laser eyes?”, Ben repeated, letting go of Logan’s wrist. He straightened to his full height, towering over the boy like a general over a recruit. “That’s what you’re gonna rely on? Some flashy power you barely know how to control?”.

Logan’s shoulders sank slightly under the weight of his father’s words, but Ben wasn’t done.

“Let me tell you something, kid”, Ben continued, stepping closer. “You think some bad guy’s gonna just stand there and let you zap him? Powers don’t mean squat if you don’t know how to fight. If you don’t have the guts to stand your ground when things get real. You run outta juice, you get caught off guard, and guess what? You’re toast”.

Logan flinched, his face turning red, though whether from the cold or his father’s words, it was hard to tell. He looked down at his fists, the little tremor in his hands betraying the frustration he was trying to hide.

“But—”, Logan started, only for Ben to cut him off.

“No buts, Logan”. Ben’s voice softened slightly, though the steel remained. “You’re my son. You fight, and you fight smart. Lasers or not, you’ve got to learn how to handle yourself. You’ve got to be ready for the worst. Because trust me, one day, someone’s gonna come at you, and they’re gonna be faster, smarter, and meaner than you ever thought possible”.

Ben crouched down now, meeting Logan’s eyes. His tone shifted, quieter but no less intense. “And when that day comes, you don’t want to be the kid who only knows how to hide behind a fancy power. You want to be the kid who looks them in the eye and says, ‘Come on, give me your best shot’. You hear me?”.

Logan stared at him, his small frame trembling not just from the cold but from the weight of what his father was saying. After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, sir”, he whispered, his voice steadier this time.

Ben clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, a rare moment of affection. “Good. Now hit me again. Harder this time”.

You watched from where you knelt with Lila, your heart aching for your son. He was trying so hard, carrying a weight far too heavy for someone so young. But there was a flicker of something in his expression now—determination, maybe, or even pride.

Logan set his jaw, stepping forward again. His small fist swung upward, and this time, the impact against Ben’s hand was louder, sharper. Ben grinned, nodding approvingly.

“That’s my boy”, he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere".

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Lila tugging at your sleeve, her little hands holding a snowball. “Mommy, can we throw this at Daddy?”, she asked, her mischievous grin spreading wide across her face.

You watched for a few more minutes, letting Logan and Ben have their moment. Logan’s punches were getting stronger, his stance more confident. Ben’s rare but genuine nods of approval lit up Logan’s face, even as his small fists grew red and raw from the cold. It was a scene that tugged at your heart—intense, yes, but filled with love in its own complicated way.

But enough was enough. Everyone needed a break, even Soldier Boy.

You silently scooped up a handful of snow, packing it tightly in your gloved hands. Lila watched you with wide, sparkling eyes, her grin spreading as she realized what you were about to do. “Shh”, you whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. She mimicked the gesture, though her giggles threatened to give you away.

Ben’s back was turned as he adjusted Logan’s footing, his deep voice still carrying instructions. He had no idea what was coming. You took careful aim, pulled your arm back, and let the snowball fly.

It hit Ben squarely on the back of the head.

For a split second, the world froze. Logan’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting to you in shock. Lila’s laughter erupted, high and bright, as she clapped her mittened hands together. Ben straightened slowly, turning to face you with an expression that was equal parts surprise and challenge. A few snowflakes clung to his hair, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

“Really?”, Ben said, his tone low and dangerous, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. “You think you can take me on, sweetheart?”.

You shrugged innocently, already packing another snowball. “Well, someone had to remind you to have a little fun”.

Ben’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that”.

Before you could react, Ben scooped up a massive handful of snow and hurled it in your direction. You ducked, narrowly avoiding the incoming projectile, and tossed your snowball back, catching him on the shoulder. Logan burst into laughter, his previous tension melting away as he watched the two of you go at it.

“Oh, it’s on now!”, you shouted, grabbing another handful of snow.

“Logan!”, Ben called out, already forming another snowball. “You with me or her?”.

Logan hesitated for half a second before grinning mischievously. “Her!”, he declared, running toward you. Lila squealed with delight, abandoning the snowman to join your side, her tiny hands struggling to form a snowball of her own.

Ben feigned outrage, clutching his chest. “Fucking traitors! All of you!”.

What followed was pure chaos. Snowballs flew in every direction, laughter ringing out across the yard. Ben, true to form, didn’t hold back, though he made sure to go easy on the humans, meaning you. Logan and Lila worked together, pelting him relentlessly, while you managed to land a few well-aimed shots of your own.

By the time the battle ended, all of you were breathless and rosy-cheeked, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. Ben stood in the middle of the yard, dusting snow off his jacket, while Logan and Lila collapsed into the snow, giggling uncontrollably.

You started walking toward Ben, a triumphant smile on your face as you prepared to rub in the fact that you and the kids had clearly won the impromptu snowball fight. But before you could get too close, Ben’s grin shifted into something sly and mischievous—a look you recognized all too well.

“Don’t even think about it”, you warned, holding up your hands.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, with one quick, fluid motion Ben effortlessly pushed you backward into the towering pile of snow that had been stacked from the snow fort construction. You landed with a muffled thud in the cold, soft powder, your breath leaving you in a surprised gasp.

“Ben!”, you yelled, sitting up and brushing snow out of your hair, your cheeks flushing from the chill and the sheer audacity of the man. He stood over you, grinning like a smug teenager, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Never let your guard down. I thought I taught you better than that”, he drawled, shrugging one shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes, a mixture of irritation and amusement bubbling to the surface. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Soldier Boy”.

“Big talk for someone sitting in a snowbank”, he teased, holding out a hand as if to help you up.

For a moment, you considered taking his offer. But then you saw the smirk on his face and knew better. Instead, you grabbed another handful of snow and flung it straight at his chest, catching him off guard. He stumbled back slightly, laughing as he brushed the snow off.

“That’s it”, Ben said, stepping forward with mock menace in his stride. “Now you´re done”.

Ben’s grin turned wicked as he shook the snow from his hair and stepped forward. Before you could even think to scramble away, he reached down, his strong hands gripping your waist with ease. “You started this”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “Now you’ve got to pay for it”.

“Ben, don’t you dare—”, you started, but the rest of your words were lost in a squeal as he hoisted you up and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You pounded lightly on his back, laughter spilling out of you despite yourself.

“Too late for mercy now”, he said, his tone full of mock authority. “This is what happens when you challenge the champ”.

As you protested, he started toward the house, his boots crunching through the snow. Behind you, Logan and Lila dissolved into giggles, rolling in the snow as they started making snow angels, entirely unbothered by the fact that their parents were still in the middle of their antics.

“Ben, you’re getting me soaked!”, you protested, but your words were muffled by your laughter. Snow clung to your coat, melting quickly in the warmth of the house as he carried you through the door and kicked it shut behind him.

“That’s the least of your worries”, he shot back, his voice full of mischief.

He strode into the living room, his boots leaving a trail of melting snow, and without hesitation, he dropped you onto the couch. The plush cushions sank under your weight, and before you could react, he was hovering over you, bracing himself on his hands on either side of your head.

“See?”, he teased, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath despite the cold water dripping from both of you. “You can’t win against me. I’m unstoppable”.

You glared up at him, though the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth betrayed your true feelings. You reached up and grabbed his jacket, tugging him slightly forward. “You’re soaking the couch, genius”, you said, though the laughter in your voice was impossible to hide.

“So are you”, he shot back, leaning closer, droplets of melted snow falling from his collar and onto your skin.

The two of you were practically nose to nose now, water pooling under both of you.

Ben’s smirk softened into something more heated as his fingers toyed with the edge of your jacket. His voice dropped, rough and low, as he muttered, “You know, I fucking hate winter”.

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to catch your breath from laughing. “Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me, the way you were having a field day out there”.

His hands slid to the edges of your jacket, slowly pushing it open as he hovered over you. “Nah”, he said, a big smirk on his face again. “I hate all these damn clothes. Hiding this”. His gaze raked over you as his fingers began to undo the buttons of your shirt, his touch confident and deliberate, yet surprisingly gentle. “Hiding your perfect little tits”.

Your breath caught, your cheeks flushing warmer than they already were from the snow. “Ben”, you started, half in protest, though your voice lacked conviction. His boldness always caught you off guard, even after all this time.

“What?”, he said, mock innocence dripping from his words as his hands worked their way lower. His green eyes locked with yours, full of mischief and intent. “You start a fight, sweetheart, you gotta be ready for the consequences”.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, even as you felt his calloused fingers graze your skin beneath your shirt. “Is this how you settle scores now?”.

Ben leaned closer, his lips brushing against your jawline, his breath warm against your chilled skin. “When it’s with you? Damn right it is”.

Before either of you could go further, the sound of the kids’ muffled giggles echoed through the window. Ben froze, glancing toward the frost-covered glass, then back at you, his grin faltering for just a moment before it returned full force.

“Saved by the brats”, he murmured, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. He leaned back, giving you space to sit up as he ran a hand through his damp hair. “Guess you get a pass this time”.

You laughed, buttoning your shirt back up as you pushed his chest playfully. “You’re impossible”.

Lila, hands pressed to the glass. “Eww, Mommy and Daddy you´re gross!”, she teased, sticking her tongue out dramatically, while Logan laughed and shook his head, clearly trying to act like he wasn’t entertained but failing miserably.

You couldn’t help but laugh at Lila’s exaggerated expression, her hands still pressed against the window as she made a show of grossing herself out. Logan, on the other hand, was doing his best to look serious, though the laughter that bubbled up from his chest betrayed his attempt to remain mature.

“Eww, Mommy and Daddy always kissing!”, Lila mumbled with a playful scrunch of her nose, her voice full of mock disgust. She stuck her tongue out again, clearly enjoying the attention.

Logan, trying his best to be the older, wiser sibling, crossed his arms and shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “You guys are so embarrassing”, he said, though the way his eyes sparkled showed he didn’t actually mind one bit.

Ben, standing beside you, glanced at you and then back at the kids. His grin softened, and he leaned down toward you, speaking in a voice only you could hear. “They don’t have a clue, do they?”, he said with a quiet chuckle.

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully at the scene unfolding in front of you. “Not a single one”.

Lila, clearly not done yet, leaned closer to the window, still giving you both the dramatic “eww” face. “You’re gonna make us barf!”, she announced loudly, her face scrunching as though it was all just too much to bear.

Ben couldn’t help but laugh at his daughter’s antics. “What are you two up to, huh?”, he called through the window. “Making fun of your parents? You should be building that snowman”.

Lila, always the instigator, puffed out her chest proudly. “We already did!”, she declared. “But now we’re watching you guys because it’s funny!”.

As Lila stood there, still making faces at you and Ben, Logan saw the perfect opportunity to sneak away. Without warning, he grabbed his younger sister by the hand, pulling her away from the window with a quick tug.

“C’mon, Lila!”, Logan urged, his voice filled with excitement. “Let’s finish the snowman! Dad and Mom are being all gross again!”.

Lila let out a reluctant giggle but quickly followed, her mittens flapping as she tried to keep up with her brother. “Okay, okay, but only if we can give him a crown!”; she shouted, already planning the next addition to their snow creation.

Ben watched them go with a fond smile before his gaze shifted back to you. His grin softened as he stood beside you, his arms crossing in that familiar, relaxed way. “You okay?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, with an undercurrent of concern.

You sighed, keeping your eyes on the kids as they ran back into the snow, their laughter a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the moment. “I think you need to ease up with him, Ben”, you mumbled, your voice soft but steady. “You’re demanding too much from him. He’s just 8”.

Ben didn’t respond right away. His gaze followed Logan and Lila for a moment, his jaw working as though weighing your words. You could see him considering it, but you knew how hard it was for him to let go of the lessons, the expectations he had for Logan. It had been instilled in him—toughness, strength, independence. But Logan was still a child, and there was only so much he could handle before it became too much.

Ben turned to you, his expression slightly guarded but not entirely dismissive. “I’m not asking him to be something he’s not”, he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t get soft. The world isn’t gonna treat him like a kid forever”.

You crossed your arms, feeling a knot form in your stomach as you looked at him. “He is a kid, Ben”, you said, your voice rising a little, frustration creeping in. “Let him be one. You can’t push him to grow up this fast. You can’t always expect him to be your mini-me, a smaller version of you. He’s Logan, not Soldier Boy”.

“I’m just trying to prepare him. If he’s not tough enough, the world will eat him alive. You know that as well as I do”.

You shook your head, exhaling slowly, trying to rein in your emotions. “I know, but there’s a balance. You can teach him those things, Ben, but not at the cost of his childhood. He’s just 8”. You softened your tone, meeting his gaze directly. “I just… I just don’t want him to resent you. I don’t want him to think he has to be something he’s not to earn your approval”.

Ben was quiet for a moment, and you could see the internal battle in his eyes. He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, chewing on the words for a second before letting out a long breath.

Ben’s silence lingered, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. You could see the tension ripple through him, the way his shoulders stiffened and his gaze faltered. You hesitated, carefully choosing your next words, not wanting to push him too far but needing him to understand.

“You should know it best, Ben”, you mumbled softly, almost afraid of how he’d react. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “You know what it’s like to feel like you’re never enough, no matter how hard you try. You’ve told me… how your dad was with you”.

The words hit him like a physical blow, and you saw it immediately. His confident, almost cocky exterior faltered, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, he looked away, his eyes drifting toward the snow-covered yard where Logan and Lila were playing.

“Don’t”, he finally muttered, his voice rough, strained. “Don’t bring him into this”.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Ben”, you said gently, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “I’m just saying… you know how it feels to grow up under that kind of pressure. Always trying to live up to someone else’s expectations, never feeling like you’re enough. You’ve told me you hated it. And I know you never want Logan to feel that way”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound filled with frustration—but not at you. At himself. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he finally looked back at you, his green eyes clouded with something between regret and resolve.

“I don’t”, he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want him to feel like that. Ever”.

“Then let him breathe, Ben”, you urged, your voice soft but steady. “He’s just a kid. He needs to know he’s enough as he is. That he doesn’t have to be the toughest or the strongest to make you proud. He just has to be Logan”.

Ben rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers dragging down to rest at his chin. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he processed your words. “You think I’m turning into him, don’t you?”, he asked quietly, almost to himself.

You shook your head firmly. “No, I don’t. You’re not your dad, Ben. You’re already so much more than he ever was. But sometimes… sometimes I think you’re carrying his shadow. And it’s time to let it go. For Logan. For you”.

Ben let out a slow exhale, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as your words settled between you. You leaned up and kissed his cheek gently, the warmth of the moment cutting through the tension that had lingered in the air. His eyes softened as he looked down at you, though he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. You could tell he was listening, really listening, and that was enough for now.

“I’m going to get the kids”, you said softly, brushing your hand along his arm before stepping toward the door.

He nodded once, his gaze following you for a moment before shifting back to the snowy yard, where Logan and Lila were laughing together as they finished up their snowman.

“Alright, you two!”, you called, standing in the door, your voice cutting through their laughter. “Time to come inside! Wash your hands, and then we’re going to bake some cookies”.

Lila’s face lit up, and she immediately clapped her mittened hands together. “Cookies!”, she squealed, already abandoning the snowman and running toward you with excitement. “Can we make the ones with the sprinkles?”.

“Of course, sweetheart”, you said, catching her as she barreled into you. “But first, upstairs. Wash up”.

Logan, however, lingered behind, his small figure standing just a few feet from the snowman. His expression shifted slightly, the bright enthusiasm dimming as he avoided your eyes. You could tell something was on his mind.

“Logan”, you called gently, holding the door open as Lila darted inside. “Come on, sweetie. Time to wash up”.

He trudged toward you slowly, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. When he finally reached you, he hesitated once more, his small boots crunching in the snow, but he kept his gaze low, his face unreadable. You crouched down to his level, brushing some of the snow off his coat. You tilted your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes.

“Logan, sweetie”, you said gently, “Do you not want to bake cookies? It’s okay if you don’t feel like it”.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly before darting away again. This time, they landed where Ben still stood, his broad figure shadowed by the light from the living room. Ben had turned slightly, his gaze now fixed on the two of you at the door, his expression unreadable but clearly focused.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, his small hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Then, he shook his head firmly. “It’s… it’s women’s stuff”, he muttered, his tone wavering. Without waiting for your response, he turned abruptly, his small boots stomping against the hardwood floor as he headed for the stairs.

“Logan”, you called after him gently, but he didn’t stop. You caught a glimpse of his face before he disappeared up the staircase—the tight set of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together like he was fighting something back. And then you saw it: the tears gathering in his eyes.

Your heart sank as you realized what was really going on. Logan usually loved baking cookies, that much you knew. He had always lit up at the chance to mix dough, sprinkle sugar, and get his hands messy in the process. But he wouldn’t admit that in front of Ben, not after what he thought his dad believed about “women’s stuff”. And Logan sure as hell wasn’t going to let Ben see him cry.

You sighed, glancing back at Ben, his expression unreadable. He had been watching the entire exchange, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. For a moment, you thought he might come, might say something, but he stayed frozen in place, his eyes following Logan’s retreat.

Without saying a word, you stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you and heading upstairs. As much as you wanted to comfort Logan, you also knew that Ben needed to face this moment, to see the impact of his words—not just through your eyes, but his own.

You found Logan in his room, curled up on the edge of his bed, his back to the door. His small shoulders trembled slightly, though he tried to keep quiet. It broke your heart to see him like that, trying so hard to hold everything in.

“Logan?”, you said softly, stepping into the room. You sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to give him space. “It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to hide it from me”.

“I’m not upset”, he muttered, his voice muffled. “I don’t care. I hate baking cookies”.

You reached out gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay if you do care. And it’s okay if you love baking cookies, Logan. That doesn’t make you less of anything”.

He didn’t respond at first, but after a long pause, he whispered, “Dad thinks it does”.

Those words hit you hard, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. “Your dad doesn’t think that, sweetie. He just… sometimes he says things without thinking. But that doesn’t mean he’s right”.

Logan finally turned to look at you, his tear-streaked face breaking your heart all over again. “He’ll think I’m weak”, he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t want him to think I’m weak”.

You pulled him into a gentle hug, holding him close as his small frame shook against you. “Logan, you’re not weak”, you said firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. And being strong doesn’t mean hiding the things you love. It means being brave enough to be yourself”.

At that moment, you heard footsteps approaching. The door creaked open slightly, and you looked up to see Ben standing in the doorway. He hesitated, his expression soft but conflicted as his eyes landed on Logan. He didn’t say anything right away, but the regret on his face was clear.

“Logan”, Ben finally said, his voice quieter than usual. He stepped into the room, his broad figure filling the small space as he crouched down next to the bed.

Logan’s reaction was immediate and almost frantic. He pulled away from your embrace, turning his back to both you and Ben as he roughly wiped at his face with his small fists. His movements were sharp and deliberate, as though he was trying to erase the evidence of his tears before anyone could say a word.

“I’m fine”, he muttered, his voice tight and trembling. “I wasn’t crying”.

You glanced at Ben, whose face tightened at the sight. You could see the regret and guilt pooling in his eyes, the weight of his own words and lessons crashing down on him as he watched his son fight so hard to suppress his emotions.

Ben cleared his throat, his voice softer than usual. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. It’s okay—”.

“I said I’m fine!”, Logan snapped, spinning around to glare at him. His eyes were red and glassy, but his jaw was set in defiance. “Women cry. That’s what you always say. So I’m not crying”.

Ben froze, visibly taken aback by the raw honesty in Logan’s voice. For a moment, he just stared, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond but no words coming out. It was like he was looking into a mirror of himself, the echoes of his father’s harsh lessons staring back at him in his own son’s tear-streaked face.

You saw the way Ben’s shoulders sagged, his defenses crumbling as Logan’s words hit him harder than any punch ever could. He finally sat down on the floor next to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, making sure he was on Logan’s level.

Your heart aching as you watched Logan’s small figure tremble with frustration, hurt, and confusion. You couldn’t take it anymore. Turning to Ben, your voice came sharp and firm, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

“Fix this, Ben”, you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. Your eyes locked on his, stern and unwavering. “That’s my baby boy, and I will not let him feel like this because of something you’ve said”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew you were right, and the weight of the situation was already pressing down on him. You took a deep breath, your own emotions threatening to spill over, and with one last look at both of them, you turned on your heel and left the room. Your own eyes were glassy, tears threatening to fall as you closed the door softly behind you.

In the quiet of the hallway, you leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to your chest as you tried to steady your breathing. Hearing Logan say those words, seeing the pain etched on his small face—it was almost too much to bear. But you trusted Ben to handle it. He had to handle it.

Inside the room, Ben remained seated on the floor, his gaze fixed on Logan, who was still turned away from him. The boy’s small hands clenched into fists at his sides, his head bowed low as he tried to mask the occasional sniffle that escaped him.

“Logan”, Ben started softly, his voice steady but carrying a rare gentleness that was almost foreign. “Can I tell you something? Something about me?”.

Logan didn’t respond, but Ben noticed the slight twitch of his shoulders, the way his posture stiffened just enough to show he was listening. Ben took that as his cue to continue.

“When I was your age”, Ben began, leaning forward slightly, “My dad used to say the same things to me. He’d tell me that crying made me weak. That showing how I felt was… wrong. And I believed him. I thought if I ever let myself cry, or feel scared, or be anything other than ‘tough’, I was a failure”.

Logan shifted slightly but still didn’t turn around. Ben kept going, his voice growing heavier with emotion.

“And you know what? For a long time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t let myself feel anything, really. I just kept it all inside, like I was supposed to. But it didn’t make me stronger, Logan. It made me angry. It made me feel alone. Like I had to handle everything by myself, and no one else could ever understand”.

Finally, Logan turned, his tear-streaked face filled with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “You?”, he asked, his voice cracking. “You felt like that?”.

Ben nodded, his eyes meeting Logan’s with an honesty that he rarely let anyone see. “Yeah, kid. I did. And it wasn’t until I met your mom—until I had you and Lila—that I realized how wrong my dad was. Being tough doesn’t mean keeping everything inside. It doesn’t mean pretending you don’t care or don’t hurt. Being tough means letting yourself feel all of it and still finding the strength to keep going”.

Logan sniffled, his fists unclenching as he wiped at his eyes again. “But you said—”.

Ben let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident. “I know what I said”, he repeated, his voice carrying that gruff edge that always came with vulnerability. “And yeah, I messed up. I say a lot of dumb shit, Logan. Your mom would probably tell you I’ve got a talent for it”.

That earned a small, almost involuntary laugh from Logan, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ben’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the faintest hint of relief flickering in his eyes.

“But here’s the thing”, Ben continued, his voice softening again as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t want you to grow up thinking you’ve got to be me. Hell, I don’t even like half the crap I’ve done. You’re better than that. Better than me”.

Logan stared at him, his tear-streaked face a mix of surprise and confusion. “But you’re… you’re, like, the strongest guy ever. You’re not scared of anything”.

Ben chuckled, the sound low and rough as he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not scared of anything, huh?”. He smirked, shaking his head. “Kid, I’m scared as shit of your mom”.

Logan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession. “What? Mom?”.

“Yeah, your mom”, Ben said, his tone a mix of humor and honesty. “You think I’m out there facing down bad guys like it’s no big deal? That’s nothing compared to when she gives me the look”. He mimicked an exaggerated version of your stern glare, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Logan giggled, the tension melting further as he watched his dad pretend to shrink under an invisible scolding. “Really?”.

“Oh yeah”, Ben said, nodding seriously. “One time I forgot to take the trash out. She didn’t even yell—she just stood there, arms crossed, staring me down like I’d committed a fucking war crime”. He mock-shuddered. “I’d rather face supervillains".

Logan laughed harder this time, wiping his face again, though the tears were gone now, replaced by a small, genuine smile.

Ben leaned closer, his expression softening. “Look, kid, being scared isn’t a bad thing. It just means you care about something—or someone. Like how I’m scared of messing up with you and your sister. And yeah, I’m scared of your mom sometimes, but only because she’s got this way of making me want to be better, even when I screw up”.

Logan tilted his head, considering his dad’s words. “So… it’s okay to be scared?”.

Ben nodded firmly. “Scared, nervous, happy, mad—it’s all part of being human. What matters is what you do with it. And right now?”. He gave Logan a lopsided grin. “We’re gonna take those feelings, roll up our sleeves, and bake the best cookies this house has ever seen. You in?”.

Logan hesitated for a second before nodding, his smile growing. “I’m in”.

Ben stood, holding out a hand to help Logan up. “Good. But fair warning—your mom’s probably waiting outside that door to see if I fixed this. And if she’s still mad at me, I might need you to tell her I did a good job. Deal?”.

Logan laughed, taking his dad’s hand and standing up. “Deal”.

When the door opened, you were standing there in the hallway, arms crossed but a soft smile on your face. Ben gave you a sheepish grin, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, boss. Mission accomplished”.

You shook your head, stepping aside to let them pass. “For now”, you said teasingly, though the gratitude in your eyes said everything you didn’t.

As the three of you headed downstairs, Logan walked between you and Ben, his small hand brushing against yours.

An hour later, the kitchen was alive with laughter and the sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. Logan and Lila sat at the table, surrounded by bowls of frosting and sprinkles, each focused on decorating their creations. Logan was surprisingly precise, carefully piping designs onto a gingerbread man, while Lila was happily dumping an entire handful of rainbow sprinkles onto one cookie, creating a chaotic masterpiece.

You leaned against Ben, his warmth a steady comfort as you watched the kids. His arm slid lazily around your shoulders, and he let out a soft sigh, one that carried a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

“You did good today, Soldier Boy”, you murmured, grinning up at him. Standing on your tiptoes, you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing the faint stubble there.

Ben smirked, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, well”, he started, clearly about to respond with one of his usual witty comebacks, when—

“Ewww!”, Lila groaned dramatically from the table, dragging out the word as she scrunched her nose and waved her hands like she was fending off a swarm of bees. “Mommy and Daddy are being gross again!”.

Logan snickered, not looking up from his cookie but clearly amused by his sister’s reaction. “Told you they do that all the time”, he said with a teasing grin. “It’s so embarrassing”.

Ben raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you with an exaggerated look of mock offense. “Didn’t realize we were raising such critics”, he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Ben shook his head, smirking as he turned toward the kids. “Alright, listen up, you two. You keep calling us gross, and I’m eating all these cookies myself. No sprinkles, no frosting, just plain cookies. How’s that for embarrassing?”.

“Daddy, nooo!”, Lila shrieked, clutching one of her sprinkle-covered cookies protectively to her chest. “You can’t! These are mine!”.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he took a deliberate step toward the table, his eyes locked on one of Lila’s chaotic sprinkle-covered cookies. “Oh, really?”, he drawled, his tone teasing and slow. “You think you can stop me, little miss sprinkle queen?”.

Lila gasped dramatically. “Daddy, no!”, she squealed, scooting back in her chair and holding up a hand to block him. “You can’t take this one! It’s perfect!”.

“Perfect, huh?”, Ben quirked an eyebrow, inching closer, his large frame towering over the table. “Let me see. Gotta make sure it’s up to regulation”.

“It’s mine!”, Lila shouted, jumping out of her chair and running around to the other side of the table, her plate wobbling in her hands. “Go eat Logan’s cookies instead!”.

“Hey!”, Logan said, finally looking up from his carefully decorated gingerbread man. “Don’t drag me into this! My cookies are art”.

Ben burst out laughing, glancing over at Logan with mock offense. “Art, huh? Let me be the judge of that”. He reached out as if to grab one of Logan’s cookies, but Logan quickly pulled his plate away, holding it up high.

“Back off, Dad!”, Logan said with a grin, using his other hand to block him. “These are for Mom!”.

Ben stopped, placing his hands on his hips, his grin turning into a smirk. “Oh, for Mom, huh? Well, in that case…”. He lunged toward Lila, pretending to swipe for her plate.

Lila let out a delighted shriek, ducking under the table and crawling to the other side. “You’ll never catch me!”, she declared, her giggles filling the kitchen.

You leaned against the counter, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile. “Ben”, you said, crossing your arms and giving him a mock stern look, “if you don’t leave their cookies alone, you’re not getting any of… mine”.

Ben froze mid-step, his hand still outstretched toward Lila’s plate, as your words hung in the air. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, is that right?”, he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Not getting any of… yours, huh?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a sly smile. “That’s exactly what I said”, you replied, the double meaning clear in your tone.

Before Ben could respond with one of his usual cheeky comebacks, Logan groaned loudly from his seat, his hands slapping the table. “I know you guys aren’t talking about cookies”, he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. “And for the record, I don’t want another baby sister, okay? One is enough”.

Ben blinked, taken completely off guard by Logan’s blunt statement. He let out a bark of laughter, leaning against the table for support as he pointed at Logan. “Kid, what the hell—where did that even come from?”.

“Logan!”, you gasped, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in your chest. “What are you talking about?”.

Logan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he’d just solved a great mystery. “You guys are always giving each other those looks, and Dad’s always making those weird jokes”. He waved his hand in Ben’s direction. “It’s not rocket science”.

Ben, still chuckling, wiped a hand over his face as he shook his head. “The kid’s too smart for his own good”, he muttered, grinning at you. “He’s onto us”.

“Logan”, you said, trying to suppress your laughter and keep a straight face, “You are way too young to be worrying about this kind of thing”.

Logan kept his arms crossed, his gaze shifting between you and Ben as his face took on that serious, almost grown-up expression he liked to wear when he was deep in thought. “I’m just saying”, he said slowly, his voice losing some of its teasing edge, “you don’t need another kid. We’re good like this”,

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. There was something unspoken in his words, a flicker of uncertainty behind the bravado. He wasn’t just teasing—this was something else. But you knew better than to press him here, not in front of Ben, not when Logan was so guarded.

“Of course we’re good like this”, you said gently, leaning forward and resting your arms on the table. “But would another sibling be that bad?”.

Logan shrugged, his lips pressing together in that tight, nervous way he had when he didn’t want to say what he was really thinking. “I don’t know”m he mumbled, his eyes dropping to his cookie. “I just think… things are fine the way they are”.

Ben, still standing beside you, raised an eyebrow. He glanced down at you, clearly noticing the shift in Logan’s tone, but didn’t push either. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned casually against the counter.

Logan’s words struck a chord, and you could see the layers of concern in his small face—concerns he didn’t know how to voice yet. You gave Logan a warm smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair gently.

“You’re right, buddy”, you said softly. “Things are perfect just the way they are”.

Logan relaxed slightly at your reassurance, nodding as he returned his attention to his cookie. Ben gave you a questioning look, his eyebrow raised as if he were silently asking, What’s that about? You shook your head slightly, a silent later passing between you.

Because there was something you hadn’t told him yet—something that had been tugging at the back of your mind. You were late. Only a few days, but still. You were never late.

You hadn’t said anything to Ben yet because you weren’t ready to make it real, not until you were sure. But as Logan’s words played over in your head, you felt a swirl of emotions: uncertainty, anticipation, and a hint of fear.

Ben’s voice broke into your thoughts. “Alright, Logan”, he said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “You better not be hogging all the good cookies over there. I need to taste-test those”.

Logan rolled his eyes, his small smirk returning as he pushed one of his neatly decorated cookies toward his dad. “Here, take one. But don’t mess up my frosting”.

Ben grinned, plucking the cookie off the plate with exaggerated care. “Wouldn’t dream of it, champ”.

When the kitchen filled with laughter again, you let yourself lean into the moment, deciding to hold off on the conversation for now.

As the evening wore on, the warmth of the kitchen turned into the quiet hum of nighttime. Lila had curled up on the couch under a blanket, clutching a small stuffed animal in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other. Her eyelids had grown heavy, and eventually, she’d surrendered to sleep, her soft snores filling the cozy space.

Ben glanced over from where he was tidying up the counter, his face softening as he took in the sight of his little girl. “Looks like the Sprinkle Queen’s out for the count”, he said, his voice low.

You smiled, drying your hands on a towel. “She had a big day. All those sprinkles wore her out”.

Ben crossed the room, scooping Lila into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but settled quickly against his chest, her tiny hand clutching at his shirt.

“I’ll take her up”, he said, his voice quiet but firm, as though it wasn’t up for discussion. You nodded, watching as he carried her out of the room, the sight of his broad figure cradling her so gently always tugging at your heart.

Logan appeared in the doorway then, his steps hesitant as he glanced between you and the direction his dad had gone. He crossed his arms over his chest, standing a little taller as if to remind you—and himself—that he didn’t need the same kind of care his little sister did.

“I don’t need anyone to bring me to bed”, Logan said, his voice firm but lacking the usual bite of defiance. “I can do it myself”.

You gave him a small smile, stepping closer. “I know you can, sweetheart”, you said softly. “You’ve been doing great. But you let me help when Dad’s not here. Maybe you can let him help tonight?”.

Logan hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor before looking back up at you. “Dad’s never… he doesn’t usually…”. He trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

You crouched down, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “Sometimes he doesn’t know how to ask”, you said gently. “But he’d love to, Logan. If you’re okay with it”.

Logan frowned, his small brows furrowing as he thought it over. Then he gave a small, almost reluctant nod. “Okay”, he mumbled, glancing toward the stairs. “But only if he doesn’t make a big deal about it”.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. “Deal”.

By the time Ben returned, Logan was waiting at the foot of the stairs, his arms still crossed but his posture less tense.

Ben appeared at the top of the stairs, his heavy steps softening as he noticed Logan standing there, arms crossed in that telltale way that meant he was trying to appear tougher than he felt. Ben paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his son waiting for him, and his face softened in a way that only you seemed to notice.

“Looks like someone’s still up”, Ben said, his tone light but without the teasing edge he sometimes used. He walked down the last few steps, his movements slower, less hurried, as though giving Logan time to decide what he wanted.

Logan glanced at you briefly, then back at his dad. “I’m ready for bed”, he said, his voice neutral, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Ben nodded, his hands settling on his hips as he studied his son for a moment. “Alright”, he said, his tone casual. “Let’s get you tucked in, then”.

Logan didn’t move at first, glancing at the floor like he was waiting for Ben to say more. When nothing else came, he gave a small nod and started up the stairs, his pace slower than usual. Ben followed closely behind, casting a quick glance at you as he passed. You gave him an encouraging smile, silently urging him to let this moment be what Logan needed.

When they reached Logan’s room, Ben paused in the doorway, watching as Logan climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest. Logan fidgeted with the edge of the fabric, his small hands gripping it tightly.

Ben stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Logan burrowed into his bed, the blanket clutched tightly to his chest. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping forward and crouching down beside the bed, his movements uncharacteristically gentle.

“You all set, champ?”, Ben asked, his voice low and steady.

Logan nodded, but his hands still fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the kind that Ben hadn’t seen in a while. Without thinking too much about it, Ben reached out and grabbed the blanket, pulling it up snugly around Logan’s shoulders.

“Gotta make sure you’re tucked in properly”, Ben said, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost teasing. “Don’t want you freezing in the middle of the night”.

Logan giggled softly, his small voice breaking the quiet of the room. “Dad, I’m not gonna freeze”.

“Oh, you think so?”, Ben said, raising an eyebrow as he tugged the blanket even tighter around Logan, practically swaddling him. “What if a snowstorm hits? What if you wake up and there’s frost on your nose? Gotta be prepared”.

Logan laughed harder now, his small hands pushing at the blanket as he squirmed. “Dad! Stop, it’s too tight!”.

“Nope”, Ben said with mock seriousness, sitting back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. You’re like a little burrito now. Nothing’s getting to you”.

“Dad!”, Logan squealed, his laughter breaking through the last of his earlier hesitation. He wiggled under the tightly tucked blanket, his face lighting up with a joy that reminded Ben of when he was younger, back before Ben had decided he was too big for things like this.

Ben grinned, leaning forward and ruffling Logan’s hair. “There we go”, he said softly. “That’s better. Haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while”.

Logan’s giggles faded into a warm smile, his eyes meeting his dad’s with a rare openness. “Thanks, Dad”.

Ben’s expression softened, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair off Logan’s forehead. “Anytime, kiddo. You know that”.

He stood slowly and glanced toward the door before he turned back to Logan, his voice low and serious now.

“Alright, get some sleep. Sweet dreams, champ”.

“Goodnight, Dad”, Logan murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

Ben hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s head, something he hadn’t done in years. Logan didn’t pull away, instead letting his eyes flutter closed as he sank deeper into his blankets.

———————————

A/N: Not that much of Christmas, but it’s snowy and cold. So let’s just count it, lol. Please let me know what you think.🥰

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[finniestoncrane]

PREWAR COOPER STUFFS ❤️‍🔥 DESPERATELY needing some fluffy morning after/Sunday morning routine with his wifey 😩👏 him being VERY grabby and just an absolute horndog dkfnfnrk (he is down bad for reader)

Morning, Sunshine

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 1k hello post divorce cooper, please hit me up, i'll make you eggs (also post-divorce barb i know you're a baddie but that's just my type so i'll make you eggs too pls lemme make you eggs too...ANYWAY) but please this is so cute and i have made it gender neutral as you corrected so everyone enjoy being cooper's little chef and getting caressed by this hungover idiot 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: suggestive things, mentions of alcohol, angst

Cooper stumbled into the kitchen, his feet shuffling on the floor as though they were made of lead, unable to lift them any higher. He groaned as the light from the windows assaulted him, and you smiled without turning to him, offering a brief, hushed 'good morning'. He returned the greeting with a groan. His entire body felt weighed down, the ache of sleeping in one position all night, lacked out in a drunken stupor after he had pawed at you and attempted to fuck the lingering stress out of his body.

And now he was in his own kitchen, messy from the small gathering of friends from the night before, stressed once more and hungover as shit to boot.

But there you were, by the stove, the source of the wonderful smell that had woken him up and had him drifting from the sancutary of his dark bedroom to face the world. Even when he was hungover, or sick, or just too damn tired to accept reality, he did it anyway. Who knew how many more mornings there were for him to see? That looming threat, the dark secret he had to keep to himself, one not even Barb knew was the real reason for their divorce. The source of his agonies, but also, the reason he felt so inspired to wake up each morning and spend as much of the time he had left with you as possible.

"I wasn't expecting you out of bed any time beforeat least midday, Coop."

"Then you shouldn't have started cooking something so god damn delicious."

His voice grew closer as he made his way, instinctually, towards you.

"I'm sorry, did it wake you up?"

"It did, but there's nothing to apologise for."

He was behind you now as you stood in front of the burners, a pan in your hand, your signature omelette cooking over the heat, your grip wobbling a little as Cooper looped his arms around your body. Everything he did stole your attention, pulling your focus with his charismatic personality, the way he commanded a room the moment he entered. And it didn't help that he had begun to kiss at your neck, letting his lips drag along your prickling skin as he moved down to your shoulder, nuzzling back into you as he sighed. The satisfied moan on the exhale had your stomach tensing, eliciting a soft moan of your own in reply.

"You want me to make you something to eat?"

"Please, darlin'. If that isn't a bother."

"Never is for you, Mr Howard. You get a coffee and take a seat, I'll be right with you."

Once he was seated with his mug, the morning newspaper to the side of the place setting at the kitchen island, you turned from the stove to plate up the omelette for him. It was the first you had properly looked at him that morning, and you could feel your breath hitching as you took him in. Even in this state, bedraggled, skin greasy with a sheen of sweat, hair unkempt and slicked back in messy waves, his breath, which you could smell over the countertop, still tainted with the cocktails he’d been making the night before. Even with all of that, he was still the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. And those same eyes couldn’t help but fall to his chest, his robe hanging open, exposing his torso down to his navel.

You wondered if he’d bothered to find any underwear to put on before covering himself with the short robe when he’d stumbled out of bed.

“Oh, sweetheart. You made this for yourself.”

“You eat first, I’ll make one for myself just now.”

Cooper flashed you a grin, one you remembered seeing so often in press photos, at promotional events.

“You really are a doll, know that?”

You returned his smile, turning back to the stove as he ate a few bites of the omelette with a satisfied groan. Cooper took a sip of coffee, watching you over the top of the mug. Every day could be the last. He didn’t want to believe it, but it always hung in the back of his mind. He’d lost Barb to Vaut-Tec, lost Janey, at least partly, to the divorce. He’d lost his sense of security to the war, his work to the paranoia that had burrowed inside of him. You were all he had now, and intended to cling to you with everything he had. Holding your hand tight at the party last night, clutching your body in the bed as he fucked you, passionate, desperate. His fingers entwined in yours as you slept, then holding you in his arms, your body smooth and warm.

Cooper stood up from his chair, unintentionally quiet to the point where you didn’t even notice he had moved until he was right behind you again, pressing himself against you so tight that you could feel the beginnings of his erection pushing into you. With a firm hand, he took your wrist, guiding you to set down the pan, switching the stove off and turning you in a choreographed spin so that you were facing him, your chests together, eyes trained on one another.

“You got enough ingredients for another, right?”

“Uh… yeah? Why?”

“I just think it might be ruined by the time I’m finished with you.”

His hands slipped down from your lower back, cupping both of your cheeks as he raised his eyebrows in a silent, questioning plea. Every moment with you was precious to him, every inch of your body worth placing a kiss to, worth tasting and savouring. Why not make the most of your time together by making sure you were as close to each other, as pleasured and satisfied, as possible?

So, when you blushed, biting your lip and giggling, he knew you agreed, and he took your hand and pulled you back to the comfort of the bedroom with you, hoping to relieve himself of a little more stress.

[winterrrnight]

babe I just had the best idea for a rafe concept it pains me

Okay so imagine like reader is at work (somewhere idk where) and she just gets so overwhelmed but her and rafes relationship is still new so she doesn't call him because she doesn't wanna bother him....😭

I'm probably not the first person to think of this but it ON MY MINDDDD

literally dropped everything to write this!!!! this reader is way too me coded and I cannot :’) thank you so so much for the req vee 🥹💗 you asked for a concept… I wrote a fic…. :D I hope you like this vee <3

down for you

PAIRING: soft!rafe cameron x gn!reader

SUMMARY: rafe wants you to be able to rely on him for anything and everything.

WARNINGS: the reader is a preschool teacher and quite self dependent; lots of fluff; cute nicknames; lovesick rafe (my fav fr); minimal swearing

EDITH SPEAKS: this request speaks volumes to me 🥹 this is way too me coded, and I just had to write it, I hope you all like this! the ending is maybe a bit abrupt tho :( please like and reblog if you liked reading <3 feedback is always appreciated 🍹

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I should leave, I haven't yet, but when you smile, I just forget

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You can swear this day can't get any worse. You’ve been on your feet basically the entire day, always rushing from your students here to there. You love the little kiddos with your entire heart, but today, for some reason, they are being an extra pain in the ass. They aren’t as cooperative as you’d prefer; you don’t know what’s gotten into them, they are like little energy packets constantly running around.

Due to some teacher duties you aren’t even able to sit down for your lunch break, taking away the only 15 minutes you have to yourself. And it just gets progressively worse when you finally leave the school to go back to your place and your car has a slashed tire, and today had to be the day when you don’t have a spare tire in your trunk.

It’s been over 6 hours since you left your house this morning, and it’s just Tuesday, but it’s feeling like the longest, most excruciating week ever. You’re now leaning against your car door, letting out a deep exhale as you lean your head back, feeling a headache creep into your brain and pulse harshly. You’re tired, hungry, absolutely exhausted… and all you want are the warm hugs of your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend.

Rafe is quite a new addition in your life, both of you being together for a mere month. He’s been so loving to you, always protective and just genuinely taking great care of you.

You pull out your phone and find his contact, but before you can dial him, your thumb hovers over his name in sudden realization – he’s always at work at this time.

You begin to contemplate your initial decision of asking him to come here to help you out, and then ultimately decide against it, realizing he’s probably very busy at work, and would only be heavily distracted if you call him.

So, just like how you always do it, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

It’s nearing 6 pm when you finally get to reach your place. You had to make calls to get yourself a mechanic to get your car fixed, who took his sweet sweet time to come to you. You’re now completely exhausted, wanting nothing more than just to plop on your bed and sleep till your heart desires. You can hear your stomach grumble since you never had the chance to eat the lunch you missed out on, but you make it a problem for later, deciding to just take a nap first.

As you drive into your driveway, you recognise Rafe’s black Range Rover already parked, with him standing next to it, leaning back against the hood of his car as he’s looking intently at his phone. As he catches the sound of your car driving, he instantly looks up, watching your car enter the driveway.

Before you can properly park and get out, Rafe rushes to you, opening the door for you.

“Oh my god where have you been?” He asks you, his voice laced with concern. “I tried calling you and texting you, you always come back home by late afternoon,”

You step out of the car and Rafe shuts the door, a hand quickly landing at the small of your back as you both walk to the porch of your house. He can see you’re really tired; droopy eyes, heavy steps, deep sighs; he knows something happened.

“Yeah my phone died,” you mutter as you unlock the main door of your house, both of you stepping inside. “I just… today was kind of a heavy day, nothing much honestly,” you shrug as you toss your keys in the dish and remove your coat and shoes.

“What happened?” Rafe asks, still really concerned for you as he watches you take off your cost and hang it on the coat rack. As you’re done, you face him with a small smile on your face.

“Nothing much, really,” you say softly, gently cupping his cheek with a hand and tenderly caressing his skin. “Don’t worry, yeah?” You mumble, taking your hand off his cheek as you make your way to the kitchen.

Rafe stays on your heels, following you and monitoring every single move of yours – your padding till the fridge, opening it, getting a bottle of water, unscrewing it and drinking from it.

“You look so exhausted, I can see it in your eyes,” he comments. “Your hair is all messy, your clothes are dirty; it’s clearly not nothing. Come on, tell me, what happened,”

His voice is stern, but not in an angry way; but in an apprehensive way. He moves his hand to your face, gently brushing your hair as he fixes some of the unruly strands.

As you finish drinking your water; drinking almost all of it in one go, you keep your bottle aside and let out a sigh, turning to look at him. “It was just one of those… heavy days, but it’s over now yeah? I’m now home,” you say softly.

“But just tell me what happened,” Rafe’s voice now drops to a whisper as he moves closer to you, continuing to weave his fingers through your hair.

You close your eyes for a moment, delving into the relaxing feeling of Rafe’s fingers softly combing through your hair, but also realizing he’s going to keep pressing for you to tell him what happened.

“The kids were a bit uncooperative today,” you say with a soft chuckle. “And then we have this event coming up at school, so I was busy for my entire lunch break preparing for it. And then my car had a flat tire and I didn’t have a spare so I had to get a mechanic, which took most of the time. But besides that, nothing much happened,” you say with a small shrug.

“Besides all that?” Rafe mutters incredulously. “That’s already a lot, baby, why didn’t you call me when you found out about your flat tire? I would’ve come; or sent someone to get you, we would’ve had lunch in my office, and I would have had someone take care of the tire and bring your car back too.” There’s a small frown on his face and he now holds your face in both his hands, gently skimming your cheeks with his thumbs.

You look up in his soft, baby blue eyes. “I did think of calling you but-”

“But?”

“But I thought…” you take a deep breath, your eye contact with him faltering. “you’ll be busy, and I didn’t want to be a burden to you, really, I was able to get it all fixed just fine,”

You can hear Rafe tsk; his tongue clicking against his teeth as he softly shakes his head. “I’m never busy for you okay? My work does not ever get more importance than you, okay? It never does, and it never will, especially when you’re in trouble and need help,”

He gently grips your chin and tips your head back just a bit, making you look at him. His eyes are softened, the blue even more warmer than usual.

“I know you prefer to do things on your own,” he whispers, “but you have to realise that you really don’t need to do each thing on your own, especially now that I’m around. I won’t mind, really, and besides, I would love to show everyone off at work that I am the boyfriend of the most beautiful person on this damn planet yeah?”

You can’t help but chuckle softly at his words as you keep looking in his eyes.

“So, promise me, next time you need any sorts of help, want me to do something for you, or just want me to be there, you don’t think twice about calling me up okay?” He says softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He can see the reluctancy in your eyes, but you eventually give in and nod.

“Okay, promise,” you murmur, smiling as you wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. He gladly hugs you back, snuggling his face in your neck as he gently rubs your back.

“So…” you speak up, and he hums back in response, both of you still hugging.

“I’ll take up on that offer right now. I’ll go and shower, and you make something for me to eat yeah?”

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @shores-kayla @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-tortured-poets-depxrtment @rafesgiirl @theoraekenslover @fals3-g0d @personalfavsthatarerandom @b1mb0slvt

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 6: Bloodstone]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus @chattylurker, more in comments 🥰

💎 Only 1 chapter left!!! 💎

You must not have heard him correctly. Down by the bow, third-class passengers are still laughing as they kick pieces of ice back and forth. Children who have been shaken awake are giggling as they dash around in their worn, patched coats. On the Promenade Deck, tycoons and aristocrats are flagging down stewards to fetch them fresh drinks. There is no more humming of the ship’s engines, although no one else seems to have noticed; they have quit and will never work again. In a few hours, they will be resting on the bottom of the North Atlantic Ocean. It’s just barely April 15th, and half the passengers aboard won’t live to see the sunrise.

Kill Daemon??

You’ve never even hit anybody, not unless they struck you first. “I can’t kill someone.”

“Yes you can,” Aegon insists. His tone is urgent; there isn’t much time left. “And you won’t have to do it alone. Like I said, I’ll help you.”

A drop in your stomach, a chill down your spine, wide-eyed primal fear like a prey animal’s. “Even if I wanted to, Daemon can’t be killed.”

“He’s not a monster. He’s just a man. He has blood and organs just like we do. I promise you, if we cut him he’ll bleed.”

“He’ll hurt me,” you whimper. “He’ll know what I’m trying to do and he’ll break my neck or push me overboard. You don’t know him, he’s…he’s…he’s relentless, he’s cunning—”

“We can have what we want,” Aegon says, grabbing your face with his hands, fingertips callused from years of playing viola on streets, in pubs, in small rented rooms, on the decks of ships. “We can leave Titanic together. We can stay with my family for a while in New York, and then we’ll go back to Ireland so you can be with yours, and when my father dies we’ll spend half the year in England and the other half with your parents, and you’ll get to keep Draco, and Daemon will never touch you again. You’ll be free, Petra. And you deserve that. But no one is going to give it to you. You have to fight for it.”

Is it possible? Is it really? You imagine having breakfast with your parents in Lough Cutra Castle, the table full: you, Aegon, Draco, Fern, everyone smiling over plates of fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, and white pudding, cups of tea breathing steam into the cool morning air. Are you willing to fight for that? Are you willing to murder? At last you say: “Daemon isn’t the only problem.”

“Who else?” Aegon asks, demanding, impatient, though his hands are gentle. “Rhaenyra? And the old woman, right? Draco’s governess. Dagmar.”

“And Daemon’s bodyguard Edward Rushton, we call him Rush. He carries a pistol.”

“Okay.” Aegon nods, his eyes distant, his thoughts whirling like Titanic’s colossal propellers once did and never will again. You know he’s devising a plan. We only have an hour or two.

“Aegon…I have to get Draco into a lifeboat first.”

“Right.” He kisses you, a quick brush across your cheek like a dusting of snow, and you think: I can’t lose him. “Over a thousand passengers are going to die tonight. Let’s make sure four of them are people who deserve it.” Then he takes your hand and together you descend the steps to B-Deck.

~~~~~~~~~~

Scarlet fever is named for the distinctive rash that marks its victims, tiny red dots like blood blisters, so itchy they are soon scratched raw, raised bumps of braille in the shape of ominous omens, corporal constellations of bad stars. Dagmar was reminded of them the first time she ever saw bloodstone, a dark green crystal freckled with red, a pendant that Dameon sent her from across the world where he was opening a new mine in Australia.

Valentin was the first one to get sick. He was the youngest, the only boy, and while perhaps mothers are not supposed to have favorites Dagmar knew in her bones that she did. She held him—three years old, white-blonde hair, loud and wild—as he grew quiet and weak and hot with fever, and then he was gone. After Valentin was Juni, and then Karin, and then Mikele, and finally Gunnar, a lumberman who worked hard and never complained, not even when he was dying of kidney failure. Dagmar was once a woman with four children and a husband, but then she was no one, untethered to the earth, unmoored from everything that had been, and people left adrift in the ocean are likely to drown and spend eternity in the crushing, sunless abyss.

She wandered for a while, too old to fathom a new life, too young to simply wait to die herself, and of course suicide is a sin. To keep from starving she took jobs as a governess; the only thing Dagmar knew how to do was raise children, and she was good at it. With each new household she found herself searching for Valentin’s eyes and hair and spirit, for a child that could make her believe he was alive again. But none of the temperate, blue-blooded little boys or girls of England—where Dagmar had fled to escape the memories of her homeland—came close to filling his footsteps, his handprints, the hemorrhaging puncture wound he left in her chest.

Then one brutally cold winter, Dagmar was referred to the 8th Duke of Beaufort Baelon Targaryen, deep in mourning for his wife Alyssa who had recently perished in childbirth and at a loss to handle his two sons. Viserys, the heir, was already eight years old and too set in his ways to ever see Dagmar as a mother. But Daemon, only four—so much like Val, Dagmar had thought as she lifted him from the floor—was sad and needy and vicious, furious at the world for stealing his mother from him, and this was something Dagmar could understand. She became his new mother. He became her reason for living.

Daemon grew up, as all children do if they are not preserved forever in youth by untimely deaths, and Dagmar drifted away to other castles and mansions, other families, other attempts to silence the ghosts that rattled doors and windows as she slept. But no one could replace Daemon, and each time she received a letter or a gift from him—photographs from his mining expeditions, bracelets and hair combs, taxidermied foreign beasts—Dagmar would write him a thank you note and always include the same postscript: Daemon my dear, my brave rogue prince, it would be the greatest joy of my life to one day help look after your own child. And at last, when Draco was born he summoned her, and little Valentin was alive once again.

Now unlike Daemon, Draco did have a mother, but she was young and easily managed, inexperienced with babies, eager to please her husband. Daemon was so sage and charismatic and renowned, and she faded into his shadow until all her colors were gone and she was black and white like a photograph, never knowing what to do or say, staring inanely from doorways. This was just fine as far as Dagmar was concerned. She could pretend that Daemon’s wife was dead like poor Alyssa Targaryen.

Here on Titanic, the baffling shockwave yanked Draco out of his dreams. He’s crying, soft disoriented whines, and Dagmar soothes him and reads him The Little Mermaid and tells Fern—also awakened by the shudder and now pacing restlessly around the staterooms—to make some tea. Just as Draco is finally dozing off again, there is a loud knock at the front door. Dagmar brings Draco out into the sitting room, leading him by one of his tiny pawlike hands, to find Fern speaking to a steward who will not come inside any farther than the doorway, as if he is in a hurry. Fern, puzzled, is clutching the white lifebelts he has given her.

The steward is explaining: “I’m sure it’s just a precaution, ma’am—”

“It’s not a precaution,” Daemon’s wife says as she sweeps into the room, and for some reason there is a man with her, a blonde man in a black wool coat. Immediately, Dagmar’s blood turns to dark viscid poison. What is she doing? Why can’t she disappear? “Thank you,” Daemon’s wife tells the steward briskly. “I’m sure you have other rooms to visit. You should be on your way.”

The steward is evidently too busy to be offended. He retreats into the hallway and vanishes, and the strange blonde man shuts the door behind him. Dagmar scrutinizes the intruder, and he glares back at her with eyes like deep water, a murky melancholy blue. He’s the same man she saw on the Boat Deck, the one who reminded her so much of Viserys when he was young, that solemn, grieving boy she could not coax into loving her.

Why can’t Daemon’s wife just die? Why should she live when so many have been lost? Why would God judge her more worthy than Valentin, Juni, Karin, Mikele, Gunnar?

“What’s going on?” Fern asks Daemon’s wife, her voice reedy and timid.

Instead of an answer, there is a question in return: “Is anyone else here?”

“No,” Fern says, perplexed. “Why? What’s happened?”

Daemon’s wife holds out an empty hand, not to Fern but to Draco, who Dagmar is still grasping with bony fingers gnarled by arthritis. She says: “Draco, please come with me.”

“Why?” he asks, but he has already taken a step towards her, tiny bare feet. Dagmar does not surrender him. She will not, she cannot. He stops when his arm is fully extended and then looks back to his governess, his surrogate mother, his pale eyes full of doubt.

“We have to go somewhere,” Daemon’s wife says. She is still reaching for him. “Draco, please. I need you to listen to me, we don’t have much time.”

“No,” Dagmar sneers. “You don’t know how to take care of him. You never have.”

“Can I go?” Draco asks softly, and Dagmar pretends she has not heard him.

“Draco,” Daemon’s brainless young wife pleads. Her eyes flick up to Dagmar’s, and there is a moment of terrible understanding between them, as if they are mirror images: neither can try to force him without driving him into the embrace of the other. He is not a child who is easily tamed; he is a wolf, he is a dragon.

“Dagmar?” Draco says, peering up at her, and he’s asking for permission but in another minute he might be stomping his feet and screeching loud enough for the entire hallway to hear.

Dagmar glances at the lifebelts Fern is gripping tightly. What’s wrong with the ship? Is it sinking? But no, Dagmar cannot believe this. Titanic is unsinkable; everybody in the world knows that. She tells the boy: “She’ll take you away from me. She’ll steal you. But she won’t keep you safe and warm and happy like I would.”

“I’m your mother,” Daemon’s wife tells Draco, and now her voice is choked and there are tears glittering in her desperate eyes. The blonde man looks at her like he would carry the weight of her anguish if he could, every last pound. Who is he? Why is he here? “I know it might not feel that way sometimes, but I am. And I love you more than anything. I would never hurt you. I’m trying to protect you. Draco, I need you to come with me right now.”

And horribly, unthinkably, he yanks his little hand out of Dagmar’s. She claws for him and he spins around to face her. “No!” Draco shouts. “I decide! Me! Not you!” She is stunned into silence. She watches him careen across the sitting room, and Daemon’s wife scoops him up as if he belongs to her. She holds him for a while, a minute or more, before she sets him down on the floor and quickly helps Draco get his socks and shoes on. The boy does not complain. Then she lifts him again and—with what appears to be great effort—passes him to Fern, who while bewildered accepts this task, now carrying both the boy and the lifebelts. Daemon’s wife grabs all the coats hanging from the coat rack and piles them into Fern’s already full arms.

“Fern, take him upstairs to the Boat Deck. Get to a lifeboat, do not wait. They will be launching them soon if they haven’t started already.”

“Lifeboats?” Fern repeats, blinking, stymied.

“Yes,” Daemon’s wife says, and she and the maid share a long, silent, meaningful look. Draco gazes worriedly around the room, gnawing on his fingernails. The blonde man watches Dagmar, his expression severe, hateful.

Fern asks: “How much time until Titanic…?”

“An hour or two. You won’t be in the lifeboat for long, a ship called Carpathia is en route. But she’s not close enough.”

“Oh,” the maid exhales numbly. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…”

“Stay with Draco. Don’t leave him for a second. Get into a lifeboat, keep him warm, wait for Carpathia. I’ll follow you as soon as I can, but…there are some things I have to do first.”

“Like what, ma’am? What could be so important? You shouldn’t wait either.”

Instead of answering, she says, low like a dire warning: “If you happen to see them, do not speak to Daemon, Rhaenyra, or Rush. Don’t tell them what’s going on.”

“Yes ma’am,” Fern replies quietly, and nods like she suddenly understands. She takes Draco and hurries out of the room. Now Dagmar is alone with them: Daemon’s idiotic little girl of a wife, her inexplicable companion.

“This ship can’t sink,” Dagmar says; but is the floor tilting? She has only just noticed it.

“Of course it can,” Daemon’s wife counters. “Any ship can. I kept telling everyone how terrified I was of the voyage and you all treated me like I was insane. But I was right. I wasn’t a coward and I wasn’t stupid. And you can’t make me believe that I am anymore.”

Dagmar is about to reply—something cutting, something cruel—but then her steely Scandinavian eyes snag on the stranger and all at once it hits her like a man’s knuckles. She gasps, shocked, ferocious. Aegon. Viserys’ son. A villain, a traitor, an unworthy beneficiary of a grand inheritance. “I know who you are. How the hell did you get here?”

The man grins menacingly. “Fortune brought me a ticket. Best luck I’ve ever had.”

Dagmar screams, hoping he will hear her: “Daemon?!”

Aegon lunges, catches her around her long thin waist, wrestles her towards the door to the private promenade deck. Dagmar isn’t strong, but she is fierce; she scratches at his eyes and bites his hands when they try to smother her howls. They stumble together through the doorway and out onto the pine planks, knocking over lightweight wicker furniture. When her teeth close around Aegon’s fingers, Dagmar tastes blood like warm copper.

“A window!” Aegon is telling Daemon’s wife, but she’s already there after slamming the door to the sitting room shut, franticly turning the hand crank under the nearest window. The glass opens, and freezing night air pours in.

They’re trying to kill me, Dagmar realizes. They’re going to throw me overboard.

She jabs a bony elbow into Aegon’s throat, and he collapses to the deck, wheezing and helpless.

“Daemon!” Dagmar shrieks again. If he hears me, he’ll save me. My savior, my son. “Help!”

But it’s his wife who arrives instead. She collides with Dagmar, strikes her with two open palms, shoves her through the window. Dagmar’s hipbone cracks against the windowsill, a dry brittle snap, and then she tumbles out into the darkness.

Her last thought as she sees the stars—before she hits the frigid water and is knocked unconscious, then dragged under by the merciless weight of gravity—is that if they were red they would look like the dots on the skin of a child with scarlet fever, like the crimson flecks in a bloodstone.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh my God, I…we…” You stare down into the black waves that swallowed her so effortlessly, a flash of her long silver hair as it came undone and then nothing. “She’s gone. She’s really gone. We killed her. We’re murderers.”

In reply, Aegon coughs and gasps for air, still crawling around on the deck. You run to him and help him stand up.

“Thanks,” he croaks.

“Are you alright? What can I do?”

“I’ll be fine,” he rasps. “Just need a minute.”

You look down to see blood dripping from his fingers, thick beads of crimson like teardrop-shaped rubies, like oil paint. You ache for him, you feel his pain as if it is your own. “Your hands, Aegon, your hands…”

“I’m okay,” Aegon assures you, smiling. “The bitch chewed me up, but I’ll live.”

“I want to save your paintings,” you say. “We can’t let them go down with the ship. We’ll take them to the Boat Deck and give Fern your portfolio, make sure she and Draco get safely into a lifeboat, and then…then we’ll…” We’ll finish what must be done. We’ll free you and me and Draco.

Aegon is nodding as he rubs his throat, already bruising. “Any idea where Rush might be? The guy with the gun?”

Before you can answer, you both hear it: the sound of a door swinging open and heavy footsteps inside.

~~~~~~~~~~

He likes that Daemon calls him Rush. It’s better than Eddie, which is who he was when he was a boy being kicked and backhanded by his stepfather, and laughed at by the other kids at school for not having shoes to wear. Now he is someone brand new, and that boy Eddie could be a character in a book or a song, vaguely familiar but not real.

Daemon has never hit Rush, never even threatened him. He has never stolen his laborers’ promised wages or cornered maids to violate them, impregnate them, ruin their lives. He goes into the mines he opens and periodically travels the world to inspect, descending into clouds of dust and chipping gemstones from the walls with his own tools. He is kind to his son Draco. He is brave, he is brilliant, he knows how to have a drink with working men and captivate them with his stories. Rush would do anything for Daemon, who saved him from a life of obscure, powerless poverty. He would overlook any number of sins.

Rush gusts into the bedroom and sets about gathering up valuables and stuffing them into a suitcase: business correspondence, jewelry, sketches of designs, bundles of cash from the safe. Daemon will regret having to leave the taxidermied tiger head, but it’s simply too large and heavy to bring with them. Rush hasn’t located Daemon and Rhaenyra yet, but this isn’t so unusual; they are always sneaking around, evading being found purely for the sake of it, the deception, the thrill, ravaging each other in ever more inventive places. God knows where they were when Titanic struck the iceberg, or if they are aware of the impending sinking. Rush is not panicking yet; there’s still time, though perhaps not too much of it. With each passing minute, the ship lists further towards the starboard side. He is just about to get Daemon’s dagger from the writing desk when he hears the door open to the private promenade deck. Rush turns to see Lady Targaryen peeking in from the threshold, pale blue dress, white coat.

He has never felt any loyalty to her. She is a thoughtless, mollycoddled girl, raised in a castle with parents who loved her, and what would she know of what the world was like for everyone else? Daemon only roughed her up when she deserved it, when there was no other way to make her listen, and never too badly: no split bones, no scars. In Rush’s opinion, it was just enough to give her a taste of adversity.

He sighs. “Well, unless you plan on drowning or freezing to death tonight, you might as well follow me up to the Boat Deck. I’m just here to collect some things. They’re only putting women and children in the lifeboats now, but I’m sure first-class men won’t be far behind.”

She says nothing, only watches him from the doorway. The old witch Dagmar isn’t here; she must have already taken the boy to the highest level of the ship, where affluent passengers are waiting impatiently and still in denial that Titanic will soon disappear beneath the waves, asking stewards to fetch them drinks and cigars, calling out song requests to the string quartet.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen Daemon or Rhaenyra, I assume?”

“I thought they were with you.”

“No,” Rush says, smirking. “I seem to have lost track of them. They’re not in either of their staterooms. But don’t fear. Daemon is more than capable of looking after himself. He’ll turn up soon enough.” Perhaps I missed them up on the Boat Deck; it was crowded, it was chaos. Perhaps Daemon is already helping Rhaenyra into a lifeboat, his large rough hands steadying hers as she steps inside. He would save her first.

“I’ll help you pack the valuables,” Lady Targaryen says suddenly, and starts towards Daemon’s writing desk.

“Just keep out of the way,” Rush snaps; and then he sees something and stops dead.

A painter’s easel has slid halfway out from beneath the bed as the floor tilts. This is a peculiar enough item, but the paper clipped to it is stranger. The image is of Lady Targaryen, that is certain, but she isn’t alone; there is a man with her, and while nothing is shown below the collarbones, the activity in which they are partaking is unmistakable.

If she’s found a lover, Daemon really will kill her this time.

Rush gapes at the painting for several long seconds and then looks up at Lady Targaryen. “What the fuck is that?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Your hand hovers on the handle of the desk drawer. You can’t open it and take the dagger while Rush is watching. You know that beneath his coat he wears a shoulder holster containing a Colt 1911. Even with a blade, you are outmatched.

Aegon appears in the doorway to the private deck with a wicker chair. He hurls it at Rush as hard as he can, and as Rush curses and fumbles for his pistol, you seize Daemon’s dagger from the drawer and plunge it into Rush’s back, once, twice, three times, many more. You can’t help but scream as you stab him, because it’s horrible beyond description: the resistance of gristle, the muffled popping of organs, kidneys or a liver or a spleen, and Rush is groaning and contorting, dark blood spilling across the slanting floor. Aegon struggles with him for the gun, ultimately wrenching it out of Rush’s weakening, shaking hands. He’s dying, and while you harbor no affection for him and never have, you remember the children your parents lost. Life is not something to take carelessly. It is already so fragile, and each death creates mourners like heads springing from a hydra.

Over a thousand people will die tonight. Is that really possible?

Rush has stopped moving. You are kneeling with the gold hilt of the dagger in your fist. The gemstones are splattered with blood: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire.

“Here,” Aegon says, trying to give you the pistol.

You recoil. “I don’t know how to use that.”

He laughs, a half-hysterical little cackle. There is a smudge of Rush’s blood across his cheek like a stain of lipstick. “I don’t either!”

“Keep the gun. I trust you.” You turn to the easel that has slid out from beneath the ruffled bed skirt—once white, now speckled with red—and realize that stray blooddrops have been flung across the painting, dots of red turning tacky on the thin layer of oil paint. “I ruined it,” you say, soft and mournful.

“No,” Aegon disagrees, smiling. “You just added some more color.”

You use the bedsheets to wipe the worst of the blood off your hands and the dagger. Then you pull Aegon’s leather portfolio out from underneath the bed, open it, and store the new painting safely inside. In the meantime, Aegon rolls Rush’s body into the closet and entombs him in a heap of gowns you’ll never wear again. You stand, pick up the dagger, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the oval-shaped mirror…and instead of looking away, you stay there for a while. The woman in the glass—like silver, like moonlight—has frightened eyes but a glinting blade as well. There are massive maroon splotches on the belly of your ice-blue dress; you button your coat to conceal them. Through the open door to the private deck, frigid night air floods in like the seawater slowly filling Titanic.

What does water that cold feel like? Like knives, like fangs? A thousand people will soon find out.

“Ready?” Aegon asks. He puts the pistol in the pocket of his stolen black coat.

“Almost.” You find your handbag from yesterday, green to match the emerald-colored dress you wore before Aegon painted you, before he uncovered you like a rare gemstone. Within is Aegon’s small aluminum lighter; you tuck the dagger inside as well. You yank out a handkerchief and clean the blood from Aegon’s cheek with it, then peer down at his swollen, bloodied fingers and knuckles, ravaged by Dagmar’s bitemarks. They are trembling. “Are your hands—?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he whispers, pulling you in and kissing you, touching your face and your hair, his lips warm and soft in a haze of copper-scented glacial air. Would you do this again for him? For Draco, for yourself? Yes. I’d do it a hundred times. “We’re halfway done.”

Up on the Boat Deck, people are finally realizing that the ship is in mortal peril. First-class women, shimmering in their gowns and their jewels, are being hastily loaded into lifeboats along with their maids and their children. You spot Fern in one vessel; she is wearing two coats herself, and has bundled Draco in at least four from what you can tell. She holds him on her lap, and Draco is uncharacteristically hushed, compliant, fearful, gawping with startled blue eyes beneath disorderly white-blonde hair. They are seated beside Benjamin Guggenheim’s elegant French mistress, Léontine Aubart. Ben himself is striding back and forth on the deck with a number of companions, all in pristine black suits and puffing on pipes or cigars, assisting the weeping women as they flee to the lifeboats.

“We are prepared to go down as gentlemen!” Ben is trumpeting. Nearby, a string quartet is playing not an Irish song that you have known since childhood but the mellow, merry, please-don’t-panic melody of Samson and Delilah by Camille Saint-Saëns.

“I guess my viola is long gone, huh?” Aegon tells you. “Oh well. I hope the fish enjoy it.”

Ben Guggenheim continues: “Let it be known for all time that we stayed until the end to save the lives of the innocent, our beloved women and children, and that they survived because of us. Our bodies may fail, but our Christian good deeds will last eternally.”

“Hear hear!” other men are shouting drunkenly, raising glasses of brandy. Stewards and officers cast them brief, rather impatient glances. You wonder if any of the aforementioned gentlemen have considered the women and children of the third class, many of whom must have already predeceased them as they were drowned below deck, ignoble, invisible.

You think for the first time: Are they going to let Aegon into a lifeboat?

“Mam!” Draco shouts when he sees you, reaching out with both arms. You sprint to where he is still secured in Fern’s lap and lean over the side of the lifeboat, clasping his cold little hands and kissing the top of his head. Then you give Aegon’s portfolio to Fern.

“Take this with you. Try to make sure it doesn’t get wet.”

“Are you climbing in now, ma’am?” Fern asks hopefully. “There’s room for one more if we squeeze together.” Her eyes dart to Aegon. “Perhaps two.”

“I can’t,” you reply. “Not quite yet. But I’ll be back soon.”

“No, you have to come with us,” Draco says. The ship’s officers are signaling for the vessel to be lowered into the water. You spy other familiar faces aboard: young pregnant Madeleine Astor, the glamorous Countess of Rothes, the newly-wealthy Margaret Brown. Being a first-class passenger will save her life tonight.

“I’ll get in another boat. I promise.”

“No,” Draco says, and now he’s sobbing. He can’t understand the scale of it, but he knows something is terribly wrong. “Mam, we can’t leave without you. There’s room in the boat. Please get in. Please.” And you think: Maybe he does need me after all. Maybe he always did.

“You can go with them,” Aegon murmurs through your hair. “I’ll finish this. I’ll take care of Daemon and Rhaenyra.”

But he might need your help…and you cannot leave him here alone to freeze or drown or be murdered when Daemon discovers his lethal intentions. “You’re safe,” you tell Draco, one last touch of your palm to his hair, one last reassuring smile you hope isn’t a lie. “Stay with Fern. I’ll be in another lifeboat and I’ll see you again when this is over.”

“No, no, no!” Draco cries, still grasping futilely for you; but the lifeboat is lurching down towards the water and he is soon beyond your reach. High above, a flare explodes in the inky night sky, gleaming silver rain to tell any passing ships that Titanic is doomed. The North Atlantic is like black glass, smooth and reflective. Distant constellations are mirrored there, and you remember a passage from a book you gifted Daemon for your second anniversary when you still believed he might one day love you, an ancient tale from India about the beauty of the ocean: Its huge white waves looked like clouds; its gems looked like stars; its crystals looked like the moon; and its long bright serpents bearing gems in their hoods looked like comets, and thus the whole sea looked like the sky.

“Lady Targaryen,” Ben Guggenheim says as he marches over. He is swaying like he might be drunk. If he is, you can’t blame him. The truth is cold, and poison is warm: alcohol, smoke, a lover’s hands, a gush of blood. “Do you require any assistance, my darling?”

“No, thank you,” you reply swiftly before he can inquire further, and Aegon’s arm circles your waist as you hurry towards the entrance of the Grand Staircase together. You clutch your green handbag close to your chest. Where are Daemon and Rhaenyra? When will this be over?

From back by the lifeboats you can hear Ben Guggenheim shouting: “Tell my wife and daughters in New York that I love them! Tell them that I died a hero, and that I shall see them again when one day we are reunited in heaven…pray for my soul…tell the newspapers of our courage tonight…”

You and Aegon escape into the very top level of the Grand Staircase, the dome of glass and wrought iron above, the English oak wood steps winding below. As you enter, a frenzied crowd passes you on their way out to the Boat Deck: shipbuilder Thomas Andrews, J. Bruce Ismay, a number of others. And then, just as you and Aegon are beginning your descent, you see her on the landing below, frozen in place where she gapes up at you from beside the clock. Soon its ticking will fall silent forever. It will live on only in the memories of the survivors.

Rhaenyra is alone on the staircase. She is wearing a red and black gown and a white lifebelt; she is on her way to evacuate the sinking ship. You have intercepted her not a moment too soon. But she is not looking at you. Her Targaryen-blue eyes are fixed on Aegon, incredulous. It is the first time she has truly noticed him since she came aboard, and she remembers his face from photographs, from portraits, from awkward, frosty visits when they were both children.

“Aegon?” she says. “What are you doing here?”

In response, he removes the pistol from his coat pocket. Rhaenyra screams and bolts down the staircase, Aegon right behind her, flying like a phantom, like a shadow in his stolen black wool coat.

You try to follow, but they are faster. You slip on the steps, one of your blue shoes clattering away as you grip the banister to keep from falling. You reclaim your shoe where the staircase meets A-Deck; outside the illustrious Promenade Deck encircles the perimeter of the ship. You steady yourself against the bronze cherub statue as you slide your shoe back on, then resume the chase…but you don’t know where Aegon and Rhaenyra have gone.

Farther down the Grand Staircase? Out onto the Promenade Deck? Into the maze of hallways?

You try to listen for them, but the turmoil outside is growing louder. You hear a gunshot, but you cannot tell from which direction; the sound reverberates through the steel of the ship and melds with the chorus of failing machinery: groaning joints, snapping beams, steam vented from the massive funnels. You pause in the doorway that leads out to the Promenade Deck, black freezing air drawn into your heaving lungs.

Which way?

Now there are footsteps on the Grand Staircase coming up from B-Deck. You race back to the bronze cherub, but it is not Aegon or Rhaenyra who meets you there. It is Daemon, appearing on the landing like a fogbank or a thunderstorm, black suit, glinting deep-set eyes, towering over you; and once again you are a seventeen-year-old girl climbing into the marriage bed with him and hoping he’ll like you, once again you feel yourself to be entirely at his mercy, in terror of him, in awe of him.

Daemon grabs you by your coat and pushes you against the bronze cherub statue, its edges prodding at your spine. You yelp and he chuckles, and he asks, so casually he must know nothing about Aegon or his pursuit of Rhaenyra like a hound after a fox: “And what are your plans for this evening, dear? Dinner and dancing? Or perhaps a nice brisk swim? Good for one’s health, I hear.”

You can’t find your words. Your fingers that grasp your handbag are numb and useless. Daemon is inside you again, not your body this time but your mind, snipping threads and dissolving mirages. How did I ever believe I could kill him?

Slowly, Daemon’s grin dies. He releases you, and then for some reason—a trick?? a trap??—offers you his empty hand. “Come on,” he says, as if relenting. “I’ll help you get to a lifeboat.”

You stare up at him, and the shock must show on your face, the disbelief, the cautious wonder.

“I can’t take you away from Draco,” Daemon says, answering a question you don’t need to ask. He owns all of you; you have no secrets. “He’s so young. And I know what it’s like to lose a mother.”

Draco, you think with abrupt glass-sharp clarity. I’m doing this for him, and Aegon, and me.

You don’t take Daemon’s hand. Instead, you open your handbag and rip out the dagger. You slash at Daemon’s throat, and you almost cut him deep enough, a fraction of an inch from the carotid or the jugular or the windpipe. But Daemon pulls away at the last second and you only wound him, scarlet rivulets spilling down his neck and staining the white shirt beneath his suit jacket, melting rubies, hard soulless gemstones in the sockets of his eyes.

Daemon throws you down the staircase and you hit the oak steps hard, bruising, twisting, rolling, the thoughts jolted out of your skull. The dagger is knocked from your hand and is lost. You fumble blindly for it where you are sprawled on the next landing, halfway to B-Deck. Your vision is blurred by stars like those in the mirror image on the North Atlantic Ocean.

But I need the dagger, I need it, I need it, I can’t kill him without it.

And as you lift your head you see Daemon coming down to meet you, a gemcutter here to break you over and over again, until there is nothing left but glimmering dust, until you have never existed at all.

[yexthiccxa]

Secrets of the Second Shift - (Part 1)

summary: By day, you are a strong, independent, and dominating force at a successful tech company. By night, you live a second life as an escort at Blinded Bliss, a high-end hostess club. Here you relinquish every ounce of control you hold during the day. It isn’t about the money—you don’t need it. You’re there because you crave freedom of letting go. But when you meet a mysterious client leaves you wanting more, you discover his hidden life might be more similar to yours than you think.

wordcount: 4.7k

full fic c/w: choso smut, choso/fem!reader, choso/oc, modern!au, some plot, plot what plot, porn with plot, gentleman!choso, soft!choso, praise kink, blindfold sex, oral, fingering, vaginal sex, enemies to lovers, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms

Tumblr Master List | Read this chapter on AO3!

✦✧✸✧✦ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ✦✧✸✧✦

This week has been long, the type of week where minutes feel like hours and hours feel like days. It’s thirty minutes to five and each tick of the second hand feels like it’s crawling to meet the finish line. Thankfully it’s Friday—the one day a week where you can let loose and finally feel free.

The thought of this type of bliss only brings forth anticipation, but before you can even think of turning off for the week, an email hits your inbox and your stomach drops.

Subject: Acquisition Notice - Zenin Tech & CurseCore Solutions 

It’s from Naoya Zenin, your manager—charismatic enough to climb the corporate ladder, but smothered with an ego that thrives on undermining the women around him. You click on the email with disdain written all over your face.

As you may have heard, Zenin Tech Inc. has successfully acquired CurseCore Solutions. Their team will be joining ours, and we will be having a team meeting to discuss logistics and the integration of both companies first thing Monday morning. Please be prepared for the transition and be ready to contribute to the planning process. I expect full cooperation from everyone.

You read it again, trying to process the information but the words blur your mind. You knew this acquisition was going to happen, but not this soon—just weeks before your promotion. This was supposed to be your moment, but knowing the financial state of the company, this would push the review cycle and send everything into chaos.

Your heart sinks as the frustration rises within you. Naoya’s name alone sends a ripple of irritation through your veins. It’s no secret that he never plays fair. But this, this is personal. Your promotion was in the bag, and now? Now it’ll be anyone’s game, and you’re not willing to let that go.

The anger boils over, and before you can talk yourself down, you're already standing in front of Naoya’s office door. Your fist knocks sharply against the wood, and you don’t even wait for a response before you enter.

Naoya doesn’t look up from his desk as you storm in, his eyes still glued to the screen. His usual self-satisfied smirk is plastered on his face.

“You have 2 minutes. I’m about to pack up,” he states—voice laced with annoyance as he finally glances up.

“This is going to mess with everything and you know it” you snap, unable to hold back the frustration anymore. “I’ve spent months in this uphill battle with you trying to build this product and this entire team with the shitshow that you handed me. And now we’ll have to bring on all these people who have absolutely no idea what they’re doing?”

Naoya’s gaze turns cold, and he leans back in his chair with the casual arrogance that makes you want to slap him. “What can I say, the company came with a great manager and his team was the deal breaker. It’s just business.”

My jaw dropped to the floor. No words could describe the rage that coursed through me.

“If you’re as good as you think you are, your promotion will still come through. If you think CurseCore’s manager is a threat, then maybe you should reevaluate,” Naoya sneered.

You narrow your eyes, knowing this is just another attempt to reclaim his power. The words linger in the air between you, unspoken but clear: try all you want, a woman like you could never reach the top.

You force a smile, tight-lipped and brittle. "We'll see about that, Naoya."

With that, you turn on your heel and leave, your mind racing. This felt like you were climbing a slippery slope, but you’ve worked too hard to let him win. Determination fills your heart and you’ll do whatever it takes to secure your place.

As soon as you step out of the office, you close your eyes for a moment, drawing a slow, deep breath to center yourself. The anger you feel from the encounter with Naoya is just a shadow, fleeting and unimportant. You can’t afford to let it control you. Life working at Zenin Tech was only half the battle. The other half outside of work is a whole other story.

As you pack up your belongings and make your way to the car, you feel your shoulders lighten and the furrow between your brows soften.

Outside of the office, you’re not the sharp, dominating force who claws her way through Zenin Tech. Instead you’re the woman who offers herself to the thrilling sensations that await you behind the platinum doors of Blinded Bliss—a high-end club where clients come to indulge in everything they can’t have in their daily lives. Here, your power comes from relinquishing control.

You could say Blinded Bliss is a hostess club, and you could call yourself an escort, but it doesn’t feel anything like that. You don’t do it for the money—thankfully Naoya pays you enough to keep you stable. What you truly do it for is the escape. For once in your life, it’s a space where you don’t have to fight for every inch of respect. You can just exist and bliss naturally follows—plus, getting paid a little extra never hurts.

You walk through the platinum doors and take comfort in the entryway’s soft curves and dim lighting. The transition in your demeanor is always a smooth one. The change of clothes, the makeup, the deliberate shift in posture. By day, you are calculated, efficient, in charge—but by night, you are dripping in sexual prowess.

Your manager, Satoru Gojo, meets you as soon as you walk in. His presence is immediately soothing, as always. If there’s anything Satoru knows how to do, it’s how to take care of his girls. 

“Ah, there she is—one of my favorites,” Satoru croons.

“You say that about all your girls,” you playfully chuckle.

Blinded Bliss may have started out as your typical hostess club, but Satoru has turned it into something that feels out of the norm. While client satisfaction at the club is important, your satisfaction is non-negotiable . No scrubs, no duds, only suitable matches allowed for each of the girls—otherwise they’re banned until a new recruit comes along who can match your style. After all, what else can you give a man who has all the money in the world? Apparently nothing, except the satisfaction of knowing how and who will pleasure his girls.

"Big night," Satoru says, his eyes sparkling behind his signature blindfold. "We’ve got high rollers on the client list, and I’ll be handling your sales personally this time around.”

You smile, the tension in your chest loosening.

Typically everyone switches off when it comes to sales negotiations and matching clients—one girl acts as the sales assistant, while the other presents herself in the hot seat. When a deal is made the sales assistant may step away.

It’s always nice when Satoru’s in charge. His easy confidence makes you feel like you can just relax and let everything else fade away. The world of Zenin Tech, the pressure of the job, the promotion—none of it matters here.

After getting ready, you head to your assigned room and Satoru greets you at the door, “Welcome my dear, your throne awaits.” He opens up to allow you in first and follows shortly behind you.

The room is large enough to house various drawers, a vanity desk and cloud cushioned loveseat, but still small enough to feel cozy and intimate. The walls are dark with leather clad panels that bounce off waves of diffused lighting (and provide excellent soundproofing). One end of the room features a mirror that practically spans the entire wall. The other has a bed, the hot seat , with a canopy frame—which looks like it’s meant for decor, but is not-so-secretly meant for restraints.

You make your way to the bed and brush your fingers against the delicate blindfold you’ll wear for the night.

“New set?” you ask Satoru.

“Like I said, we’ve got some heavy hitters tonight—needed to do a little refresh. Plus this one is thicker so you can truly see what I see—or rather don’t see.” Satoru’s words feel like velvet. 

He picks up the black cloth and ties to cover your eyes. Your view instantly turns black and you feel your mouth tug into a slight grin.

The warmth of his breath hovers over your neck as he unties your robe, revealing your supple breasts and smooth curves. Satoru gently slips it off your shoulders and your nipples begin to harden—whether it be from straight arousal or the cool air surrounding you, you’re unsure.

“Tonight, just focus on how you feel ,” he whispers. “...and let me handle the rest.” He kisses your forehead and directs you to the edge of bed.

You’ve done this dance with Satoru countless times, but each time, the sense of anticipation still rushes through you. All you have to do now is wait.

Satoru makes his way to the seat of the vanity desk to your left and you hear his muffled voice speak into his mic, “Let’s begin.”

✦✧✸✧✦

The sound of a creaking door filling the room and heavy footsteps settling in lets you know that bids have started. You can sense each client’s presence, their eyes on you—evaluating, appraising—despite the blindfold shielding you from their gaze.

Normally, the thought might unnerve you, but here in this room, a sense of calm washes over you. Though he may sit silently, you know Satoru is doing the exact same thing to them. He’s been with enough women and men to know what constitutes the best of the best.

He tells you when someone is particularly interested, but none of them have what he’s looking for. Not yet. There is occasional back and forth questioning, but he ultimately rejects the first few—his commentary light but cutting.

“Pass. Too boring.”

“Too aggressive.”

“Nope—aura’s all wrong for you.”

“Could use a little work—visually.”

Finally, the door opens with a slight creak, and a new presence fills the room. The energy is different this time—sharp, commanding, but strangely composed. 

“Hmm.” Was that Satoru’s hum of approval? Intrigue? Or Both? 

The silence shifts as you feel someone approaching.

“Haven’t seen you around town,” Satoru starts. “Passing by?”

You hear a male’s voice, his tone is low and rich. “No, I’m new—just moved here for work.”

“Welcome, we’re so delighted to see you here tonight. What do you do for work?”

“I work in tech—you can say I always keep busy. But while I’d love to chat, I seem to be a bit distracted. I think we have more important things to focus on." You’re still seeing black, but you sense him shifting his gaze. "Like the gorgeous woman who’s in front of us.”

He makes his way towards you. His footsteps are deliberate, and before you can register the sudden tension, you feel him pause. “May I?”

Typically clients direct their questions to Satoru, but you feel the rumble of his voice flow straight to you.

You tilt your chin upwards to signal your agreement, exposing the area between your neck and collarbone. 

As you feel the man motion towards you, Satoru interjects, “Above the waist only—below will cost you.”

Your senses tell you that his focus never wavers. Despite the cover over your eyes you feel the heat of his gaze burn right through you.

His voice is tender, but resolute, “Oh no worries, I have every intention of following through, but first…”

Goosebumps crawl across your skin as you feel his breath nearing. But to your surprise, you feel his hand gently take yours. His grip is comforting and steady. He runs his thumb gently across your knuckles before pausing directly on the three delicate stars tattooed between your thumb and pointer finger—a reminder that no matter what path you’ve chosen, the stars will always align for you.

His lips press a delicate, respectful kiss into your skin. “Such a pleasure to meet you today,” his voice is low, but clear.

There’s something about him—something both powerful and unnervingly calm—that makes you shiver. Even Satoru seems to pause for a moment, his usual playful demeanor slipping just enough to notice the shift.

This is no ordinary client.

“Love, why don’t we give the man a taste?” Satoru’s cue to move to the next phase.

“Gladly,” you purr as a devious smile sweeps across your face.

You feel the mystery man kneel down towards your center. The thought immediately tightens your core, causing yourself to drip with desire, but you stop him just short of his destination.

Your hands meet his hair, but you notice that your fingers are blocked from running them through. You feel one…no—two, hair ties around his hair and gently guide him up until your breaths mingle and your foreheads touch. “No need to rush, we’ll have all the time in the world for that.”

“Forgive me,” he apologizes. His words are not guarded, accepting of the fact that good things come to those who wait.

The man’s head nudges as the sound of Satoru scraping his seat across the room fills the quiet air.

“Take a seat and you can have a taste. Play your cards right and you’ll get your fill.” Satoru directed to the man, his tone slightly edged with menace. Satoru takes a spot next to you at the edge of the bed and it’s your cue to open your legs.

You scoot back just enough to have your heels rest on the edge and knees bent above—giving the man a full display of all you have to offer.

“Such a pretty little pussy you have there,” the man murmurs—each word sending a wave of ecstasy to your folds.

You tilt your head slightly towards Satoru to signal that you’re ready. Within milliseconds you feel Satoru’s slender fingers swipe the pool of liquid resting on your flesh and bring it towards your clit. The initial shock sends chills, but the sensation is hot to your core.

A quiet moan escapes as he circles the sensitive area of your body. Without a second thought, you take your hand, the one still warm from the mystery man’s kiss, and gently slide two fingers in and out of your entrance—perfectly matching Satoru’s pace. You two have mastered this song and dance. Countless attempts with only a handful of successes.

Your breath becomes shallow and hurried while your insides begin to coil. Heat builds from within and each touch gets you closer and closer to your peak.

Your craving for desire causes your naughty inner thoughts to leave your mouth, “Satoru I love when you touch me like that.”

Satoru loves this tactic because it makes or breaks each man who comes through this room. He lives to prey on each client's unique mix of power or vulnerability. Do they become impatient, possessive, and retaliate? Uncomfortable, uneasy, and eventually break? Or do they simply remain secure and patient knowing that whatever Satoru does to pleasure you, they can do it ten times better?

When you hear the subtle thud of the man leaning onto the back rest of his seat, you know you have a winner.

Silence fills the room as he watches—eyes locking onto each stroke. His hums echo your moans every time he sees the wetness cling to your fingers. You could feel him studying every bit of you—the way your star tattoos flex with every pulse, the way your pussy twitches when Satoru strokes your clit. Your yearning for lust only leaves him wanting more.

“I could watch you do this all day,” his voice carries a smoky edge.

You feel a steady pull in the air, the energy swirling between the two of you. Without a word, Satoru yields, his approval evident in the subtle lift of his hands. You follow his lead, lift your own and gesture to the man in front of you. Are you ready to have a taste? You don't need to speak—he's been waiting for this since the moment he set his sights on you.

Despite your lack of vision, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric and his steady breathing draws closer. Finally, the warmth of his mouth closes around your fingers, sucking every last bit until he’s satiated. “You truly do taste as good as you look” he praised.

You smile and sense Satoru’s nod of approval. The air is cool around you as he lifts himself off the bed and makes his way to the door. “Enjoy,” he croons as he departs from the room.

The door clicks and you realize you two are finally left alone. 

As he releases the hold from his lips, the man moves towards you. You feel the warmth of his body guide your back onto the bed. The faint scent of his cologne—spiced and earthy—fills your lungs, grounding you even as your heart races. You can almost feel the weight of his gaze on you, dragging across your skin like a whisper. The intensity sends a shiver down your spine and an ache between your thighs.

“Does he always make you feel that good?” the man asks. His teasing tone suggests that he already knows the answer.

You feel your brows lift and get ready to challenge, “Think you can do better—”

Before you can finish your thought, you feel his grip secure your waist and his lips press against your neck. The instant heat that floods through you tells you everything you need to know.

As the initial shock settles, he kisses his way down to your collarbone while his hands slide towards your folds. His hands are strong, and his fingers are thick. Even the slightest swipe causes you to whimper.

He slowly glides two fingers into your entrance, filling every crevice with erotic delight. The feeling curls through your stomach and radiates to the tip of your toes. If his hands could make you feel this way, there's no telling what other parts of him could do.

You’ve felt the touch of many men but something tells you that this one is not like the others. His touch is commanding, yet not aggressive. His cadence is gentle yet still purposeful. It’s as if he’s giving his everything, but with only your pleasure in mind and asking for nothing in return.

“Oh fuck, yes, ” you moan loudly—grateful for the sound proofed walls. You ride his fingers in hopes of him going deeper.

“You’re so fucking wet. Do you like it when I do this to your pussy?” The timbre of his voice vibrates through you.

Your lips part, but no words come out—they’re caught in the tension coiled tight between you. All you can do is let your touch roam his body. His arms were honed to perfection, his chest solid and firm, his abs defined and sculpted, all reflecting the build of a mythical god. You don’t need to see him to visualize this beautiful man and all the filthy things he could do to you.

The silence draws a chuckle from him—soft, rich, and entirely too confident . How could he not be? Every move left you speechless.

“No words? I’ll take that as a yes.”

His rhythm doesn’t cease, but you feel his warmth drift away, gradually moving towards the lower half of your body.

“If you enjoy that, I have a feeling you’ll love this even more.”

He situates himself right in between your legs, planting kisses on the insides of your thighs. As he works his way towards the center you feel your body climb to its peak.

The first touch of his lips sucking against your clit immediately sends your body into euphoria. From there, his tongue and hands work in tandem to pleasure you in ways you didn’t know you could comprehend. His mouth is wet and warm—mixing with your fluids to effortlessly slide his fingers inside and out. Each stroke builds upon the last, until you're on the brink of eruption. 

Your back arches, causing you to grab hold of the ties on his hair, momentarily pinning him as close as you can get him. You continue to savor the pleasure by grinding against his tongue. “Fuck, that feels so good. I’m so close,” you cry in delight.

The grip your thighs have on him grows tighter by the second, but he lifts his head just enough to whisper into you, “Yes that’s it. Louder. Let me know how much you need it.”

His words spark a fire and immediately send you into a spiral. Your moans intensify, growing louder, more insistent and raw.

“Oh yes, don’t stop—F-fuck, don’t stop.”  

In a final crash—the tides of ecstasy flow through you as you come undone and lose control. You feel your entire body shudder as he slips himself in for one last time. His tongue keeps moving but his strokes pause so he can feel your inner walls pulsate against his fingers. Your thighs clench around him as you let out a symphony of pleasure. 

When you release him from your hold, he kisses his way back up your body—ending his trail with a kiss that claims your lips with undeniable authority. He pulls away—you get the feeling that he’s trying to get a good look at you, but you grip his collar and bring him back to echo your claim. 

Your tongue travels through his mouth, allowing you to taste the subtle notes yourself coming undone. He catches a nibble of your lip while he grabs your ass. Instantly, you melt. The ache between your legs returns and it longs to be filled. You do everything you can to strip him down until you can feel his length graze your skin.

In all your time at Blinded Bliss, you’ve never cared to see or get to know your clients. Usually the blindfold comes off at their request, never yours. But today, you want this man—no, need this man. At this point, there’s not a single ounce of decency or control left in your brain. All that’s left is your body’s desire to test the limits and see who this man is and how good he can make you feel.

Between the tumbling to undress and the ravenous kissing, you momentarily break the connection between your lips. His breath felt hot as you both lingered for a moment.

Instinctively you asked, “Am I able to see the man who’s been keeping me in the dark or will all of this remain a mystery? 

“Hmm, someone is becoming a bit hasty, I see,” he teases—placing one more delicate kiss onto your lips. “Personally, I enjoy anonymity,” he whispers—fingers traveling back down to your slit. He buries his head into your neck before returning his exploration of your mouth with his tongue.

“Are you scared I won’t like what I see?” You smirk.

He pauses, deliberately sliding the trickle from your center onto your clit—echoing Satoru’s move from earlier that drove you crazy. “On the contrary, I think you might like it a little too much —or so I’ve been told.” his tone laced with a low, modest confidence.

Between the rumble in his voice and his movements on your clit. This man sends you in a complete frenzy. 

“But that’s not the point,” He continues. “Keeping it like this means no pressure. No attachments. No strings. Just us in the moment–and this .” He plunges two broad fingers deep inside you, stretching you from the inside.

You try to speak but your words come out breathless. “For the record, I’ve come across many individuals with bold claims. I can assure you that you don’t have to worry about me getting attached.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about you—I’m worried about me.”

Butterflies in your stomach form, keeping you irresistibly drawn to him. Though he remains unseen, you feel the prolonged connection of his gaze.

He finally moves to position himself to your side. You feel him pull away as if he’s extending his reach, unfazed as the tip of his flesh grazes across your thigh.

No stay, please. You whimper as the needy thought crosses your mind. You’ve become addicted to his touch and will do anything to keep him close. Little do you know, he has the same idea.

The distinct crinkle of a condom wrapper fills the room as it falls to the floor. Moments later his warm touch lands on your knees, gently guiding your legs further apart until he can fit in between them. You feel him tease your entrance and instantly begin to gush.

The shock turns your whimpers into moans. “Fuck, please—” you plead, shifting your hips to show him just how much you crave him.

“For someone so eager to see what's going on, something tells me you’re enjoying the suspense a lot more” he quips.

His remark leaves you speechless, but so impeccably turned on.

“Do you want me to fill you with this dick?” He growls.

“Yes—” you breathe. “Please—”

His dick enters you, causing a momentary flash of pain as you adjust to his size. You don’t know how big he is, but if his hands were any indicator, you know that this is only the beginning.

“God you’re so tight,” he grits as if he’s trying to hold back his own release.

He slowly slides into you and you can’t help but moan as your pussy takes him inch by inch.

“That’s my good girl, we’re almost there.” His grip on your waist tightens, making you feel safe as he draws closer to you.

There’s more? He’s already budging against your cervix and you don’t know if you can take the rest.

When the gap between you closes, you exhale—feeling completely filled by his shaft. Your body is searing with pleasure but you try to hold back the tension winding up inside of you.

He rhythmically thrusts himself into you, filling the air with nothing but the sound of your skin slapping against each other. He palms your breast, rubbing the knot of your nipple which causes you to release a cascade of shaky whimpers. You knew this was coming, but you weren’t prepared for the euphoria it would bring.

His breath becomes labored, but the way he glides in and out tells you that he’s enjoying himself. “Fuck—you feel so good. I can’t believe I get to fuck this pretty little pussy.”

Unraveling, there’s no other word for it. You’re starting to unravel and you can’t control yourself.

Without warning, you feel his other hand grab yours—moving it towards your mound. He keeps his hand over yours, resting his thumb gently over your tattoo. as he guides you to massage your clit. This definitely doesn’t stop you from coming undone, but at least he’s giving you back the sense of control you secretly yearn for.

“I’m so close, I think I’m gonna come,” you cry out.

“Show me how beautiful you look when you come,” he replies.

His vibrating timbre triggers your release. Once again a surge of pleasure washes over you, like a flood of light piercing through the darkness of your blindfold. Every nerve in your body seems to come alive, a warmth spreading from your core to your fingertips. 

“F—fuck yes, I’m coming!”

His breath is unsteady but his tone does not waver, “Come for me.”

You feel him jerk his hips for a final thrust until you both become a mess of pulsating flesh. Your insides are milking every last bit of him and he roars with desire. After fully draining himself into you, the weight of his body covers you—the firmness of his chest contrasting the softness of yours. The moment settles and you feel your breaths gradually syncing to a calm rhythm.

You both lay in silence until he finally lets out a deflated sigh. 

What was that—disappointment? Frustration? Regret? Your stomach turns, but not in a good way. “Is everything ok?” you ask.

He lets out a nervous chuckle—more a release of tension than humor. “So much for no strings,” he mutters, almost to himself. “This is gonna be harder than I thought and we've only just begun.” Hmm, attached so soon?

Clients getting attached isn’t new; in fact, it’s honestly great for business. You’ve heard this sentiment countless before. But this time, something feels different. For the first time, you’re scared you might agree.

[thewritingrowlet]

The Vacation Trip, ft. tripleS Xinyu, Nakyoung

tags: creampie, anal, anal creampie, daddy kink, rough

length: almost 8k

author's note: I'm a Seoyeon bias, bro, how did I end up writing so much of others? Anyway, this is the continuation of The Outing Trip. I decided to write a "sequel" that takes place after the events of The Outing Trip because I'm not ready to end it just yet.

p.s. I will be writing the follow-up to The Loving Wife soon; please look forward to it.

“Baby, we need to sleep soon; we’re leaving early in the morning”, you say to Xinyu, who presses you against the wall as soon as you enter the apartment. “I trust you to wake us up”, Xinyu says before pressing her lips on yours. Xinyu sleeps very well after having sex but struggles to wake up in the morning after, so the fact that she wants to have sex tonight is concerning; you need to pick up Nakyoung before 6 am tomorrow morning and head to the bus station after. “Huh? Kim Nakyoung?”, the voice in your head asks. Yes, Nakyoung, your official side girl who’s been an extra by your side ever since you got back from the outing trip―Xinyu approves of this, just so we’re clear.

“Oppa, you’re not cooperating”, Xinyu complains, “give me your tongue”. You comply to Xinyu’s demand and stick your tongue in her mouth. Xinyu fights your tongue with hers, occasionally letting you win. You shake off other thoughts and decide to play along. You clamp your lips on her tongue and squeeze, surprising Xinyu, who lets out a moan as a response. Xinyu finally breaks the tangle to catch her breath. “Oppa, what the fuck was that?”, Xinyu breathes heavily, “that was so fucking hot”.

You carry her in your arms and take her to the bedroom. “If you can’t wake up on time tomorrow morning, I’m locking you in the apartment”, you threaten her. Xinyu scoffs, “oh, please, you don’t know who I am and what I’m capable of”. Well, you know who Xinyu is and what she’s capable of, which is sleeping in and then waking up at the last minute—you’ll be making her pack a backpack after this so that neither of you will have to worry about it tomorrow should she wake up late. “Sure, baby, whatever you say”, you lift your T-shirt over your head, “are we doing this, or no?”.

Xinyu tells you to get naked entirely before she takes off her clothes. “Oppa, look at me, please”, Xinyu steps away from you while making sure you’re looking at her body. As soon as she unbuttons her shirt, you see the white lace bra she has on, and your hand automatically moves towards your erect cock. Xinyu giggles at you, “you haven’t even seen the whole thing yet, oppa”. “You need to be quick, baby; I can’t fucking wait any more”, you say, your hand busy stroking your cock. You can tell that Xinyu also can’t wait to start the action, but her slender fingers struggle to unbutton her jeans. “Fuck, this is embarrassing”, Xinyu pouts, “oppa, help”. You chuckle as you move to help her, “next time just don’t bother buttoning your pants, hm?”.

Now that Xinyu’s free of her restraining jeans, you can see the matching panties that have a wet spot on them. “Aww, you’re wet”, you touch her over the panties, “on a scale of one to ten, how horny are you, babe?”. Xinyu throws her head back, enjoying the warmup, “a-ah—fi-fifteen”. You pull Xinyu into your lap, your cock hovering above her stomach. You’re aware of how long you are, but the image of touching her cervix with the tip of your cock still gets you every time. “If one day we decide to have kids, oppa, you’ll have no trouble getting me pregnant”, Xinyu says, “now fuck me, please”.

You move Xinyu to the middle of the bed and put her legs on your shoulders—one issue, though: her knees and thighs are closed. “Is something wrong, cutie?”, you ask. Xinyu lifts her butt off the bed and spreads her legs, “you see that, oppa?”. You look down and see a shiny round thing between her cheeks, “is that a plug? Where did you get that?”. “I borrowed it from Nakyoung-ie”, Xinyu says, “I’ve been training my ass so that I can give you my cherry since you weren’t my first”. You’ve never asked Xinyu to train her ass, and you’ve told her that you don’t mind not being her first, so you’re not sure why she has decided to do all this. “Where did this come from, hon? Who talked you into this?”, you interrogate her. Xinyu holds your hands, “Nakyoung-ie looked like she was on cloud nine when you fucked her ass, so I’m curious. Would you fuck me in the ass as well, oppa? You’ll be the first and last person to do so”. You take a deep breath, “sure, if you really want to—but remember this: if I see that you’re in pain, I’m pulling out”.

Xinyu agrees to your terms and shows you her wet entrance, “first things first, oppa”. You guide your cock into her pussy, and Xinyu instantly lets out a soft, whiny moan. “Ah, daddy”, she says softly, “always so good, daddy—fuck”. Making Xinyu scream when in bed is nice and all, but having Xinyu speak and moan softly during sex makes you feel full of love. “Baby, fuck”, you let out a low moan, “I love you so much”. Xinyu pulls you towards her, “I love you too, oppa. You’re always so kind to me”. You chuckle slightly, “I can say the same about you, baby”. Xinyu smiles and pulls you into a kiss, breaking it every odd second to let out moans.

You start moving your hips faster, and Xinyu guides your head towards her neck. “Mark me, oppa; I want to show off to Nakyoung-ie tomorrow”, she says, tilting her head slightly to show you the desired area. You wordlessly grant her request, latching your lips on Xinyu’s neck and start planting hickeys. You notice that Xinyu is starting to breathe faster, and you’d like to think that what you’re doing is satisfactory. “Oppa, I love you so much”, Xinyu says, her chest rising and coming back down repeatedly, “mark me, oppa; make people know that I belong to you”. You’re trying your best to multitask, as you can’t let the tempo of your pumps go down while you’re busy marking Xinyu.

It is when Xinyu announces that she’s close that you stop being a neck painter and straighten your posture. “Let’s cum together, baby”, you say to her. You fold Xinyu in half, pressing her legs against her torso, and turn up the pace. You see her lewd aroused face in between her knees: her mouth is wide open, and her tongue is sticking out, as if trying to lick something. You bring a thumb towards her tongue, and Xinyu starts licking it as if it was your cock.

“Fuck, I’m about to bust”, you murmur. Xinyu retreats from your mouth and lets out a scream. Unlike the resort, your bedroom is soundproofed quite well, so Xinyu can scream until her voice disappears if she wants to. The two of you reach your peak at the same time; you send your load deep into Xinyu, while her entire body shakes violently. “You’re always so good, love”, you praise her as you straighten her legs, “I love you so much”. Xinyu doesn’t say anything back as she’s still busy squirming around, basking in her high. “I-I love you too, oppa”, Xinyu weakly rolls onto her stomach, “I’m out of energy, fuck—let’s save the ass-taking for next time, oppa”.

-

You wake up before your alarm has the chance to ring. When you look to your left, you see that Xinyu is still sleeping rather peacefully. “Love you, babe”, you whisper to her before pecking her exposed forehead. After collecting your consciousness and strength, you get off the bed and walk out of the bedroom.

You can tell by the phone light that someone is lying on the sofa. Whoever is lying on the sofa hears you, “oh, you’re awake—good morning, oppa”. You let out a sigh of relief, “oh, it’s you. What are you doing here this early, Nakyoung-ah?”. Nakyoung walks up to you and pecks you on the lips, “just wanted to make sure you don’t leave without me”. You return the favor and peck her on the lips, “can I entertain you with something?”. Nakyoung points at your morning wood, “can I help you with that, oppa?”. Since Nakyoung is your official side chick, you don’t feel like you’re betraying Xinyu the same way you did with Dahyun. “Yeah, sure”, you take Nakyoung’s hand and walk towards the sofa with her.

Before sitting down, you pull your shorts and boxers down to give Nakyoung access to your erect cock. Nakyoung ties her hair in a bun, thus indirectly showing off her perky tits to you, before getting on her knees. “Thanks for the meal”, Nakyoung licks her lips before taking you in her mouth. “Don’t go too hard; this is still very early”, you say to her. Since her mouth is full, Nakyoung can only hum in response.

Nakyoung starts going down on your shaft, taking her time to make sure she doesn’t choke on it. You stroke the side of her head gently, “you’re such a good girl, sweetie”. Nakyoung has expressed her desire to be called by pet names, but she tends to get overexcited when she hears it. “There’s no need to rush, sweetie; we have time”, you remind her, just in time to stifle her excitement.

“Oppa, cum soon, please. I’m getting tired”, Nakyoung says, snapping you out of your blissful reverie. “I’m pretty close, sweetie”, as soon as you say that, you hear the bedroom door swing open; Xinyu has managed to wake up without help. “Good morning, baby”, you greet the partially awake zombie. Xinyu slowly walks towards the sofa and rests her head on your thigh, not bothering with questioning anything. So here you are: your girlfriend is sleeping on your thigh and her best friend is kneeling in front of you with your cock in her mouth.

In order to get out of this, uh, predicament, you first ask Nakyoung to stop sucking you. You then move Xinyu so that she lies flat on the sofa—earning a grunt of annoyance from her—and puts your shorts and boxers back on. Lastly, you return Xinyu to her previous position and have her put her head on your thigh. Since the sofa doesn’t allow for two people to lie on it at the same time, Nakyoung resorts to resting her head against your other leg. “Girls, we have to leave soon”, you hate to break it to them, but it’s true; the bus will leave at 6:45 and you must be there before 6:15 tops. “Tell that to your sleepy girlfriend. I’m already wide awake”, Nakyoung defends herself.

You guess that Xinyu needs help getting ready, so you get up from the sofa and carry her to the bathroom for a shower. You make her sit on the toilet and kneel in front of her. “Babe, wake up, please”, you say in a calm tone. To your surprise, Xinyu opens her eyes right away; “I am fully awake, oppa. I just wanted to make sure you’d take care of me”. Xinyu straightens her posture and asks you to help her undress. You unbutton her pajama from the top, “oh, I almost forgot—I love you, baby”. While Xinyu is looking away to hide her blush, you continue unbuttoning her top until you can free her from it. “Fuck, you’re so hot, babe”, you comment, “shame that we don’t have that much time; we could’ve had some fun”. “My heart will explode if you keep saying these sweet things, oppa”, Xinyu pulls down her pants, thus getting fully naked and ready for shower.

You join her in the shower after getting naked, and that is when Xinyu starts teasing you. She keeps touching your cock every now and then and pretends to apologize for “accidentally” touching you. “Babe, I was serious when I said that we don’t have much time. I promise I will entertain all your antics once we get to the resort”, you remind her. Xinyu leans forward and nibbles the side of your neck, “I can tell you’re horny, oppa”. Well, there’s nowhere to hide now, “yeah, I am pretty damn horny right now—I mean, shit, look at you; you’re so hot”.

-

“Remind me where we’re going?”, Nakyoung asks as the three of you walk to find your bus. “The resort where we had our outing trip at”, you see the bus a few meters in front of you, “that’s ours, let’s go”. You approach the bus crew and show him the QR code on your phone. “I know this name”, he says, looking back and forth between you and your name, “you’re from that university, aren’t you?”. You show him a chill face, “that’s true, mister. Now we’re going back there for vacation”. He turns his attention and glances at Xinyu and Nakyoung, “well, it looks like you’re going to have a lot of fun”. “Well, that’s the plan—thanks!”, you say.

You get on the bus after the guy scans your QR code. You tell the girls to sit next to each other and “sacrifice” yourself to sit behind them—most likely with a stranger—since it’ll be safer this way, and obviously they agree. Not long after sitting down, you see more and more people start filling the empty seats behind you. Even after the bus driver has gotten in his seat and started the engine, the seat next to you remains empty. “I guess no one is traveling alone”, you think to yourself. As soon as the bus starts rolling, Xinyu hands you a picture of you and her, “so you don’t forget about me”. You want to laugh but a part of you thinks that this gesture has a deeper meaning, so you simply take the picture and thank her.

-

The bus has gotten on the ferry, which means passengers can get off, just like last time. When you check on the girls, you see that Nakyoung is sleeping and leaning against the window, while Xinyu is listening to music on her headphones. When Xinyu sees you, you gesture to her to follow you off the bus.

You walk with her to the top deck to stretch your legs and get some air. “I have a feeling you want to talk about something”, Xinyu says. “That is true”, you say, so Xinyu moves to lean on the railings next to you. “This love triangle happened with your consent, but I want to ask how you’re feeling about us right now”, you start. Xinyu gazes at the blue sea in front of her as she forms her answer. “Honestly, I feel like you’re starting to forget me, oppa”, Xinyu answers, “this morning wasn’t the first time Nakyoung-ie touched you before me, was it? I guess the whole point is that I’m starting to get jealous”. You subconsciously rub your cheek, as if feeling the pain from Xinyu’s slap from that time. “I’m sorry, love; it was never my intention to put Nakyoung-ie before you” are all you can come up with. “I know”, Xinyu sighs deeply, “just… don’t forget about me, please, oppa”.

“Oh, there you are”, you hear Nakyoung’s voice behind you. You turn around with Xinyu and wrap an arm around her before turning your attention to Nakyoung, “did you sleep well?”. Nakyoung stops a few steps in front of you, “are you two okay?”. You peck Xinyu’s temple quickly, “we had something to talk about, and I think we’re now okay”. Xinyu wasn’t satisfied with a quick peck, so she moves in front of you and comes in for a kiss, subtly reminding Nakyoung that you’re hers. “I love you so fucking much, oppa—you have no idea”, Xinyu says to you, serving as a reminder of her feelings for you. You put a palm on the side of Xinyu’s neck, “I’m marking you tonight, babe”.

Xinyu rolls her eyes when she hears Nakyoung clear her throat behind her. “I won’t forget about you, Naky-yah”, Xinyu turns around and shows Nakyoung a smiling face—a simple front that Nakyoung should be able to see through. Deep inside, you’re worried; what if you’re the cause of a ruined friendship? That would be disastrous, wouldn’t it? Wait, it was Xinyu’s idea to share you with her best friend, wasn’t it? You have all these questions but nothing but time can answer them for you.

-

“Welcome to—wait, I know you”, the same reception desk staff recognizes the three of you, “thank you for coming back, guys”. “It’s nice to be back, miss”, you shake her hand over the desk. You proceed to show her the booking info on your phone, and after cross-checking it with her computer, the staff hands you two keycards—you booked two rooms to “hide” the fact that you’ll be sleeping with two girls. “Keep it down when you do it, okay?”, the staff winks at you, and you feel your cheeks start getting red from embarrassment. “Th-thank you”, you timidly grab the keycards from her before walking away with Xinyu and Nakyoung.

“So, what will we do after this?”, Xinyu asks as she walks next to you towards your room. “109, 111—oh, here, 115 and 117!”, you ignore Xinyu momentarily as you read the room numbers, “one second, sweetie”. You hand Nakyoung the extra keycard and tell her to go in her room while you try and get in yours. After hearing the door unlock, you pull Xinyu by her wrist and enter with her. You close the door behind you—you make sure Nakyoung can’t disturb you for now—and lean against it. “Babe”, you turn her face towards you, “I love you so fucking much”. Xinyu giggles as her cheeks start turning red, “that was so random, oppa”.

You lift Xinyu by her thighs and carry her towards the bed for some intimacy. “Fuck, I wish I knew other ways to express love other than sex—I’m sorry for being such a boring person, baby”, you admit your cluelessness. Xinyu puts her hands on either side of your face—her hands feel particularly soft today. “I mean, I’m horny for you 24/7, oppa”, Xinyu giggles cutely. You were about to start undressing when you heard your stomach rumble. “Let’s get something to eat, babe; we can’t have sex on an empty stomach”, you say to Xinyu while pulling her onto her feet. Instead of walking towards the door, however, Xinyu opts to hug you tightly. “Oppa, I love you soooo, soooo much. Please don’t forget that”, she says in a small, soft voice. “I was about to say how could I ever forget but I remembered that I literally cheated on you”, you chuckle, amused by your terrible, cherry-picking memory, “no, babe; I will never forget how much you love me”.

Xinyu pulls away from the hug with a smile on her face, but she hasn’t had enough of you just yet. “Your first load is mine, oppa”, she demands with an alluring lick on the lips. “If we weren’t in college, I wouldn’t bother with the pills”, Xinyu piles on, and admittedly, you’re very tempted. “Babe, let’s not be reckless”, you try to stay solid. “Don’t lie to yourself, oppa”, Xinyu smirks naughtily, “we both know we want it—just say the word and I’m yours”. You shut your eyes tightly; it’s very hard to not waver right now, but you—and Xinyu—know that it’s simply too risky and irresponsible. You take a deep breath as you think that you’ve found the perfect reply for her. “Love, I promise that we’ll talk about this one day—y’know, when we’re in a much more comfortable situation and so on”, you hope that Xinyu accepts this reply, because you’re stumped and can’t come up with anything better than this. Xinyu pecks you once and follows it up with a giggle, “sure, oppa”.

-

You break the kiss when you hear someone knock; “fucking shit timing”. Xinyu pinches your cheek softly, “it was your idea to have food sent here, oppa”. You take a deep breath to calm yourself down, “yeah, I know—come, let’s eat”. You close your eyes and walk around the room a little bit to lull your boner before answering the door. You take the plates from the staff’s hands and put them on the table. “One chicken cordon bleu for you, and one tenderloin steak for me”, you move Xinyu’s plate closer to her and start eating right away.

When you look to the side, you see that Xinyu is already halfway through her meal. “Eat faster, oppa. We have things to do”, she comments on your eating speed. “Fuck this shit”, you put down your utensils and start undressing, unable to hold your horniness back. Seeing you undress makes Xinyu want to follow suit, so she stops eating and takes off her clothes. “Oppa, fuck me—fuck, I want you so fucking bad”, Xinyu begs, as if it’s not clear as day already. You ask her if she wants to suck your cock first, but she firmly declines. “I want you somewhere else”, she says.

Xinyu pushes you onto the bed with all her strength. Sure, she’s not that strong compared to you, but your dramatization is enough to boost her confidence—you’re like a lion and Xinyu is your cub. Xinyu presses down on your wrists that are sitting idle next to your head, “you’ve fucked me countless times, but it’s now my turn to fuck you”. Seeing Xinyu be dominant arouses you beyond help, “fuck me, baby. Show me what you can do”. Xinyu moves her hips around and welcomes you in with ease. “Look, daddy; no hands—ow, fuck”, she yelps, overwhelmed by her own overexcitement.

Xinyu chants your name as she bounces on your cock. “I’m so lucky”, she says with troubled breaths, “you’re so fucking big, daddy”. You’d think that she has gotten used to your size at this point, but you welcome her effort to inflate your ego with open arms nonetheless. You know Xinyu can’t multitask when she’s impaled by your cock, and you can feel her grip on your wrists loosening. You free your wrists easily and pull her down to you, as you’re eager to become a neck painter again. “Yes, yes, fuck—mark me, daddy”, Xinyu eggs you on. Having your lips on her neck excites Xinyu even more, as proven by how she picks up the pace.

“I’m so close already, daddy—how am I so close already, fuck”, she announces to you. You decide to help her cum by matching her pace and meet her in the middle. “Let’s go, baby; let’s cum”, you groan, “fuck, you’re so good at this”. Xinyu removes you from her pussy with a scream, and you feel her juice splashing on your cock and thighs. “Fuck, what a good girl”, you praise her. Xinyu presses her face against your chest and screams more as she rides the high of orgasm until the end. To your surprise, Xinyu plants her teeth into your chest. “Babe, that hurts”, you grit your teeth in pain, “please, babe”. “Sorry, oppa; I just didn’t feel like screaming too loudly”, she says. Xinyu chuckles and points at the teeth mark, “I guess that’s my new mark”.

You don’t bother waiting for Xinyu to calm down and roll over until you’re on top. “You’ve had your fun, haven’t you?”, you move your face close to hers, “my turn now”. Xinyu tries to halt you, but since you’re impatient (and she did not say her safe word), you ignore her. You start thrusting into Xinyu at a high pace, and you see Xinyu’s eyes start rolling towards the back. You want to make sure the stimulation is maximized, so you latch your lips onto one of her tits and play with it. You retaliate against her for biting you in the chest by (lightly) biting her nipple, and Xinyu responds by screaming. “We’re even now”, you chuckle, “fuck, you’re so tight, babe”.

“Babe, babe”, you try to get her attention, “I’m so close”. Xinyu, in her highly stimulated state, weakly sticks out her tongue as if asking for a kiss, so you do as she asks. Now that you’re close to her face, you can hear her quiet moans. “Daddy, please”, she whispers between moans, “in-inside”. That’s as explicit of a consent as it gets, and you don’t bother asking twice. “Oh, fuck”, you let out a low moan as you release your first load of the day deep into Xinyu, granting her wish from earlier. “I love you so much, daddy”, she weakly says. “I love you more, baby girl”, you reply.

You gather your strength and lift Xinyu up while making sure you don’t pull out of her pussy. “W-where are we going?”, Xinyu’s battery is very low right now, and her voice is barely audible. “I don’t want to make a mess on the bed, babe”, you carry her towards the bathroom where she can safely leak out the excess cum. You sit on the toilet and pull Xinyu off your cock, and unsurprisingly, cum starts dripping out. “Let’s shower while we’re here, babe”, you tell her. “I’m going to need some help with that—I can’t feel my legs”, she replies.

You gently put her down on the floor right under the shower and get to her eye level. “Thank you for the cum, oppa”, Xinyu says with a smile, her eyes barely open. “The pleasure is mine, sweetie”, you pet her head, “you’re always so good”. You leave her sitting on the floor to get the soap and shampoo from the cabinet, and that is when you hear Xinyu scream. In a moment of shock, you see that she’s touching herself while squirting hard; her legs are shaking, and her eyes are rolling backwards again. “Yellow, yellow! Daddy, please; yellow!”, Xinyu chants her safe word in panic when she sees you approaching. “Baby, baby, hey”, you soothe her, “we’re done, babe; there’s nothing to worry about”. You pull Xinyu into a hug, “you’re okay, baby—we’re okay. I won’t hurt you”.

You notice that her breathing gradually calms down and returns to its normal pace. “I-I’m sorry, oppa; I just couldn’t take more”, Xinyu says. You reject her apology because there’s nothing to be sorry for to start with; “let’s get cleaned up, hey?”.  You pull Xinyu onto her feet and have her lean against the wall, “I hope your legs are strong enough to support you, babe”. “I hope so too”, she sighs, “how do you do this to me all the time, oppa?”. “Excuse me, babe”, you start running your soapy hands on her body, “yeah, I mean, I’m just me. It’s you that react so well to everything I do”.

-

As you’re walking out of the bathroom with Xinyu in your arms, you hear someone knock at the door. When you look through the peephole, you see that it’s Nakyoung. “One second!”, you yell out. You put Xinyu down on the bed and put on your shorts and boxers before opening the door. “Hi there”, you greet Nakyoung as she enters your room. “Oppa, I’m hungry”, Nakyoung whines, “buy me food, please”. You walk away from Nakyoung to help Xinyu get dressed up. “You can get room service if you want”, you say to Nakyoung as you’re tending to Xinyu. Xinyu then points at Nakyoung while giggling, and when you turn around, you see that she’s eating your and Xinyu’s leftovers. “Are you sure you want to eat that?”, you ask. “Eh, I don’t see why not”, Nakyoung shrugs, and you’re left with no choice but to let her do what she wants.

While Nakyoung is busy finishing your food, you pull Xinyu into your arms for a warm cuddle. “I love you, darling”, you whisper to Xinyu. “I love you more, oppa”, she whispers back with a cute smile on her face. You put a hand on the small of her back and start petting her; “God, you’re so beautiful, baby”. “Xinyu hides her pink cheeks by tucking her head under your chin, “th-thank you, oppa—I swear, you’re so random sometimes”. You quickly glance at Nakyoung and see that she’s still busy eating/being on her phone, so you let her be until she announces that she wants something else.

-

You open your eyes slowly as your soul returns to you. Three of your senses confirm Xinyu’s presence, and it helps put your mind at ease since you have a habit of panicking when you wake up without Xinyu. “Babe?”, you lightly slap her butt to get her attention. Xinyu lets out grunts and hums as she gathers her consciousness. “What?”, she weakly asks. “Let’s wake up, babe; save the sleep for later, hm?”, you point at the clock, “don’t you want to get dinner?”. “Help me wake up”, she says, but instead of letting go of the cuddle, she wraps her limbs more tightly around you.

You try spraying kisses on her head, but Xinyu doesn’t budge. You try offering to have sex after dinner, but Xinyu still doesn’t budge. You resort to your last trick, “okay, fine. I’ll just have dinner with Nakyoung-ie”. Triggered, Xinyu moves to sit on your lap and chokes you with both hands, “the fuck did you just say?”. “I-I’m sorry”, you hold her forearms and try to free yourself from her grip, “ugh—ba-babe, p-please”. Xinyu lets go of your neck and delivers a warning, “do not say such thing again. It’s already hard enough for me to share you with her—I’m not letting her steal you from me”. You close your eyes as you try and control your breathing, “I-I’m sorry, baby. I-I just wanted to ha-have dinner with you—fuck—I-I didn’t mean to offend you”. Xinyu rubs your cheeks gently as a gesture of apology, “I’m sorry, oppa. I didn’t mean to choke you like that—I was triggered, though”.

After getting yourself together, you sit on the edge of the bed and ask Xinyu to sit on your lap. “Baby, were you serious about that? You hate sharing me with Nakyoung-ie?”, you ask. Xinyu nods while looking away, “I thought it would be fun but now I just get jealous more than anything”. “Do you want to talk about this with her?”, you offer her a solution. “What if she leaves us? I don’t want to lose a friend”, she argues. “I think she’ll understand”, you argue, “if she chooses to leave us, then let her—if I were to choose, I’d choose you over her”. Xinyu goes silent as she considers your idea. “Fine”, she sighs, “just not tonight, oppa. We already came all the way here; let’s not ruin the mood for her and ourselves”. You smile and pull her in for a kiss to remind her that she��s your number one. “Let’s have dinner, babe”.

-

Xinyu moves her chair closer to you so that she can lean against your shoulder. “Oppa, I’m so sorry for hurting you”, she whispers while taking your hands in hers. “Hurting me?”, you realize that she’s referring to choking you earlier, “oh, it’s okay. It was wrong of me to say such thing—didn’t know you had it in you like that, though”. Xinyu keeps on spamming you with apologies, and you patiently reply to each one with “it’s okay, baby”. “Babe, look”, you point at the waiter who is on his way to your table, “our food is here”.

Your food is indeed here, and so is Nakyoung, as you see over the waiter’s shoulders that she’s walking towards you. “Hi”, she waves, seemingly in low spirits, “having dinner?”. You invite her to take a seat at your table, “are you okay? You look a bit down”. Nakyoung imitates Xinyu: she moves her chair closer to you and leans against your other shoulder. “I’m not feeling well and you’re ignoring me”, she complains, “can I not have you for a moment? Xinyu-yah, can I be with oppa for a bit?”. You take a quick look at Xinyu and see that she’s giving you a nod of approval. “We’ll go to your room after this, okay? Go order something, sweetie”, you say to Nakyoung, and she walks towards the register with heavy steps to order something for herself.

You and Xinyu start eating first since your food is already on the table. Nakyoung, who hasn’t had enough of you yet, wraps her arms around the lower part of your torso and tucks her head somewhere between your chest and abdomen. You try to guess Xinyu’s feelings by observing her facial expressions, and you see that she has a neutral face on right now; “this should be okay”, you think to yourself. You’re not entirely satisfied with your assessment, so you pick up some spaghetti from your plate and guide it towards Xinyu’s lips. “Choo-choo, baby”, you say as your spoon gets closer to her mouth. “Oh, it’s working!”, you say internally as Xinyu takes the food from your spoon and munches with a smile on her face.

-

You stop in front of Nakyoung’s room and exchange farewells with Xinyu; “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby”. Xinyu nods and tells you to take care of Nakyoung and help her feel better. “Of course, love”, you say with a smile that says, “I understand my duty”. Xinyu returns the smile to you before going in her (your) room.

You enter Nakyoung’s room with her after having her unlock it, and as soon as you’re in, you lift Nakyoung by her butt and carry her to the bed. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”, you ask her. “Two things, oppa”, Nakyoung puts up two fingers in front of you, “I want attention, and I’m horny”. You smile lovingly, “let’s tackle one issue at a time, hm?”.

You move to the middle of the bed and pull her into a seated cuddle. You notice that Nakyoung is pouting; “oppa, do something”. “Before we do anything, I need to ask”, you hold her chin and turn her face towards you, “why did you choose to be my side chick? We both know you deserve to be someone’s number one”. Nakyoung takes your hand and moves it to her cheek, rubbing her face against it like a cat. “Why would I be someone’s number one when being your number two gets me everything I want?”, she says. You’re not sure what she meant by that, so you ask her to explain. “First and foremost, you are kind and respectful to me”, she starts, “secondly, you know how to use your cock—that’s all I want right now”. “Yeah, but like, I can’t give you undivided attention because I have Xinyu”, you argue. Nakyoung shrugs, “I’ve been your third wheel for so long, I’ve gotten used to not having your full attention”.

You’re not sure how to react to that, thus staying silent as you try and think about it. “If you’re still having doubt, oppa, we can talk about it”, she says. “One day, sweeheart—not today”, you say with a smile, “you said you want attention? What kind?”. Nakyoung tightens her arms and legs around you, “stay with me tonight, oppa; we can have sex later if you want. I’ll return you to your girlfriend tomorrow morning”. “A little correction, if I may”, you say in a soft tone, “you’re the one who controls the sex, not me. If you’re not in the mood, we don’t have to—there’s no issue with that, you know”. “Sure, whatever you say”, she chuckles, “see what I mean? Always so respectful, especially when it comes to sex”.

As you move to lie down with Nakyoung, your brain starts wondering how you got this mindset, and your best guess is it came from your parents. You’ve seen how your dad treats your mom with respect and kindness when you were growing up, and that’s probably how your brain picked up the lesson. “I know that look”, Nakyoung says, “you’re thinking about something”. You blink rapidly to turn your focus back on her, “uh, yeah. I was just thinking about my parents”. She tilts her head in confusion, “what about them?”. You sigh, “I hope they’re proud of how I’ve turned out as a man”. She puts her head on your chest, “I’m sure they are; you are a good person. I mean, shit, look at Xinyu: she’s been so loyal to you because of who you are as her boyfriend—well, your little oopsie with Dahyun-ie was your first fuck-up of the relationship”. “Oh, right, Seo Dahyun”, you think to yourself, “I need to make it right with her one day”.

-

“Fuck, who am I kidding?”, Nakyoung straddles you quickly, “oppa, I want you”. “Huh?”, you were ready to go to sleep, but the narrator had other plans, “excuse me?”. Nakyoung slaps you, “sorry for that, but you need to get your head in the game”. Nakyoung takes off her T-shirt and tosses it over her head. “Touch me, oppa”, she grabs your hands and places them on her covered tits. Even behind bra, Nakyoung’s tits are very soft. As you’re playing with her tits, Nakyoung starts humping your crotch. Yearning for more stimulation, she takes off her bra and throws it away; “more, oppa”. You pinch her erect nipples, “is this your idea of attention?”. Nakyoung nods, “fuck, I want your cock so bad”.

Earlier, you’ve made it clear to her that she’s the one who controls the sex, and since she’s now made it clear that she wants to have sex, then what option do you have other than to oblige? “If you want something, cookie, come get it”, you tease her. Nakyoung responds by sloppily dragging your joggers off your legs, revealing the boxers underneath it. She moves down so that her face hovers over your crotch, “may I, oppa?”. You give her your approval in the form of an encouraging nod, so Nakyoung grabs the waistband and pulls down hard. “Look at you”, she starts stroking your cock, “so hard and big—all for me”.

Nakyoung parts her lips and takes you in her mouth, and you can’t help but sink your head into the pillow. “Fuck, so good”, you murmur. Nakyoung asks for your attention by tapping the side of your thigh, and when you look down, you see that she’s gradually going down on your cock while maintaining eye contact. You’re getting impatient, but like you’ve said earlier, she controls the sex—not just the “when”, but also the “how”. You let praises fly out of your lips, hoping that they’ll rile her up more, and it seems to be working. She face-fucks herself rapidly, ignoring the risk of choking on your cock. You pet the side of her head, “you’re doing great, baby—oh, fuck”.

You’re surprised when Nakyoung decides to let you go from her mouth. “No, don’t cum yet; I want it somewhere else”, she says. “Yeah? Where?”, you ask, getting impatient. She asks you to get off the bed before getting on her hands and knees. “In my ass, please”, Nakyoung says, wiggling her butt left and right to tempt you. You don’t want to hurt her, “do you have lube?”. She shakes her head, “I don’t care if it hurts—I’m yours anyway”.

Your cock is already coated by her spit, so you use yours to lube her rear entrance. Nakyoung jolts in surprise, “oh, fuck, I thought that was your cock”. You ask her one more time if she’s sure, but she still doesn’t falter. You spread her cheeks to reveal your target. Before you start, you ask Nakyoung what her safe word is, to which she replies that she doesn’t need one. “Fuck me, please”, she says. You place a finger on her asshole and rub it in circles before slowly penetrating her rear with it. “Fuck, why wouldn’t you just fuck me?”, Nakyoung airs her annoyance. You pull out your finger out of her ass, “you want to get fucked? Fine, let’s do it”.

You spread her ass with one hand and use the other to guide your cock towards her asshole. Nakyoung starts panting when your tip touches her. “If you want to back out, say it now”, you warn, ready to force your way into her forbidden hole. “Do it”, Nakyoung whispers as she braces for the pain. You’re not that experienced in anal sex, but you know that nervousness doesn’t help with penetration. You pull Nakyoung’s torso towards you and into a sitting position. You then grab her chin and come in for a kiss. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt that much”, you assure her, and she seems to be reacting well to your words.

Nakyoung shows you the green light once again in the form of spreading her cheeks for you, and now that your target is clearly in sight, you’re ready to start. You grab your cock and push forward until the tip is in, earning grunts of pain from Nakyoung. “Relax, baby—fuck, you’re so tight”, the sensation her rear is giving you makes you groan, but you don’t want to stop here; you grab Nakyoung’s waist and pull her down so that more of your shaft enters her ass. “Ngh, ngh”, Nakyoung can only groan as her muscles are stretched by your girth. “Oh, God, you’re so deep in me, daddy”, she finally manages to say something after your shaft is almost entirely inside her.

Nakyoung understands that she can’t scream out loud, so she falls face first onto the pillow and uses it to muffle her noises. “Ahng—I-I’m ready”, she says with troubled breaths, “fuck-fuck me”. You make sure your posture is perfect for doggy, and for good measure, you slap her butt a few times, “I’m going”. Once Nakyoung is face down on the pillow, you start pulling back from her ass until only your tip is inside. You hear Nakyoung say something into the pillow, so you lean forward to check if she said her safe word, “what’s that, baby?”. She lifts her face off the pillow and pecks you on the lips, “fuck me, daddy; make me take it—gape me”. You smile naughtily in response, “bet”.

You return to your previous posture and slap her ass a few times, “I’m going again, baby”. Nakyoung scrunches her face in pain, “oh, fuck, my ass—p-please be gentle”. You give her a nod before pushing deeper into her overwhelming tightness; “fuck, this must hurt for you”. “Fuck, fuck!”, Nakyoung screams in pain, “I-I—fuck, just-just make me take it!”. You’re not sure what is causing her to be so determined, but since she’s still consenting to this, it’s in your best interest to keep playing along; “if you say so”.

“I wonder what it’ll be like if I go fast”, a reckless thought enters your mind, “only one way to find out”. Driven by said recklessness, you plant your knees into the bed and hold Nakyoung by the waist, “be good, baby”. “Huh? OH, FU—“, Nakyoung bites the pillow to suppress her scream—you’re fucking her asshole as if it were her pussy: fast and deep. “Fuck, this is crazy”, you comment with a grunt, “how are you taking me like this?”. If Nakyoung’s face wasn’t flat against the pillow, her screams would be heard all the way to the reception desk. You lean forward to whisper in her ear, “hah, fuck—how are you feeling, baby?”. Nakyoung lifts her face slightly, and you see that tears are running down her face. “It hurts, daddy—fuck, it hurts so bad”, Nakyoung says weakly, “I love it”. You pause your thrusts due to the shock, “you love it? Did I hear that right?”. Nakyoung doubles down on it with a smirk, “I love taking you in my ass, daddy”.

“She’s in pain but she said she loves it—ah, fuck it; let’s keep going”, you throw the last bits of doubt out the window and continue fucking her ass, eager to get an orgasm from it. “I’m not pulling out, by the way”, you say to her. Nakyoung straightens her back and leans against your body, “c-can we change position, daddy? I-I want to see you—please!”. You agree to her request and pull out momentarily to switch to missionary—oh, my, it’s so tight! “Like this, baby?”, you hover over her and ask to make sure that this position is satisfactory. Nakyoung grabs your chin and pulls your face towards her for a deep kiss. You try pulling away, but she chases you and invades your mouth space with her tongue.

After having had enough of you, Nakyoung breaks the kiss with a gasp. “Oppa, listen to me, please”, she takes a deep breath to calm herself down after the kiss, “I’m submitting myself to you”. You blink rapidly, acting like you were confused, “excuse me?”. Nakyoung puts on a pout when she sees that you didn’t pick it up the first time. “I hate you sometimes”, she huffs, “I said I’m submitting myself to you—I belong to you now”. You know where she’s going with this, but surely it doesn’t hurt to act like a fool every now and then; “but you’ve been by my side for a while now, no?”, you ask with a straight face. She swaps her pout with a frown, “you’re not cooperating right now, seriously—tell me, which part of it do you not understand?”.

You sneakily move a hand towards her tits and pinch a nipple, thus earning a gasp from Nakyoung, “oh, I understand, baby—I was just playing”. “I hate you”, Nakyoung gasps again when you pinch her other nipple, “f-fuck me again, please”. Ass-to-pussy doesn’t sound too hygienic, so you return to her ass, which welcomes you more easily than before. “Yes, daddy, yes”, she sticks her tongue out very lewdly, “I’m yours, I’m yours—fuck, I’m your bitch”. Hearing her refer to herself like that stuns you for a millisecond, but your guess is that it was the heat of the moment (or the heat in her ass) that caused her to say that.

“I think I’m close”, you announce to her while still maintaining a consistent pace of thrusts. “I want to cum with you, daddy—oh, God, my ass”, Nakyoung puts a hand on her pussy and starts touching herself, aiming to cum together with you. You grab her ankles and put them on each shoulder as you put your back into fucking her properly. She uses her free hand to cover her mouth in case orgasm hits.

“FUCK!”, you exclaim as you bury your cock deep in her rear and blow your second load into her. In the moment of drowsiness, you feel Nakyoung’s juice hitting you in the pelvis. “Heh, heheh”, Nakyoung laughs weakly, “Xinyu is missing out”. You shake your head rapidly to regain focus, “really? You still have the energy to think about Xinyu?”. Nakyoung doesn’t answer, and instead asks you to pull out of her ass. “Oh, fuck, finally”, she sighs in relief, “how does it look, daddy?”.

You move backwards a bit to inspect your work; “gaped—you’re so fucking gaped”.

[writingoddess1125]

Fight for Pleasure

Mihawk x FemReader

Now this is some true Kinky shit- 👍🏽 Enjoy 😉

Sorry it's late!

MUST BE 18+ TO READ!

⚠️Warnings:⚠️ Hard Sex, Unprotected sex, Biting, Blood drawn, Fighting.

Day 3. Hate Fuck

"Good Evening Ma'am" the handsome Marine bowed respectfully to you holding a arm out to you which you ignored and stepped off the dock of the ship and passing him. They constantly tried to do this, bringing the prettiest of their Marines in order to woo you into cooperation.

Being one of the Warlords on occasions you were summoned to nice places like this as a 'Show of Good Faith' in this case it being a resort which was emptied for the Warlords and paid in full. The World Goverment finding it cheaper to just let the Warlords indulge in whores, food and drink then letting them roam at times.

That and this was usually what they did in order to ask for some sort of favor which you imagined would be arriving by tommorow morning. Walking into the Resort you could already hear the Chaos- Mainly one source of it being the newest member Buggy the Clown.

Chaos which was the drunk floating clown having a field day with some booze and laughing with someone that was obscured- truthfully not wanting to bother checking.

You made a B-Line right for the bar. Seeing the other Warlords there already having their fill of paid for delights. Even passing by Boa who seemed just as unamused as you and you two gave a brief nod at each other.

Stepping into the bar you saw the lone Bartender, clearly not as heavily used since the bottles of ale, rum, and other strong liquors were out in the main resort area were most of your fellow Lords were gathered.

"A Daiquiri please" You asked, putting some berries in the tip jar. The Bartender smiling at this and quick to start making the order.

"Another bother of Tarapacá" You heard from the voice you loathed the most- Sending a glare up to your left to see non other then Dracule 'Hawkeye' Mihawk. Aka the stuck up asshole you were forced the share air with.

"You know a please to him wouldn't kill you-" You hissed in annoyance, Typically not caring for impolitness from your peers but Mihawk was an exception to this rule.

He sneered down at you, waiting for the bottle as he rolled his eyes not even bothering with you.

"Ah isn't it the tramp- Don't concern yourself with how I speak to others" He growled at you, But your own temper flaring at his insult.

"Tramp!? Oh you're one to talk- Everyone knows you probably have more spawns then Big Mom" You snapped back which made him glare hard at you, His yellow eyes staring hard at you as his face twisted up- The Bartender gently setting down the bottle for Mihawk then the Daiquiri for you.

"Let's not forget that little girl you keep on your island" You chime in a sing song voice, His hand clenching as you stood up with a smirk- You were one of the few who knew of Perona and while you were aware he most likely hadn't been intimate with her didn't mean you wouldn't throw it back in his face.

"How are you aware of that child?- Let alone got the incorrect idea of my relationship with her. Or My Island" He said hissing at you, You turned back with a sarcastic smile sipping your drink.

"I have my ways Hawkeye" You say sweetly, which made him grab the bottle and fling it in your direction which you dodged.

"You spied on me and went to my home?-" He guessed correctly which made you smile. Downing your drink you kicked one of the chairs in his direction which he snatched and tossed away, Marching towards you pissed. His eyes practically glowing at this imformation you toss the glass at his feet and glare at him- This making him stop.

"So tell me...What keeps me from killing you" He hissed out, rage and hatred pouring from his lips like venom.

"Cause you like me too much~" Hou chimed, walking from the bar completely- Warmth blooming in your stomach at how his eyes stared at you the sour taste of remembering it was Mihawk snapped you from those thoughts.

Walking down the hall to were your suite was, you tried to push away the small argument from Mihawk, whistling a mindless tune before the world spun- Feeling yourself slammed against a near by wall you glared hard as you saw it was Mihawk again- The smell of wine on his breath made you sneer.

"What do you think you're doing you drunk asshole" You hissed, reaching forward and roughly grabbing the collar of his shirt. After a moment of silence he crashed his lips into yours, Biting them roughly as he did so- Growling you pull him closer as the taste of blood and wine filled you senses. You pulled back to get air in your aching lungs and bit down on his neck earning a pained hiss from the fellow Warlord. "Perverted Bastard"

"Vile whore" Mihawk hissed at you- your hand shooting up and grabbing a handful of hair and yanked his head back which earned him growling moan. Quickly he yanked you towards the suite pulling at his coat as you practically tore open the hotel room door.

"F- Fuck!!" You screamed out, feeling him slam you into the nearest wall hard. Picking your legs up and wrapping them around his waist he glared hard at you in what could only be described as disgust, before taking his free hand and ripping your top open to see your exposed breast and attacking them with his mouth.

You moaned out as his hands ripped away at your bottoms, his teeth pulling and Biting your nipples as his hands dug into the flesh of your ass. Your own hands ripping away the wide brim hat and tossing it to the side which earned a glare from the Man. Smirking at this you take the opportunity and lean down, Running your tongue up his neck earning a rumbling moan from him, Until you bit down hard, feeling blood touch your tongue and him grab your hair to yank you away glaring hard as blood dribbled down the side of his neck.

"Fucking animal-"

Hawkeye mutter before harshly tossing you onto the large bed, earning a surprised yelp from you as you bounce on the bed- Glaring at his smug face as he followed after you and crawled towards you quickly moving to pin you but you slipped from his grasp. In a flash you grabbed at his pants and ripped them from the side with a smirk on your face and a scowl from him.

"These were expensive-" He growled as he tosses his ruined clothes to the side, his throbbing cock now on full display.

"Aww can't take what you dish out~" You tease gesturing to your shredded clothes on the floor. The two of you glared at each other at a stand still to see who would attach first- Mihawk suddently springing I to action as he dove for you once more, this time grabbing your leg and trying to pull you to him.

You laugh at this and instead scoot yourself close to him throwing him off completely as you pounce on him- knocking him to his back hard enough that the bed snapped and tilted in the directed of the force, You Sitting on his chest with a evil smirk.

"Not fast en- EEP!" You yell as he sits up suddently and grabs your waist keeping your upper body high as you fall against his stomach. He smirked down at you, seeing your face red before dived his mouth inbetween your legs.

Arching your back in pleasure as you felt him aggressively eat you out, trying to pull yourself up from the position but he only tightened his grip- The feeling of his hardened member pressed against your upper back from the upside position, as well as the head rush from the blood rushing from your head.

Moaning loudly as your legs tightened around his head. His fingers digging hard into the flesh of your hips as you came into his awaiting mouth and cut air from him. Feeling how he lapped at every drop you gave as your body shuttered and spasmed from pleasure. He then tried to pull away till you locked your legs keeping him from pulling back, a evil smirk on your face. He struggled for a few seconds, until you felt his mouth open again and his teeth brush far too close to your clit like he was going to-

"YOU BETTER NOT!" You yelped and released him quickly, moving yourself away from the cackling man as he ran his tongue over his teeth and lips like he savored the taste.

"Aw can't take what you dish out Darling?~" He growled out smiling at your defensiveness and suspicion. Glaring hard at him your hand shoots out and grabs his cock.

He grunted as your grabbed him roughly, your sharp nails gently running up the side of his shaft like a pleasurable and silent threat. Leaning down you place a long slow lick over the length of his shaft, earning a hissing moan at the sight and feeling.

"Aww you got quiet quick~"

You smile at his reddened face as you made him come undone your fingers squeezing on the swollen head of his cock earning a angry growl from him at your teasing.

"Don't tease me women" He hissed, grabbing your wrist and yanking you so you were on him your bare chest pressed onto his as he went to bite your neck once again pushing forward you headbutt him which knocked him back off the bed but he pulled you with him as you both landed and crushed the nightstand.

Taking advantage of your dazed state he rolled the two of you over on the rubble and pinned your hands next to your head, A dark gleam in his eyes at this.

Tossing your head back as you gave out a forced moan as he entered you quickly and hard. Still sensitive from the brutally forced orgasms of before as Mihawk snapped his hips to fill you body and soul, setting a brutal pace he began to fuck you like an animal. Your body sliding across the carpet as he fucked you as far as possible, your moans of bliss ripping through your throat at the speed. His fingers releasing your hands which fly to wrap around his back.

Mihawk grunted hard as he slammed into your hips again, ignoring your cry in bliss from the multiple orgasms at this point and his own hips losing its rhythm from his own coming undone, his fingers digging into the carpet around your head as he gave a few more powerful thrust- Your nails slicing into his back and drawing blood as you screamed to another hard orgasm drew him in finally. A howl in pleasure ripping through his throat as he stuffed you as deeply as possible, he fell onto you from the force as the two of you laid there a panting mess.

You foggy to the brain feel him run his tongue over the cut on your lips, parting your lips at the request you kiss him deeply in the after glow of it all. You two pulled back only when Mihawk finally gets the strength to pull out of you and roll onto his side with a tired sigh.

"Must we always fight in order to fuck?"

You question still exhausted and laying there on the carpet fairly sure you had some level of carpet burn on your back. You hear a questioning hum from Mihawk, Clearly not wishing to think of that question further as he laid there relaxing.

You sit up from the floor a familiar ache between your legs, seeing the destroyed furniture, the ripped up sheets and clear dent in the wall from were Hawkeye slammed you. In short it looked two beast had destroyed this room in either battle or fucking- in this case both.

"You're paying for the damages for this room" You point out, Mihawk opening one eye from his lounging position on the floor hands behind his head and comforbly dozing.

"Hmph.... fine-"

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Best Friends - part 2

Pairings - Rafe Cameron x bestfriend!reader

Summary - Rafe wants to be there for you.

Warnings - Domestic Violence and mention of sexual assault, language. 18+

If you missed part one

Rafe had spent all night tossing and turning, he checked on you every hour. Making sure you were still tucked up in the spare bedroom, you were.

It got to 4am and he couldn’t stay in bed, Lola hadn’t moved an inch. She lay on her stomach, head buried into the pillow. Rafe felt guilt in his stomach as he pulled himself out of the bed and walked across the hall to yours.

The last five times he checked on you, you had been fast asleep cuddled into the duvet. This time he noticed your balled fists around the sheets, your body thrashing.

“I’m sorry! Please Coop, I’m sorry!” You cried out, he rushed towards you. Cradling your head between the palms of his hands, tears leaked from your closed lids.

“Y/n! Hey, wake up!” He whispered, tapping the side of your cheek softly. This seemed to work as your eyes sprung open, you coward away from Rafe. Your back hitting the headboard. “It’s just me, Rafe”.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” You questioned, pulling the sheet up against your chest. He shook his head and moved to sit next to you, you moved the blanket to cover his legs. “I’ve been checking on you every few hours, would have preferred if you stayed in my room” he chuckled, pulling you into his chest. He missed you, missed your friendship, your hugs, your laugh.

“I couldn’t do that to Lola, that would cause way too many problems” you smiled, you moved your body back down the bed and laid your head upon the pillow.

“She wouldn’t have minded” Rafe tries to reassure you, but you knew girls like Lola. They didn’t share their boyfriends, especially not to some old best friend.

“Can I hold you?” He questions, you find yourself nodding. He wraps his arms around you, pulling your back against his chest. You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your lips.

Silence falls between the two of you and the next thing you remember is the sun shining in. “Rafe!” Lola yells, her eyes are wide as she stares at the sight in front of her.

Her boyfriend cuddled up against another woman, you can tell she’s angry. Her cheeks burn red, he is quick to jump up and rush over to her.

He escorts her out of the bedroom, mouthing ‘sorry’ before he closes the door. You knew you should have asked him to leave, you shouldn’t have let him hold you like old times.

He didn’t have a girlfriend back then, no one to make jealous when the two of you acted like a couple.

You quickly jumped out of bed, making the bed as best you could. Grabbing your handbag and phone, you had over 20+ missed calls from Cooper.

You snuck out of Tanny Hill before anyone could see you, you didn’t want to be a burden anymore. Walking about 2km you were finally at your front gates, you pressed the intercom and waited to be let in.

You busied yourself with making something to eat, having a shower and taking a quick nap.

You were awoken to the doorbell going mental, panic rose in your chest. Cooper wouldn’t show up at your house surely, he’s not stupid is he? Your sure he’d wait until you answered his calls before resorting to banging down your door.

You rushed down the stairs, Rafe’s panic filled eyes met yours. Within seconds the panic turns to anger and he’s mouthing for you to open the door. Jiggling the doorknob roughly.

“Why would you leave without telling me?! I was so worried! I thought you’d gone back to Cooper” he shouted, grabbing you by the biceps. You flinched slightly, staring up at him with big eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be a burden” you cried, he looked down at you and quickly pulled you in a hug.

His scent was suffocating, your nails digging into his back and you squeezed him tightly,”you are not a burden”.

“Your girlfriend was very mad this morning, I don’t want to come between that” you whisper into his chest, his heart thumping harshly. “She’ll get over it” he ignores the look you give him and pulls away from your hug.

“Is anyone home? I don’t feel comfortable you being home alone.” He questions, he follows you through to the kitchen where you grab the two of you some water.

“Rafe, it’s fine. This isn’t my first rodeo, Cooper doesn’t come back until I answer his calls. And I’m not going to answer them” you state, staring down at your phone. It hadn’t rung once in the past 4 hours, you were sure Cooper had given up.

“Even so, I’m going to stay here with you” “oh no, you can’t do that! You can’t leave Lola at your family's house”.

He chooses to ignore and walks past you, walking towards the living area at the back of the house. Scowling you follow after him, checking back that the door was locked.

He had made himself comfortable on the couch, patting the spot next to him. You chose to sit at the end of the couch, bringing your legs up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. “Should we watch a movie?” You questioned, ignoring the confused look on Rafe’s face. He nods and grabs the remote.

“What do you want to watch?” He questions, flipping through Netflix. You shrugged and stared at the screen, unsure why you felt so strange around him, he was your best friend, why was your mind running a million miles an hour right now.

“Okay, I’ll pick” he chooses exmas, a Christmas comedy. He knew this would cheer you up, you loved Christmas movies especially ones like this,

As the movie went on, he took glances over at you and noticed you hadn’t moved once. The next time he looked you had your eyes closed, head against the pillow. You looked so peaceful, he grabbed a blanket and covered your body.

He must have fallen asleep not long after, woken by your screams. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, eyes springing open and frantically looking for you only to find you thrashing around on the floor.

Y/n Dream

Reaching for the salt, you sprinkled a touch over your dinner. Cooper watched you in silence, palming the beer in his hand. He waited for you to take the first bite and finally spoke. “So I hear Rafe might be coming for Christmas this year” he states, he watches your reaction. Your eyes pop slightly and a smile creeps on your lips, you look up at him with happiness. “Really?” You question, hiding your mouth behind your hand.

“God y/n don’t talk with your mouth full” he chastised, sculling back the last of his warm beer. He scrapes the chair underneath him and stands to grab another, you try to quickly calculate how much he’s had to drink since being home.

“Why do you get so happy when his name is mentioned?” He questions as he walks back to the table, you're expecting him to slam the beer on the table but he doesn’t. He just stares at you with a blank expression.

“He’s my best friend, I miss him” you answer, this angers something within him. His brows pull together and his knuckles turn white around the bottle. “He doesn’t even fucking talk to you anymore” he shouted, the anger in his voice makes you jump and you drop your fork to the floor. This angers Cooper even more, the sound of metal clanging against his hardwood floor.

“Fuck sake y/n” he growls, he pushes himself back while simultaneously pushing the table into your stomach. You choke out a groan at the sharp pain of the wood hitting your ribs. “You need to fucking get over him, he doesn’t want you” he yells, he storming around the table towards you.

Grabbing the hair on the back of your head he pulls you to stand, tears prick at your eyelids as you squeeze them shut. He pulls you away from the kitchen and towards the bedroom, stumbling over your feet to catch up with him. His legs take long strides until you're thrown against the vanity table, knocking your perfume to the floor.

“Coop, I’m sorry!” You cried, edging away from him until you're hidden in the corner from him. He chuckles, running his hand through his hair. He begins to pace the floor, muttering under his breath until his head whips towards you.

“You know what, fuck this. Your fucking mine and I’ll show you who fucking owns you. Show you that Rafe Cameron isn’t going to love you the way I will” he bellows, before you can comprehend what he’s said he grabs you by the throat and throws you onto the bed. “Coop no, please don’t do this!” You cry, hitting at his chest in fear. Tears streaming down your face. This only angers him more and he slaps you across the face.

“You’ll fuck me any other day but the moment Rafes name is brought up you don’t want anything to do with me, fuck you bitch” he growls into your ear, biting down on your shoulder you let out a shriek of pain. His hands push up your sundress and pull your panties to the side.

“Please Coop!”

Present

“Y/n, hey wake up!”

You jump up from your position, taking in your surroundings. You were at home, Rafe was with you, there was no Cooper. “Hey you okay?” He questions, he pulls you into a hug and you squeeze onto his shoulders. Taking deep breaths until your heart was beating at a normal pace. “Sometimes I dream about Cooper” you whisper, Rafes fingers run through your hair. Pulling you closer to his chest. “You should speak to the police” he whispers, your blood running cold. You couldn’t do that, you couldn’t be known as the poor girl whose boyfriend beat her. It would be all over the news, people would gossip.

“No, I can’t. I just need to speak to someone, I need a professional” you whispered, you had never shied away from therapy. You used to go twice a week when your dad died but they told you that you no longer needed to attend, that you had healed and were ready to go on.

“Okay, I’ll sort that out” Rafe states, you nod your head and sit in silence for a few minutes until his phone starts ringing and doesn’t stop.

He grabs it from the table and you notice Lola’s name flashing on the screen. You pull away and wipe your eyes. “Go on answer it” you smiled, you stood up and exited the room to grab water but you find yourself standing at the cracked door and listening,

“No Lola, I have to be here for her”

“She’s my best friend! I told you what happened”

“What the fuck Lola? That’s so fucked up”

“No you know what, go back home. I’ll talk to you when you stop being a complete bitch”

You hear him hit the wall and you jump back, rushing towards the kitchen to fill a glass of water. You stare out the window until you hear him enter the room, he’s rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands but still manages to give you a smile.

“If you need to go, I understand”

“No y/n, I’m not going anywhere”

Taglist - @laylasbunbunny @h34rtsformilli @lydiasxxsworld @hallecarey1 @mountloverr @outerbankspov @cameronmedia @crunchy-leaves77 @vigilanteshitposting @pedrisgatorade @phoenixssugarbaby @rafemotherfuckingcameron @s-we-e-t-t-ea @rafesthroatbaby @alltoomay @f4ll-for-you @maybankslover @lovelornanonymity @gabys-gabs @aaronhotchswife (please let me know if you no longer want to be tagged or if you only want to be tagged in certain fics)

[atomicbland]

Just A Mirage

Hello I'm outting myself as the ──★ ˙🍓anon from @ghoulphile. Anyways they've inspired me to fall face first dip my toe back into writing and might as well share the brain rot with the class. This is my first time writing smut or anything relatively like this so any questions comments critques are welcome! I dont bite unless you want me to

pairings: cooper howard x fem!reader rating: 18+ MDNI! warnings: bondage, degradation, pet names, mentions of age gap (obviously), Cooper Howard being a jackass in general, canon typical chem use, smoking AO3 Link

You were tired, thirsty, and hungry. Your rations had been finished earlier that morning though it was not by your hand. The tall ghoul who looked like he had walked right off the set of one of those western movies with his cowboy hat, ragged leather duster, and shotgun strapped to his back had stolen the last of your food and water while you stepped away to relieve yourself. You had come back to him chewing on your stash of jerky while letting his scruffy companion, “Dogmeat”, drink straight from your water flask. You learned quickly that no matter what, he’d treat the dog better than you. He kept you on a leash, his lasso was tied around your waist and tethered to the weapon belt that might as well have been fused into his skin. Anytime you weren’t keeping pace he’d give a rough tug of the rope, causing it to bite into your belly. Argued it’s easier to keep track of you that way. 

While you lamented over the loss of your food and water and debated if hiring the old ghoul was a smart choice something catches your attention stopping you in your tracks. Along the edge of the tree line, you spot the remains of what looked like a house, bigger than any house you’ve come across. The roof and windows were still somewhat intact and something that looked like brick peeked through the vines that had taken over the structure. You felt the bite of the rope at your stomach. 

“Now, I done told you what’ll happen if I gotta tug this damn rope again…” the Ghoul threatened from in front of you.

“I saw someth-”

“You ain’t seen nothin’,” he spat. “A mirage. Just that pretty lil’ head of yours playin’ tricks sweetie.” He tugged the rope again, urging you to move along not even bothering to look in the same direction as you. 

Sweetie. Whenever he called you that you could feel the heat of a thousand rads shoot through your body, making your blood boil. 

“Maybe my mind wouldn’t be playing tricks if I still had my food and water!” You didn’t budge, refusing to play his stupid game. You were in charge, hiring him to escort you to the Old World Wall safely. 

He turned to face you, his eyes hidden by the brim of his hat but his features were twisted into a scowl. “What was that lil lady?” 

He didn’t scare you. You cleared your throat. “I said. I NEED water. You don’t get any caps or vials if I’M dead!” He stays silent, still glaring. A month's supply of vials upon arrival was on the line and he knew it. You point towards the treeline. “I saw a house over there. We're out of rations and it's getting dark. Can we at least set up camp there?” 

His answer is wordless, whistling a command to Dogmeat to run ahead to the house. He gives another tug at the rope, commanding you to follow behind him, a cautious hand at his holster. 

The inside of the house was far nicer than the outside led you to believe. While everything appeared to be overrun by nature the original bones were still there. Holey yet plush couches formed a sitting area around a fire pit that recessed into the tattered wall. The floorboards creaked and moaned under the new weight as the three of you walked around making sure the area was clear. Dusty paintings littered the walls, images nearly impossible to make out in the dim light. 

“Now smoothie,” the Ghoul started, taking a quick break to puff his inhaler, “I’mma take you off yer leash and scope the perimeter ‘fore we hunker down.” 

You nod, happy to have some relief from the scratchy fibers of the rope and to get some sort of break from your freakish travel partner. Not that you didn’t hate him but the way he spoke and stole from you did wear on your nerves. All of the stupid pet names that cowboy gave you did something to you. You couldn’t place it, a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, a milder feeling of what he did when he’d make a pass at you. And despite how much he annoyed you, you found him strangely attractive. On those sleepless night when you were sure he was sleeping, you’d study his features, imagining his strong hands around you as he pulled your hips down onto his, his cock hitting your core just right making your back arch and pulling the same loud cries of pleasure you had heard him pull from others in the adjacent room of whatever hostel would allow a ghoul and his dog. 

The smell of viscera and tobacco cloud your senses, and you feel a gloved hand around the back of your neck, ripping you back to reality. “And be good for me while I’m gone.” The heat of his breath travels down your neck and straight between your thighs. 

You watch as he slinks away, stopping at the crumbling doorway—a dark shadow masking the top half of his face. “Oh and sweetheart,” he pulls a cigarette from one of the pockets of his duster, lighting it before he continued, “be a doll an’ rangle somethin’ up for dinner. Ain’t much in the mood for ass jerky t’night.” He flashes you a smile from underneath his hat before leaving, Dogmeat happily cantering after him. 

The house is larger than it looks on the inside and despite its current state of ruin, you could see it in all of its glory, like one of those fancy houses you see in the movies. People smiling and laughing around a table piled with food, dressed in the most beautiful clothes that shimmered against the light. Women with beautifully painted faces and clean, perfectly styled hair. Those movies always made you wonder about the world before the bombs, before everyone wanted to kill everyone else, before the fear of radiation. 

You find your way into the kitchen, cracked black and white tiles decorate the floor, dingy teal cabinets matching the Atomic Queen appliances hug the walls. You take care to peek behind every cabinet door checking for any food or water that might have been missed by whoever came through here last. You manage to find some unlabeled booze and canned food tucked behind the remains of some long abandoned animal nest, while it isn’t much at least you’ll be able to eat tonight. In another cabinet you find some Sugar Bombs, the box is dented and beat up but surprisingly unopened, lucky you. 

You move towards the back of the kitchen, finding yourself in a small dark room. The smell of mildew and rot is so strong your stomach would've turned if it wasn't already empty, it's so bad you couldn't bother to examine the shelves that lined the wall. You make a mental note to ask the Ghoul to check for loot, of the two of you, he had the stronger stomach to rifle through damn near anything. Pushing through the door to the other side, fresh air greets you, a welcomed relief to your lungs. The very last dregs of sunlight shine through the windows that made up the roof, tall green trees kiss the glass in a desperate attempt to break free. If it wasn't for the roof you would've sworn you accidentally found your way outside. 

With one hand on the holster of your knife you creep with the brick of the wall at your back, slowly examining the plants in front of you. You recognized a few, Daffodils, Marigolds, even Tato vines. However a majority were new to you;  large flowers the size of your head, and plants that seemed to grow from the roof. You spot some pear and apple trees with the largest fruits you’ve ever seen further into the room. As you found your way to the perpendicular wall, you noticed that it was made of a giant window. You remember seeing building plans for something similar in a pre-war book years ago, a glass house that kept the plants inside at the ideal temperature. For whatever reason the plants in this glass house were thriving on neglect, carrying on with life as if the bombs never dropped. 

BANG! 

The sound makes you drop to the ground, covering your head. Whatever it was you just hope it was coming from the Ghoul. 

Just as you're about to get up, something catches your eye. You crawl towards the brush to get a closer look, little red fruits perched on vines decorated with white flowers cover the dirt by your feet. You pluck one, rolling it between your fingers the skin is rough, yellow dots littering the surface of the red flesh. The sweet scent of the fruit travels to your nose and entices your palate you know better than to put anything in your mouth. Instead, you procure the small tin that you use to store food from your bag and fill it with the mystery fruit. 

BANG! 

Hastily you shove the container back in your bag, whatever was going on outside had you a fair bit more concerned now that you could hear Dogmeat barking wildly. You quickly get up and make your way out of the glass house, through the dark storage room, and past the kitchen. Not stopping until you've collided with a large solid mass, sending a plume of dust into the air as your ass hits the cushion of the couch. 

“You’re ‘sposed to say ‘scuse you after runnin’ into a fella sweetheart.” 

You look up, your eyes meet the dark shadow of the Ghoul's from under his hat. Yellowed teeth show through as he grins wide. You look down to see in his gloved hand are two Rad Rabbits, in the other an unopened can of purified water. Relief washes over you, knowing that your dinner would be more than just Cram and Sugar Bombs. 

“I believe a thank you's in order.” His stupid handsome grin growing even wider. Clearly proud of himself despite him having taken down much harder prey. 

You glare at him before softening, in some way, you feel like this is his way of apologizing for earlier. Any time he pissed you off he would at least make up for it with his actions. Stolen stimpak? Within the next day, you'd find it replaced along with a bag of RadAway. A few bottle caps would find their way into your bag too, when you brought it up to him he'd deny it, telling you to keep a better eye on your shit.

“Thank you,” you pause, it just dawned on you that you didn't know his name. He was the Ghoul, the Cowboy, your escort across the wasteland. But no name to attach to him. You fish for a polite title for him, and if you knew him better you would've punctuated your gratitude with a kiss, yet the older man didn't seem like one for physical contact. “Thank you, Sir.” Is what you land on. 

His smile fades as if your gratitude offends him and he tosses rabbit carcasses into your lap.

“Make sure Dogmeat gets her fair share. She found ‘em after all.” He says, patting the mutt beside him before making his way to the firepit, and lighting another cigarette. 

[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x Fem! Reader

honey I’m home masterlist

TW: 18+ hospitals, trauma, crying, etc

A/N: this is a short little chapter. the next one will be longer— thank you for hanging onto this story even though it took me forever to get it started. I have most of the next chapter done so it’ll probably be posted next week.

The blue and red lights are blinking in rapid succession. Painting the curtains in washes of ruby and royal. 

  The sirens should have been loud but Eddie figured it was the blood trickling down his head and into his ear canal that was preventing him from hearing clearly. 

  He fought with the first responders. 

  Fought with the people fussing over him and trying to rush him into an ambulance. 

  He refused to leave you. 

  He didn’t need to be cared for. 

  He didn’t care about anything. 

  Only you.

  Mr. Derry’s loud knock and burst through the door was the exact distraction needed for Eddie to grip the bat in his bloody hand. 

  Rings squeezing tight around blood and the wooden handle, he swung hard. A suddenly athlete in a smokers body. He felt the thuds and friction vibrating in his forearms when the nailed head connected with flesh. But he didn’t stop until there were two crumpled bodies collapsed on the red stained carpet. 

  And when the ambulance crew met him at the door, gurney ready, you were wrapped tight in his arms. A faint pulse echoed like a whisper against your skin. Eddie’s tears streaming down his face and onto yours. 

  His promise pressed delicately to your lips.

—

  “What have we got?” 

  “According to the patient’s friend, she is twenty-one-year, sir! you need to be looked at, and lived by herself for the past few months..” 

  I’m fine! Jesus— get off me and help her! 

  “…call came in at 2208 from a Mr. William Derry— the neighbor— claiming there were screams coming from across the street of his residence on Cherry Lane. Dispatch didn’t think to respond right away due to the many calls Mr. Derry has submitted to the Police Department.”

  “Sir, I am not telling you again, you need to be checked out!” 

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “When nobody showed up, the neighbor went across the street after hearing more screaming. Patient was held up by her throat by the DOA”

  “Bill has him in truck 011, ID found on the body confirmed he was Chad Cunningham.” 

—-

Eddie is standing before you, looking the same has he did the morning g after Halloween. It’s similar but different. There’s more light in the kitchen, and he is rosy cheeked like a cherub, his movements almost floating like angel wings as he moves the carton of orange juice hp to his lips, small glints of a silver nipple ring peaking out from the cutoff shirt he wore. 

  When he speaks, it’s like a harp is playing, all song and beautiful notes, extending and echoing around the room. 

  “So when do I get this trophy sweetheart?” He says with a grin, “thinking of putting on a shelf in my room,” 

  Your laugh feels like butterflies tickling your stomach, “you can’t be serious.” 

  His head dips as he walks towards you, smile displaying the prettiest teeth, “damn straight, want the whole town to know I had the best costume!”

  “Stolen costume,”

  “Pppffft, I just borrowed it.” the wink he delivers is almost sinful, toothachingly sweet enough to give a dentist a cavity, and you melt on the spot. 

— 

“Miss? Can you tell us your name? Can you tell us anything?” 

  Sterile. 

  Chemical.

  You were either in a hospital or a morgue. You didn’t feel any pain so it very likely could be the worst of the two options. Whatever you were laying on was cold. And when you tried to move you found you couldn’t. 

  Is this death?

  Eyelids heavy and unable to cooperate and make the connection with your brain on flicking open so you could see what was happening. 

  The only thing constant was a buzzing in both ears. A tug along your eyelids and rubber glove fingers on your body. But you were trapped in your mind, unable to speak, to scream, to show any physical movements other than the involuntary rise and fall of your chest and your lungs being filled with oxygen, fed through flexible plastic of the oxygen mask placed on your face. 

  Oblivious to your surroundings. 

  “Severe trauma to both eyes, laceration to the back of the head, severe swelling and possible damage to the larynx, Katerina, what did the CT show?” 

  “CT came back clear, X-Ray showed a break to both zygomatic bones, 5th and 6th ribs and a lacerated spleen…”

  “Look at her nails, poor thing fought for her life,” 

  “they both did.” 

  You found the will to whisper what you needed to tell them. Voice hoarse and barely audible, removing the mask they look in horror back at your words, and  immediately the feeling of warm liquid entering your veins and the blur of sleep covers your body. 

—

  He visits you again, this time you know it’s a dream. The pink clouds flow behind his head even though you are standing in the living room. But it’s different, blurred on the edges, hazy sweet and refined. How heaven could be described. 

  “I look good in this don’t even lie,” Eddie says with a spin, the white cotton of your robe resembling a mini skirt on his long legs, “but if you want me to take it off all you have to do is ask, I’m a pleaser, baby.”

  He was every version of himself, handsome, gross and menacing. Sweet and caring, eye twinkling, soft voiced: Eddie. The beer taped to his hand like it was all those months ago when you splashed him awake, threatening to kick him out. 

  Delivering his classic one liners that you now knew helped fuel your love for him. 

  “What? Hair of the dog baby, gotta keep drinking to avoid a hangover.”

  And maybe your love for him was always there. 

  Showing up in the background, fluttering bird wings of your heart before you even noticed. 

  Developing into something sweeter, deeper, so heartbreakingly sick it took a disaster and almost the last pulse in your veins for you to be able to admit it. 

  -

Steve had been pacing the cream colored tiles for over thirty minutes. The squeak of his Nikes against the floor were something Eddie was trying hard to focus on instead of worrying about you in the ICU, but so far it wasn’t working.

  The nasal cannula was annoying, he could breathe fine on his own. The stitches in his eyebrow itched and stung with each weave through his skin, pulled taut around the swelling in his face. 

  The shot the nurses had administered to calm him down after screaming and trying to fight his way to you, was making his mind fuzzy— still, Steve’s pacing kept him company. Step step step squeak, step step step hand in hair, followed by an agitated huffing breath.

  A nurse with a long blond ponytail braided down her back opens the polyester curtain with a drag and slips inside the room. A black rubber and steel stethoscope around her neck, before she could introduce herself Steve exploded with fury. 

  “Tell me what the hell is going on in this poor excuse for a hospital, right now!” Steve’s hair shook from its feathered position when he spoke, his demanding voice booming across the tiles. 

  Without missing a beat and clearly dealing with high strung men before she said almost monotonously, “Sir, you need to calm yourself down, this is a h-”

  But Steve’s fire was only fueled by her dismissive tone, his voice never wavering, “No, I will not calm down! The police were made aware of this situation a year ago and nothing was ever done!” 

  The police officer standing outside guarding entry to the room tipped his head in slow, “Mr. Harrington, we hear your complaints but there isn’t anything we can—”

  “Bullshit!” A tear stain cheeked Robin sobbed, her face red and blotchy from hours of crying and rubbing her freckles clean, “Eddie told you what happened yet he’s still cuffed to a bed like a fucking criminal!”

  She broke down again, clinging to Steve’s side like a wounded child, sobbing into the soft cotton of his crewneck sweater. “This is unethical! Unco—”

  “Alright that’s enough hot shot,” Hopper shouts in finality towards Steve, a wrinkle burrowed deep in his forehead accompanied with graying thick eyebrows set in a devastating frown. 

  “Chief,” Wayne interjects, cap wringing in his calloused, wrinkle bared hands, his voice wobbly but steady, runny nose and wet tears cling to his scruffy beard, “my son was protectin’ that girl, you know Eddie…he’d never hurt someone unless his life or someone he cared about was in danger.” 

  Hopper tore his gaze from the one of the richest in the room to the poorest, hanging his head with sorrow, “ ‘m sorry, Wayne— but until Mr. Derry’s statement comes back and Eddie is cleared… the cuffs stay.” 

  Wayne hung his head low, the few wiry hairs on his balding head stuck in all sorts of directions despite his attempt at raking them into submission. 

  “Jim Hopper you should be ashamed of yourself,” Karen Wheeler spoke up now, head held high, claw clip  teetering with each gesturing movement of her head, “you know good and well this boy couldn’t have done that to her! They loved each other!” 

  Since the pacing of Steve’s feet had stopped Eddie’s heart rattled hard in his chest, he clawed at the heart monitors on his chest, tried to bite the IV’s from his arms, caged like a wild animal he let out a broken cry, “ple— please, she needs me.”

  “Mr. Munson,” the nurse with blonde hair replies sternly, “she is in critical condition, we don’t know if or when she will be able to to recover, she is heavily sedated and needs rest, her only visitors will be family at this time.” 

  “Speaking of,” another nurse chirps, young and fresh gilled, entirely too eager to please her superior, “do you know how to get a hold of her family?”

  He shakes his head slow, causing a pounding headache, “I am her family,” Eddie grunts through clenched teeth, pushing himself up on the bed as far as his cuffs would allow, Steve’s hand on his shoulder. “Look around this room! Ted and Karen Wheeler, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Nancy Byers.. we are all she has,” a single tear falls down his bruised cheek, liquid salt in the cut in his top lip. 

  “Okay sir.. who is responsible for her?” 

  “In regards to what? Financially? You money hungry pricks just don’t let up so you?,” Ted Wheeler finally speaks behind his wife, shock and anger evident on his wrinkled features.

  “Not exactly…”

  “Whatever it is, I will handle it, alright?” Eddie interjects, annoyed with the questions, worried only about you, “I’m responsible for her.”

  “Oh,” the nurse says, perking up slightly, marking a red check mark on her clipboard, smoothing out her uniform, “so you are aware of her condition then.” 

  Light bulbs click for everyone in the room but the curly brown haired metal head. 

  Oh my God

  …Tooty

  Holy shit.

  “That she got the shit kicked out of her by that fucking psycho Chad Cunningham?”

  Eddie.

  Ma’am can we talk privately in the hall? 

  “…obviously I’m aware! I was there when it happened! That dumb fuck already took my statement!” he said gesturing to Deputy Wallace. 

  “No, Mr. Munson..”

  This isn’t the time for this! Wayne tried to warn the nurse, but it fell on deaf, naive ears.

  “…she’s right around twelve weeks pregnant.” 

  A pin dropping could have been heard from a mile away. The oxygen was sucked from the room. Karen’s hand was clapped around her mouth. Nancy and Robin choked back sobs.  

  Everyone was struck with horror, but not Eddie. 

  His mind playing that beautiful night between you like a movie in his head. The way your skin felt, the way his heart ached with fullness at your shared fervor and passion. 

  REWIND

  PLAY

  The curve of your lips on his skin, kissing him sweet and slow, no noise, just the love making swallowing you both whole. 

  REWIND 

  PLAY

  PAUSE 

  Your soft snores as he counted the popcorn marks in the ceiling, his girl. His entire universe. 

  STOP

  EJECT 

  The tears rolled like a ferocious river down his face, carving a path down his cheeks and under his wobbling chin, wetting the hospital gown he was forced into when he got here. 

  You were alone.

  He didn’t know anything about pregnancy besides the woman usually got sick right? Every emotion that most men feel when finding out they were going to be a dad hit him all at once. 

  But not fear. 

  He imagined you with a big swollen belly, feet too pudgy to fit into shoes, he’d rub them with lotion until you could fall asleep. 

  He’d imagined his arms holding you from behind, your baby wrapped in his arms still in your womb. The relief you might feel from the weight being in his hands. 

  You were experiencing this pain all by yourself. 

  He couldn’t fathom how you were feeling. Scared. Hopeless? He had no idea. And the thought of you being alone had him nauseous. 

  Why didn’t you didn’t tell him?  

  Why didn’t anyone tell him? 

  His fury built and shook as his voiced boom with grief as he screamed at Steve, dark eyes blood shot and red rimmed. 

  “How could you,” he broke, struggling through the words, "why would you not tell me?!” The cuffs around his wrist broke skin as he tried to claw his way out of them, trying to reach at Steve’s shirt demanding to be heard. 

  “Ed— fuck man!” Steve started, mouth gaping at Eddie’s arms dripping with blood from his fresh wounds, “we didn’t know!” 

  Robin speaks now, trying to reach for Eddie’s hand to offer him some comfort, “She didn’t tell us, Eddie—Steve is right, she didn’t say a word to any of us about it.” 

  “Fuck!” Eddie screams, slamming his wrists into the bed sides, “I sh—should h-have..,” the end falls silent as his long legs were pulled to his chin and he buried his head into them. 

  In the minutes it had been since he found out, he was already a shitty fucking dad.

  The pain of what happened to you and him not being able to stop it quick enough was killing him, and now, realizing that you were carrying his child and you were all alone? 

  There weren’t words for the gut wrenching feeling ripping through him. Overwhelming dread, chest tight with panic and pain. The nausea overtaking him. The vomit came fast, splashing allover himself and the bed, landing in thick puddles on Steve’s shoes. He cried harder and sobbed uncontrollably. When his stomach was empty he could only dry heave. 

  Wayne moved across the tiled floor in quick steps, careful not to slip in the wayward puke in his path. Sitting down hard and with purpose next to Eddie. This wasn’t his first rodeo of seeing Eddie in this turmoil. But never as a grown man. 

  He tried his hardest to hold back the tears he swore he’d never let fall in front of his boy, but gravity won the fight when Eddie pulled him into a bone crushing hug, his sobs snuffed by the canvas of his work jacket. 

———

It was a full 12 hours before Mr. Derry’s statement was released. Tough old bird, he couldn’t be coerced even with the gentle threat from the Cunningham’s came down hard breathing down his neck. 

  Surely not their son? Their angel?

  But the proof was there. An eye witness statement and a severely beaten woman, the record from years past and the statement from both Steve and Robin on what happened last year at your apartment, stood its ground. 

  Eddie was cleared as a free man, self defense in the eyes of the law. The second his cuffs were off he was throwing his boots onto his gripper socked feet, and untangling himself from wires and needles. 

  Steve and Wayne had both taken off work to help Eddie pick up his medication and make him go home and rest. When he tried to protest, Wayne gave Eddie a look that could pierce steel, the kind of look saying no bullshit, and begrudgingly he followed the men out to Steve’s Mercedes. 

  Nancy and Karen stayed behind at the hospital, filling your room with heavily perfumed flowers. Hushed whispers between the mother and daughter as they prayed and hoped that you would make it out of this horrific nightmare. 

  The doctors would only speak to Eddie. Letting him aware that your condition was improving but they would not be able to lift the sedation just yet. A day passed then another. Eddie slept in the hospital grade recliner in your room each night. Singing you sweet lulls of your favorite song. Promising you the world if you would just open your eyes. 

  He was weak himself. Fighting the urge to break down in front of anyone again with each hour that passed. 

-

4 days led to 5 and the nurses and doctors whispered behind their clipboards. On the 6th day they decided to lift the sedation to see how your body would tolerate pain. 

  Eddie never left. 

  Machines beeped and ticked. Tubes and wires connecting from you drip with fluid and monitoring systems. The white walls and outdated curtains of the hospital shine a yellowed glow into your room, bringing with it a warmth to your cotton thread blanket and warming the skin on your arms. A welcomed feeling compared to the cold needles of the IV poking into your skin delivering flows of medicine and liquids to keep you hydrated and your pain manageable. 

  Foiled balloons printed with get well wishes bounce and sway with the kick on from the vent. 

  One of your hands is unexpectedly warmer than the other. A rough drag across the knobs of your knuckles is a familiar feeling, and you smell him before you even open your eyes to acknowledge that it’s him. 

  The clinging smell of cigarettes on a freshly washed shirt and the spice of deodorant force their way into your nose. It’s a different shampoo than the one you’re used to catching on him. More manly. All sandalwood and musk a hint of citrus. And at first you think he’s someone else… maybe Steve picked up smoking heavily again?

  But when a tuned hum reverberates low against your hand followed by a pair of lips kissing gently around the IV and tape poked and laid against your skin, you know for certain it’s the man you’ve been dreaming about. 

  The one you cried for. 

  The one who visited your sleeping mind and told you everything was going to be okay.

  His name falls from your lips like choked frozen honey, thick in your mouth and on a dry tongue. 

  It was the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. 

  His girl. His whole world. Awake.

[ghoulreaper38]

the ghouls + giving you love bites.

pairings : the ghoul (cooper howard) x fem!reader | john hancock x fem!reader.

warnings : reader is afab—no descriptions given BUT babe, doll(face), sweetheart, pretty(girl), hun, & sunshine are all used as nicknames ! / mild mature content / suggestive themes / profanity / fondling / hickeys-love bites / slight possessive behavior / mild jealousy / chem use / alcohol use / smoking / very mild choking / ghoul discrimination.

a/n—my first time posting ever yay & writing for this fandom so please keep that in mind. i did my best but things may be ooc or incorrect. regardless, happy reading❕🤍

The Ghoul (Cooper Howard) 1.7k words

You are much too beautiful for this wasteland. Cooper tries over and over again to reassure himself that you are his and only his, but he notices every single unwanted stare you garner from practically everywhere you go. It’s so bad now that he won’t let you go anywhere unless he’s right by your side.

And you, his vaultie, bless that pretty little soul of yours… you don’t seem bothered by his behavior at all. You happily let him trail after you like a guard dog that’ll bite at anyone who tries to come your way. And my, oh, my, how scary he is…

Cooper comes back from taking the clingy ol’ dog for a morning walk to find you rummaging around inside the desolate and dilapidated shack the two of you were staying in, for a night or two at least. You’ve got your backpack on and you’re loading up one of your 10mm pistols from where you’re crouched on the ground by a coffee table with a missing leg.

“Where’re you supposed to be heading off to so early, little morning bird,” Cooper asks as he raises an eyebrow at you, almost accusatory.

You get the pistol loaded and pack it into the holster on your waist as you stand from your crouched position to meet his gaze.

“Just into the small town a bit west from here. I want to see if I can stock up on some medicine or food while we’re passing through. And, the earlier I get over there, the sooner I’ll be back here,” you explain as you double check you’ve got your dagger, pip-boy, and stash of caps on you.

“Huh.” The ghoul clicks his tongue as he gives you a brief once-over.

You head for the door and attempt to walk past him to start your journey for the day, but he immediately shakes his head and pulls you back by your hips until you’re trapped against him.

“Don’t think so, doll. You ain’t goin’ nowhere like that,” he lowly says as he leans down until his breath brushes over your exposed neck. You shiver against him but do your best to grab his wandering hands and hold them in place. Is he really mad about you wearing a tank top right now?

“Like what?” you frown and try to catch his gaze over your shoulder. “We’re basically living in a heatwave out here, I’m not layering up,” you scoff with a roll of your eyes.

“I don’t give a damn what you’re wearing, sweetheart. I’m well aware you’re all mine,” the ghoul says with a smug smile. He easily frees one of his hands from your hold and trails it all the way up until it comes to rest right against your throat. “Problem is, the fuckers out there don’t,” he practically growls as his fingers tighten just enough to be threatening against your skin. “So how ‘bout we write this in bold, huh? Make sure they can’t possibly miss that you’re mine, all mine,” he says as he leans down and presses his scarred lips against your neck.

Your body tingles as he moves his hands lower, brushing them both up under the hem of your shirt so they can travel over your stomach. His touch is so light, it tickles, and his lips are unforgiving where they brush against your throat. He leaves love bites scattered all over your neck, licking over the particularly brutal ones to soothe the puffy redness his bites leave behind. It’s a mix of pleasure and pain and you can’t help but moan as he dresses your throat up with yet another mark, poking at it teasingly just to get a reaction out of you.

Finally, after making sure he’s marked you well enough, he pulls back and steps away from you. You breathe in deeply and place a hand over your neck as your body comes down from the high that this ghoul always manages to give you, with nearly no effort at all. Sometimes, just a simple look in your direction has you weak in the knees and ready for whatever he’s willing to give you. It’d be more embarrassing to dwell on it if you didn’t find it so attractive.

“There now, that’ll do it,” Cooper says with a smirk as he scans all over your neck to see his work. You can tell he’s proud of himself by the way he runs his tongue over his lower lip subconsciously. It’s comforting to know that he’s just as intoxicated by you as you are by him.

“You done now, cowboy?” you tease as you fuss with your shirt to make sure it’s nicely straightened out.

“Just about,” he drawls as he steps into your space and grips your chin between his fingers. “You ready to go show the world you’re mine? Let a greedy old ghoul like me tie you down?” Cooper asks, but he captures your lips into a kiss before you can answer. His tongue glides along your own as he claims you once more just before you go.

When he finally breaks apart from you, he goes straight to throwing his bandolier on and readjusting his hat. He glances over at you once with that sly expression of his, as he cocks his head towards the door.

“You comin’, dollface?”

You smile your own little smile and nod your head, following him out of the building.

The town is nice for what it is. Not too many of the buildings seem to be as torn through as some others the two of you have encountered while traveling together. You manage to find most of the supplies on your list, and even a few extra lucky ones you hadn’t accounted for. It’s a win in your book.

The only trouble you wind up running into comes from an older group of gentlemen who’re leaned up against an old brick building down one of the streets the ghoul leads you through. They seem to be taking a smoke break outside of an old diner that’s just finding its legs here in the seemingly re-evolving town.

“The fuck’s that thing doing around here?” one of the men with a rather large cigar jeers as he takes one look at Cooper walking beside you.

Cooper doesn’t give any reaction, he only walks more surely of himself. It’s like the negative comments from them give him more confidence.

“Thought these damn ghouls would stay away from here after what happened to the last group that tried us,” one of the men sighs as he takes a long drag from his cigarette and gives the ghoul a cold glare. “Hell, I’d even take them fuckin’ mantises that crawled through here again over more of these freaks,” he continues with an animated shrug.

You try your best to ignore their harsh comments and instead follow Cooper’s lead, but one of them nearly steps in your way trying to gain your attention as you go to pass them.

“Whoa there, what’s a babe like you doing traveling around with that fuckin’ thing?” he asks as he looks between you two in disgust. “You better let this one here go, you rad-infested freak. They ain’t your prisoner no more,” the guy says darkly as he picks up a broken glass bottle and watches the ghoul with a close eye.

Cooper halts in his steps and clicks his tongue, watching the man next to you with an unimpressed look.

“You must be one dumb motherfucker if you haven’t noticed that this ‘babe’ ain’t a prisoner to me at all,” he chuckles darkly. “Now I suggest you put that there bottle down and take a closer look for yourself,” Cooper bites as he slides his gun out from its holster lazily. He’s not yet threatening the man, but rather, warning him.

“Oh, what the fuck,” one of the men behind the one with the broken bottle gasps as he must notice the marks on your neck. The other guy behind him joins and they both quickly shake their heads, seemingly deciding that this battle isn’t worth it. “Nah, I’m out, that fucked shit in’t none of my business at all,” the other agrees as they retreat back to inside the building.

“Guess that just leaves you, don’t it?” Cooper smirks as he licks his lips, taking a step closer to you, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of the ignorant man. He drapes his arm over your shoulder and you give him a sweet kiss on the cheek, more than happy to play this little game with him. You know he loves the thrill, loves to show you off to the world.

“What… what the hell is goin’ on here?!” the man yells, waving the broken bottle around wildly as he tries to understand what exactly is unfolding before him.

“Well, let’s see…” Cooper sighs. “You were threatening to take my lover from me, ain’t that right? Still wanna try your hand at that now, big man?” Cooper practically seethes as he cocks his gun, the sound ringing loudly between the three of you.

“Oh, you’re fucked! Both of you!” the guy shouts as he drops the bottle and his cigarette, turning tale and running away down an old dingy alleyway.

You cover your mouth with your hand as a laugh slips past your lips. You can’t help yourself after watching such a comical display. He’s lucky to have survived, and you’re proud of how generous the ghoul’s become just for you.

“That’s some funny shit right there,” Cooper chuckles with that deep, sweet laugh of his. Your heart soars at the sound of it.

“It’s always so entertaining to see how they’ll react. This time was much cleaner than last,” you say with a relieved sigh, pulling Cooper into a warm hug. He immediately wraps his arms around you tightly as he kisses your forehead and smiles down at you. One of his rare genuine ones that gets your face all warm.

“I’d do anything for you, doll. I hate that you’ve gotta put up with so much bullshit just for walking with someone like me, but I can promise you that I’ll always give you a whole lot more than any of these other fuckers could ever dream up. Got it?” he asks as he pulls you even closer, resting his chin on top of your head.

With your face nuzzled against his neck, you nod your head and squeeze him back comfortingly. “Got it,” you promise with a genuine smile of your own.

John Hancock 1.4k words

a/n let’s pretend regular ‘ol jet would have the same effect on ghouls as it does humans for this one!

Hancock loves to see you dancing and freely enjoying yourself in his club, but he absolutely loathes to see how many watchers you attract with the striking way you sway your hips along to the music. You dance under the lights and that stunning jewelry you love shines so perfectly against your skin, it’s entrancing to any onlooker. Hancock wishes he was the only onlooker.

“Hancock, and of course his stunning plus one, are you guys joining us for a couple of rounds of drinks tonight?” Magnolia asks as she and her company, Emogene, wave you both over to their table only a few steps away.

Hancock’s unusually quiet tonight as he offers only cold glares and noncommittal laughter to anyone who tries to break the barrier he’s suddenly put up for the evening. You’ve attempted to figure out why, of course, but he won’t budge at all, just gesturing for you to keep enjoying yourself instead of worrying over him. So, you suppose that’s alright for now, everyone needs a little space sometimes, right?

“Of course, we’d love to! As long as you’re okay with it,” you say as you glance at Hancock who’s standing beside you with his arms crossed.

“Yeah, sure, do whatever you want. You know I’ll follow you anywhere, hun,” he rasps as he follows you to the table with the two other women.

The truth is, Hancock cannot control himself like this. Yeah, yeah, he could probably slow down with the chems to avoid it, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, he slides into the booth beside you and takes a long swig of his stiff drink, and taps his leg subconsciously as he tries to focus less on you and more on the conversation at hand.

“—It’s always a beautiful song if you’re singing it,” you say as you smile at Magnolia kindly, taking a small sip out of your own glass. The two of you are constantly flattering each other, it’s a sign of your strong and healthy friendship, you believe.

“Well, I could certainly say the same for you, hm? Your dancing is so spectacular each time, it’s a shame only the third rail gets to witness it,” she tuts as she sends a knowing glare in Hancock’s direction.

You laugh sweetly and thank her while you rest a hand on Hancock’s knee, hoping to calm him. You’ve never seen him so jittery on jet before, but you hadn’t noticed him take anything else.

Emogene nods easily, “I have to agree myself. Magnolia told me your dancing was good, but seeing it with my own eyes tonight was a complete surprise even so. You’re talented in that regard for sure,” she compliments, and then she snorts, gesturing to the room around you. “And, I mean, clearly you have plenty of admirers who feel the same way.”

…Okay, yeah, the alcohol didn’t help one bit, Hancock decides.

Before you can reply, Hancock abruptly sits up straighter and grabs your hand.

“You’ll have to excuse us for a moment, I forgot I needed to speak to my pretty girl here in private for just a sec,” he says as he begins pulling you along with him out of the booth.

“Oh dear, just be gentle, you silly ghoul,” Magnolia sighs as she lights a cigarette for herself and takes a long drag. Emogene looks at Hancock like he’s a crazy man, but she just sips on her drink and leaves the two of you be.

You’re shocked by how clumsily Hancock’s pulling you along with him, he’s seemingly pent up with so much energy that he’s not entirely thinking straight. But alas, you go along with him anyways. He said he needed to talk, right? You always have time for him.

He pulls you along until you reach the VIP room, and thankfully it’s empty at the moment. He shuts the door and then he’s immediately attaching himself to you.

“Ah, um, Hancock? What’s wrong?” you attempt to ask, but it’s hard to focus when he’s wrapping you up in his warm embrace, breathing in your intoxicating scent.

“I… I just need ‘ta feel you right now. Like, genuinely feel you in my arms,” he breathes as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

“Okay… are you alright? What’d you take?” you ask as you wrap your arms around him in return, letting him soak up all your body heat.

“Just some jet, but, I can’t stand the way those other people were watching you. I just get this insane urge to keep you all to myself, make ‘em all jealous because you picked me, not any of those shitty guys,” he growls as he pulls back just enough so he can give you a soft kiss on your lips. Your gleaming eyes staring into his has his heartbeat going wild. He loves you way too much to be good for him.

You smile at his words and pull him closer, kissing his left cheek, then right, then his nose, and lastly, his scarred lips that always manage to give you butterflies when they collide with yours. And just like always, he fits so perfectly against you, slipping his tongue further into your mouth until you’re moaning against his lips. His sly hands traveling further and further down until he grips your ass playfully, pulling you flush against him.

You squeak cutely which only makes him want to hear you more. He tilts your chin up with his gloved fingers so he has better access to your neck, and then he nibbles against your smooth skin, leaving traces of him over every spot he touches. After ensuring you’ve got three love bites too many, he nips at your earlobe playfully before pulling away, chuckling at your cute little noises as he does.

He breathes deeply as he completely backs away from you, absorbing how pretty you look with your lips swollen and face flushed.

“Alright, gotta stop myself there for now, sunshine. You’re just too tempting for me,” he says as chews on his lip subconsciously while running his eyes over your body. “If you don’t wanna leave our dear old friends hanging then we’d better get back out there soon,” he reminds.

You nod your head and follow him to the door. He leads the two of you back to the booth from before, where Magnolia and Emogene have patiently waited, both having finished a drink or two in the time you and Hancock were gone.

“Welcome back, lovebirds. I see you two had some fun,” Magnolia slyly smiles, bring her eyes from your face to your neck with a tantalizing laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I take full responsibility,” Hancock says as he raises his hands in surrender. “I hit too much jet before, and when she dances like that in slow motion, well, can’t blame a guy for getting a tad bit overzealous,” he grins with those bright and happy eyes, clearly proud of himself.

You shake your head at his antics but still lean your body closer to him, and he immediately wraps an arm around you, keeping you warm and safe right beside him.

“It does seem to have worked out in your favor though, I will say,” Magnolia smiles. “The eyes seem to have wandered back to where they came from,” she again gestures to the room around you, and you notice how the other men are very obviously trying their hardest not to give any inappropriate looks to the mayor’s girl. Against your better judgement, it leaves a fuzzy feeling in your chest.

“My savior,” you tease as you snuggle into Hancock’s side with a silly smile.

Emogene says something that catches Magnolia’s attention, and the two of them delve into a conversation. Hancock kisses your head and pulls you just a bit closer, until one of your legs rests above his own.

“Dance for me like that again, sunshine, and I might just have to get you all pretty on your knees for me. But don’t you worry, hun, I’ll go slow,” he whispers into your ear. You feel your face heat up instantly at his sudden words but he only chuckles in response, giving you a soft kiss on the cheek before he pulls away.

He calls over Whitechapel Charlie and asks for a round of shots for the table, and you graciously take the one he offers to you, hoping that maybe that will be able to calm your sudden longing for the enticing man beside you.

When Hancock catches your eye as he expertly downs his shot, a devious smile on his lips, you realize you’re already in too deep.

[songmingisthighs]

Pitiful, You're Pitiful

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ch. ii

group : ateez

pairing : aged up!wooyoung × aged up!reader

genre : angst, mature

word count : 3 k

warning : adultery, cheating, medical condition (?), mentions of loss/miscarriage, negative depiction of wooyoung

a/n : happy valentine's <3

It had been two months since the night you were intimate with Wooyoung and it was still suffocating to think about.

It hurts a lot actually. But you can't let your sadness take over you, especially when Wooyoung hasn't shown any concrete signs that you should be worried other than your feelings. So you kept it to yourself, you kept your anxiety in and with every trip and team dinner or client meeting, you convinced yourself that he was doing what he said he was doing no matter how nauseated it made you feel. The stress must've gotten to you badly because the nausea was starting to become unbearable and even made you vomit almost every day. You figured it was psychosomatic but since it had affected your housework (aka Wooyoung complaining that you were up late several times, Dayoung grumbling under her breath about you not even caring to make her breakfast, and Woohyun refusing to go to kindergarten because he was worried over you).

Today started quite roughly.

"MOM!"

You barely held onto the countertop of your sink when you heard your daughter huffing from the other side of the door. The pain in your head and the discomfort from your stomach made your body sway slightly and the second round of angry knocks felt like a hammer to your head.

"Mom, seriously, I'm gonna be late!" Dayoung sighed sharply. You could just imagine the look on her face and while you love your children to bits, the way your body was practically shutting down on you, it felt like you wanted to scream back at her to give you a break. But you kept reminding yourself that you're the parent, she's an angsty teenager and you can't create a hostile environment for your youngest.

By whatever force that was working in your favour, you managed to walk yourself to the door and though your hands were cold, clammy, and trembling, you were able to open the door to see your daughter glaring at you. "S-sorry sweetie, mommy's not feeling well right now," you sighed, wiping the cold sweat off your forehead with your palm.

Dayoung hated the way you referred to yourself as if she was still a child or something and she let you know her disdain with a scoff and a roll of her eyes. "If you were so against me taking the bus in the morning, you could've at least made an effort to be punctual. I had to dress Woohyun, you know that? He and his milk-drenched chin almost ruined my cardigan and uniform. How is it that I'm doing things you're supposed to? Couldn't you have gotten drunk during the weekends or something?" she sneered, oblivious that it had been a while since you touched alcohol because when you tried to have a glass the week before, you ended up throwing up for some reason. The throbbing was coming back along with annoyance and you couldn't help the sharp exhale that you let out, "Can you not be like this right now? You being disrespectful won't make me move any faster." At least Dayoung had the decency to shut her mouth but from the corner of your eyes, you could see her fists clenching. "Where's your dad anyways? He knew I was not feeling well, he could've taken you and Woohyun to school." Although you were sighing and struggling to move without keeling over, you still forced your body to cooperate, determined to prioritize your motherly duties above letting sickness take over you completely. Dayoung only leaned on the wall while texting her friend, completely aware that you had almost fallen over a couple of times as you changed into your jeans, "I don't know, Daddy seemed to be in a rush this morning. He went out like an hour earlier than usual, humming and mumbling something about meeting someone for coffee before going to the academy."

The lighthearted tone Dayoung used didn't hide the heaviness of those words. You had been rather preoccupied as a mom to really follow up on your instinct so when you heard that, you felt a chill down your spine. For a moment, you couldn't help but wonder what or why you felt like that. As quick as that doubt came, you brushed the thought away as you grabbed your bag, rushed your children out the door, and loaded them into your car.

Being a parent was truly a wonder because for a moment, while focusing on your children, you felt like your body was mending itself. The headache was gone, your joints were not achy, and the bloated feeling in your stomach was relieved. Maybe it was stress, a psychosomatic symptom because you had a feeling that something was wrong with Wooyoung and because nothing did, your body directed the feeling towards your health. It's possible, the body is mysterious and things that make almost 0 sense can happen in a blink of an eye.

But once you found yourself all alone after taking Woohyun to his class, you slumped against the side of your car, clutching your head as the pain suddenly returned all at once. It was then and there that you realized that something was going on with you and you needed to get it checked out immediately.

On the way to the hospital, your mind was at war. It was plagued with scary scenarios like cancer one moment before the logical side of your brain reasoned that it could be something as simple as indigestion, acid reflux or even stomach flu. The anxiety didn't die down and you thought that at moments like this, you needed your partner, you needed your husband. Your husband who in the past had gone above and beyond to nurse you back to health even when it was just your allergy acting up. It was ironic that as you smiled and reminisced about the things your husband did for you in the past, your phone let out a long dial tone that let you know that you couldn't reach your husband for the 5th time. The anxiety bubbled up at the pit of your stomach as your fear went on automation, immediately associating Wooyoung not accepting your calls as a bad omen. One by one, your brain started ticking off possibilities such as stomach cancer, bowel obstruction, and kidney problems. Then your daughter's jabs started popping in your head, her jabs about how you drink a lot. It wasn't like you get drunk on wine twice a week like a ritual but it was never like that. You do enjoy the occasional glass but even then, it was slightly less than the amount people usually pour and it never surpassed you feeling tingly. But maybe you had accidentally subconsciously increased your intake and what you were experiencing was liver failure.

Out of all the diagnoses you were fearing, you honestly weren't expecting the doctor to tell you that you were pregnant.

As embarrassing as it was to admit, the moment the doctor revealed the diagnosis, it was like a punch to the gut and you vomited all over the ER floor. On the plus side, you no longer feel bloated.

"I can't be pregnant, there's no way. I haven't been intimate with my husband in a long while," you said after gulping down the water one of the nurses brought for you. "Blood tests are rarely wrong, ma'am," the doctor pulled her stool closer to you and sat down to look at you straight in the eyes, "When was the last time you were intimate with your husband?" It was both easy and hard for you to remember the last time you had sex with Wooyoung. You couldn't even call it making love because it wasn't. He fucked you to shut you up and left you alone like a washed-up carcass. The urge to scream and go crazy was high as it seemed like such a joke to get pregnant from that one time.

You wanted to laugh, scream, cry at how ironic the situation was. How when you tried so hard to grow your family with your husband, you were met with heartbreak. But now that things were verging on collapsing, you were suddenly blessed with a person you didn't even know you'd been waiting for. But your brain hadn't caught up to that point, still in disbelief and maybe even shock.

The doctor's voice was merely a murmur at that point. You couldn't focus, you couldn't really comprehend what she was saying because you were so deep in your thoughts, your bitter thoughts of the situation. You were worried because after what happened to your last pregnancy, it took you a long while to be okay again. There was even a period of time when Wooyoung was the only functioning parent, taking care of the role of both mom and dad while you recuperate. Of course, you weren't expecting to lose this pregnancy too. Who would do that? But the fear existed, the fear remained a part of you and as much as you want to shed it, it was so hard.

Nevertheless, you couldn't help but let your mind wander and suddenly flicker into hope. Hope that this baby will bring your husband back, bring him back to the way he was before the loss you both experienced. Hoping that his distance was because he was also waiting for this same little stranger.

"Hey, (y/n)!"

You turned around and saw Yunho jogging towards you, huffing.

When did you get out of the ER? You felt a buzz in your hand from your phone and frowned when you saw the message. When did you make an OB appointment?

Whatever the answer was, you immediately tried to shove your worries away and put on a smile, trying to appear normal or somewhat okay in front of your husband's friend.

Before you could greet him back, however, he cut you off, "I came as soon as I heard," he panted. "What?" you chuckled awkwardly, not understanding what he meant but slightly worried because you had thought someone saw you in the ER and heard what you and the doctor were talking about and informed other people. "How's Wooyoung? Was it really a heart attack? I heard he hit his head or something. Which room is he in?" It felt like you were the one who hit their head because you had no idea what Yunho was saying. You waved your hands in front of Yunho's face to stop his rants, "Whoah, Yunho, what are you talking about?" Now it was Yunho's turn to be confused. "I-I was informed by the academy's front desk that Wooyoung got hurt. They said they called Wooyoung in because he missed his special trainee class and they got information that he was hurt and that he was admitted here so I thought that he was with you."

In a flash, you turned and dashed to the information desk, Yunho hot on your tail. the both of you stayed close as you go up to the room Wooyoung was admitted in, worry evident in the way you both looked but it was definitely more prominent on you.

Once on the floor, you ran out first to the nurse's station before Yunho could even register that the elevator door had opened. Your hands accidentally slammed loudly on the hard surface of the counter, making Yunho and the nurses in the station to jump slightly in shock, "Hi, I-I'm looking for Jung Wooyoung, he was just admitted not too long ago," you were on the verge of crying because you were so worried and you felt and that you didn't even know your husband got hurt. The nurse checked her computer for a second before looking back at you, "He is on this floor but I'm afraid I can't let you visit him just yet. His wife is in there with him and considering the situation, we were instructed to let him get his rest first. Visitors are permitted once Mr Jung's doctor clears him and you will be notified by his wife." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and so did Yunho at the revelation, "That... That can't be right, I'm his wife," you said, surprising the nurse. She produced a guest sign-in form on a clipboard and muttered to herself, "I- well, there was this lady who came in with him and she told the doctor that they were in their bedroom when Mr Jung had the accident. She mentioned- I- I think she mentioned that she was his partner, s-so I just assumed she was his wife because of the ring on his finger," she meekly showed you the signature on the clipboard but it looked unfamiliar.

"Yeon Harin? That's our backup dancer," Yunho scoffed from behind you, "What's she doing here with Wooyoung?"

Dread washed over you like the water from a river in winter. The look on your face was enough to let not only the nurse who talked to you but the other nurses around know what was going on. Guilt gnawed at them when they saw your face paled and eyes glazed over as if they were the ones who committed such betrayal towards you. However, it took Yunho a moment to realize. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes lingered on the name as his brain replayed the information he received. Dots connecting one by one, Yunho felt like he was being punched in the gut. "Oh fuck," he cussed under his breath, realizing what just happened. Realizing what his revelation of the identity did, "(y/n), a-"

Before he could ask if you were alright, you had pushed yourself away from the station, eye unfocused as if searching for a way to escape. "I... T-thank you... C-can, uh... Can I come back later with my hus- Wooyoung's things? W-what time is the cutoff time for visitors?" You did not notice it but your voice trembled, breaking slightly even as you tried communicating with the nurses in a voice so small, that they had to not breathe to hear you clearly. It was obvious that you were trying to hold yourself together, but it was also probably because you were processing the information. The head nurse pushed past from the back of the station and addressed you directly with a gentle, motherly smile, it was a shame you didn't see it. "Cut-off time is in 2 hours which will be at 12 pm and it will reopen at 6-8 pm. But for family members, there isn't really a cut-off time, I'll make sure Mr Jung's visitor is out of his room soon," at least someone had the decency to do what's right.

You didn't even remember if you told the nurses thank you because when your senses returned, you found yourself already walking back towards the elevator. "(y/n)? Hey, are you okay?" Yunho called out, making his presence and proximity obvious to you. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, but how could you? Your assumption was just confirmed in such a public place in a situation the same hour you found out you were pregnant in the same place you found out that your husband was hurt and you weren't there for him. Although his side piece was there and considering that he was with her when he was supposed to be at a very important class due to the account and his own ownership of account management, he must've prioritized her presence more. Yunho didn't press you for a reply though, he just wanted to make sure you were okay, he wanted to make sure he could give you what you needed which was tricky since he had no idea what to do. He too, was still processing the information and trying to make sense of things. Was his assumption even correct? Was his friend really that much of a monster? So when you hopped in the elevator, Yunho didn't know if he was supposed to let you go by yourself or jump in and drive you home. Were you even going home? Why were you even there if you didn't even know that Wooyoung was admitted?

When you finally spared Yunho a glance, the door was starting to close and with a smile that haunted him for weeks, you spoke, "Don't tell Wooyoung about this, okay?" and the door closed, leaving Yunho worried and conflicted because all he wanted to do was go into Wooyoung's room and demand an explanation but with what you said, he couldn't. Could he?

When you heard the door closed, your body slumped to the wall and you felt your legs turn to jelly. Your intuition was right, he was being unfaithful and his timing, as always, was just perfect because the day you found out the truth just had to be the same day you found out that you were pregnant with the baby he fucked into you so coldly. A wave of nausea bubbled up in your stomach and your chest burned. The moment the door of the elevator opened, you ran out and your legs took you to the parking lot where you vomited out the bile that was probably the physical form of your feeling. Though the pressure was relieved, you could still feel the sting and burn in your throat, the bitterness in your tongue, and the dread washing over you.

Hunched over the bushes, you found it hard to straighten up and walk. At that moment, you want everything to stop because it was too much, it was too much for you to bear to bear alone.

Mere realization was not enough because you were in denial, you wanted to believe that it was just a dream, that you were hallucinating, that your husband was not the asshole but you were for wanting him to be a monster so much that your brain had somehow warped reality and created this scenario for you to hold onto.

Honestly, you didn't know what to process first.

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[iwritefandomimagines]

NIGHT OFF — DALE COOPER

masterlist

pairing: dale cooper x reader

description: dale can’t deny that being served by you at the double r is the highlight of his day. you can’t deny that serving him is the highlight of yours. it seems a date is in order.

warnings: none really, just a bit fluffy. sorry it’s not super long, i didn’t want to add too much filler for the sake of it!

author’s note: i hope you enjoy! again, sorry it’s quite short but hope you enjoy the sweet fluff anyway. please please let me know what you think!!! 🫶

———

Dale Cooper had been in Twin Peaks for five days, and on exactly five of those days he had been into the Double R Diner for his morning coffee.

Four of those days he’d also been in for a slice of pie that very same evening.

The pie was damn fine, undoubtedly. As was the coffee. But he’d be lying if he said that the real reason he was so eager to return was anything but the fact it was you he had the pleasure of being served by.

It was no coincidence that the one day so far he’d not spent his evening in the diner was the day he’d overheard you thanking Norma for giving you the evening off.

And now, on day 6, he’d been sceptical about whether or not he should avoid the diner today… Because heaven forbid you found it odd that he was in there so often.

But no, he thought, it’s just a great place for a morning coffee — and with so many regulars there, he was just doing his bit to fit in while he’s in town.

Yes, that would satiate the worry in the pit of his stomach.

When he entered, he felt a small pang of disappointment as he noticed that you were nowhere to be seen.

Still, he smiled at Norma and ordered his usual coffee, taking a seat in a quiet booth as he pondered over the day’s investigative plans (and certainly not about where you might be).

Dale Cooper never wanted to let himself get distracted from a case.

He was there to get the job done — not to think about the pretty smile of a woman he hardly knew when he was supposed to be solving a murder.

But he already savoured his mornings in the Double R for his brief escape from the reality of his job, and you were every bit to thank for that.

His head hung low, idly watching the steam rise from his coffee as he remained contemplative.

As a result, he was surprised when he heard your voice, the click of your shoes nearing his table.

“Oh hi Agent Cooper, sorry I didn’t see you come in,” you hummed, coffee pot in hand as he looked up to meet your gaze, “Been out back sorting some things out — it’s good to see you! Norma says you weren’t in for a slice’a pie yesterday…”

Cooper was sure his cheeks warmed at that. Had he been caught out?

“Oh, I, uh,” he forced a chuckle, “Had a busy day. I just needed some rest, is all. Lovely—Lovely to see you too. I trust you had a good evening?”

You found it so endearing how tirelessly formal he seemed to be, almost as though he was scared to bring down his wall enough to relax around you.

“Oh absolutely, a friend of mine who went away for college came to visit for the night,” you smiled, topping up his coffee as he watched you intently, “We went for dinner. I hope you had a good night too and didn’t suffer too much without pie!”

He chuckled at that — his smile enlarging at your small joke.

He took a small sip of his coffee, “How wonderful. Where, might I ask, did you go? That sounds odd, please forgive me— I’d just like to try somewhere new whilst I’m here.”

You giggled, “Already fed up of my food, Agent Cooper?”

His eyes widened, and you couldn’t help but find it adorable how flustered you seemed to make him.

“Oh no, never,” he flushed crimson, “Just trying to acclimatise to Twin Peaks life. And please, call me Dale.”

You fought back the panic at those words and the implication that his investigation was far from over.

You were, however, slightly ashamed to admit that you were delighted to know this meant he’d be sticking around a little while longer.

“Well, Dale,” you hummed, tongue in cheek, “It’s a little restaurant about thirty minutes out of town, but it’s a favourite of mine.”

You paused for a moment, unsure whether the bold suggestion you were about to make was a stupid one.

Sure, it was pretty clear (from what Harry had told you, if not just from his behaviour) that Dale was very much romantically interested in you.

However, given the circumstances of his presence in Twin Peaks, you worried his professionalism would lead to an embarrassing rejection.

Oh, fuck it.

“I could— we could go one evening, maybe?” you smiled shyly, “Could show you the best things on the menu, or—something?”

His face lit up, then dropped for a moment, then lit up with a smile once more.

He seemed to be internally battling with himself about whether or not it was a good idea to say yes, but given the beaming smile on his face by the end of it, you could assume which side had won.

“I’d love that,” Dale’s eyes twinkled as he looked up at your from his seat, pausing to take a sip of coffee, “May I be so rude as to ask if I could call it a… date? Because I had been hoping to ask you for one myself.”

At these words, you were sure your smile couldn’t possibly get any wider.

“If you’d like it to be one, then I’d very much like that too,” you hummed, smoothing down your dress with your palms, “When would you like to go?”

He narrowed his eyes for a moment in thought, “What’re you doing tonight?”

“Free as a bird,” you sing-songed, perhaps too eagerly, “I—I’ve got the night off again, always do on a Thursday. So tonight would be great.”

Satisfied, he took another slurp of coffee — the shit-eating grin on his face sending your heart racing, “Perfect. If you’d just write down your address for me, I’ll come and pick you up.”

You nodded, pulling your pen from your pocket and scrawling down your address, pushing the paper towards him.

His hand lingered on yours for a moment as you leaned forward to place it in front of him, and you could’ve sworn you’d never felt goosebumps quite like you did right now.

For a moment after taking the paper, Dale just looked at you — admiring your features as you leaned in closer than usual.

He was grateful for the close proximity, and immensely hopeful for more.

“I must admit, I’ve been thinking of asking you for dinner since the very night I got here,” Dale cleared his throat, “Though I didn’t want to be unprofessional. I hope you understand.”

You chuckled, “Of course, Dale,” oh boy could he get used to the lilt of his name on your tongue, “I hope… Well, let’s just say I’ve been thinking about it too and I’m very glad it’s happening.”

You could practically feel Norma’s eyes on you as you spoke, acutely aware of both the visible intensity of your conversation and how long you’d been at Dale’s table.

“I’d best get back to work before Norma keeps me late and I miss out on my hot date,” you joked, blushing crimson at your own words, “I’ll see you later. I hope you have a lovely day, Agent Cooper.”

He shot you one last smile, “I’ll see you later, beautiful.”

Now you could get used to that.

———

thanks so so much for reading — i hope this was okay & you all enjoyed. if you want to read more of my work, here’s my main masterlist <3

[katnissmellarkkk]

tis I with a prompt: I request the first time post war Katniss lets Peeta into her bed again 🥺

-

AN : wrote this the night you sent the prompt but I absolutely hated it until now. I finally got around to cleaning this up a bit and now I think it’s cute? Lemme know, all of y’all, if you like it! And my writing muscles are rusty so send me a prompt if you like, to try and work me out please! Can’t make any promises about what’ll trigger my brain but I can sure try! Anywaysss hope y’all enjoy this lil post-mockingjay-pre-epilogue drabble here!

-

I watch with dread as Peeta scrubs away the last bit of sauce still dried to his plate.

“You really don’t have to do that,” I murmur halfheartedly from where I lean against the counter, watching him.

“It’s rude to not wash your own plate after dinner,” he says, his tone somewhat coy. He’s teasing me, I realize. He’s maybe even flirting with me but I can’t be sure and even if I could, I wouldn’t know what to make of it.

“I never wash mine after eating at your house,” I mumble, mostly to myself. I know he doesn’t care about cleaning off my plate for me. I know that he knows that I don’t mind washing his plate either.

But I don’t push the point and neither does he. Because we’re both stalling the inevitable.

It’s past ten at night and it’s time for Peeta to go home now. This time comes every day and we should be more prepared for it by this point, but every single night when the sun has long since left the sky and you can barely make out five feet in front of you without a flashlight, Peeta walks out the front door and my chest aches, as he disappears out into the night.

Ask him to stay, a tiny voice that sounds weirdly like both Haymitch and my mother — at the same exact time — pressures me.

But my tongue won’t cooperate and I can’t make the words form on my lips and I feel my stomach flip as I stutter out an awkward goodbye instead.

“Goodnight, Katniss,” Peeta says evenly, his face smooth and peaceful and totally level as he reaches out and squeezes my hand before moving to grab his coat.

He’s walking towards the door and I feel the familiar dread — the dread that’s been my constant companion for longer than I care to remember — rise up in my stomach and for a split second I want to reach out and grasp his elbow. For a split second I want to grab onto him and stop him from leaving.

And for a moment I plan to ask him to stay, to come upstairs with me, to get into his pajamas and brush his teeth by my side at the sink, to crawl beneath the sheets and hold me until we hear birds begin to chirp with the morning light. In that moment I plan to ask him to do exactly what we used to do on the train, exactly what we used to do every single night, back before everything between us completely shattered beyond recognition.

My hand drops midair before I can make the contact with his arm but it catches his attention just the same.

“What’s wrong?” He inquires, his face becoming concerned.

“Nothing,” I brush off tightly. Instead of saying what I’m thinking, instead of saying what I want, I just force a smile and lightly graze his hand. “Get home safe.”

At that, he shoots me a bemused look. “I live three houses from you. Somehow I think I’ll be fine.”

I nod and chuckle as he leaves, as he disappears into the night, making the shortest of journeys home, unwittingly leaving me to dwell in regret for all the things I wish I’d just come out and said.

As soon as the door shuts between us regret the size of an elephant lands on my chest.

And I know, without a doubt, this is going to be one bad night for me.

-

The funny thing about my nightmares is they never lose their edge. Not with time, not with practice, not with comparison. I’ve seen Cato get eaten by the mutts hundreds of times. I’ve watched Clove stab me with her knives and Brutus chase me through the jungle and Enobaria break my neck with one hand, more than I could possibly count.

I’ve witnessed my sister detonate, as if I’m still standing right there, in the city circle of the Capitol. I’ve witnessed it thousands of times since that day. I’ve witnessed it more often than I’ve managed to actually sleep since that day.

And it never gets easier. It never becomes routine. I’m never ever prepared for it.

Instead I’m left paralyzed as the same dreams plague me over and over and over again.

Other things do change though. I used to thrash around, kicking and screaming as the dreams tortured me for minutes on end. I used to wake up, sweat covered and coiled up in my bedding, trapped in a physical sense that only manages to make my dreams even more intense somehow.

But over time something shifted and somehow, between the bomb that killed my sister and taking down Coin and the trial I scarcely remember, the thrashing stopped and the walking began.

For months now, I’ve woken to find myself in strange rooms, in small crawl spaces I didn’t know existed, inside cupboards and beneath beds no one’s ever used in guest rooms I barely recognize.

But I’ve never found myself outside before. Never, in all the time I’ve dealt with these dreams, have I ever once ended up in my front lawn.

Never, in my wildest imagination, did I picture myself waking from my nightmare, facedown in some dirt, ripping grass from the ground as I let out a rabid scream.

“Katniss,” I hear a voice softly murmur, like speaking to an injured fawn, terrified of scaring them away. “Katniss, it’s okay.”

And my lips cry for the voice before my brain fully recognizes it. “Peeta?”

“It’s just me,” he says, and I feel his hands grasp the tops of my arms, gently pulling me upright. “It’s only me.”

I pry my swollen eyes open and take in Peeta’s kind, worried face, mere inches away from mine.

“You’re here?” I croak, still groggy and confused. “What’s going on?”

“You were having a nightmare,” he explains, thumbing away my tears as more come pouring out. “But it’s over now. It was just a dream. You’re okay.” His hand cups my cheek softly, holding the weight of my head.

I nod plaintively, my body still completely exhausted despite the fact I was just asleep. “I’m okay,” I try to say but all that comes out is a guttural raspy sound and I watch as his face softens even more.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside,” he whispers, offering me his hand.

I take it without question, but find that I’m not upright for long. The moment I’m standing, my bare feet touching the dewy grass, Peeta bends down and scoops me up in his arms.

I don’t question it though. Maybe secretly I wanted him to do that. I definitely didn’t want to wait around to see if Haymitch came outside, asking why I was screaming at this hour of the day.

Peeta carries me into the house as if I weigh as much as Buttercup, kicking the door shut behind him and walking over to the couch. He sits down with me on his lap and drops his arms, as if to let me decide the next move. I could either crawl away from him, put some distance between us, or I could remain where I am.

To me, the choice barely takes any consideration.

I curl up closer to him, the images from the dream still too fresh to handle alone. I press my face into his neck and fold myself into him and hope he reciprocates in kind.

It doesn’t take more than a second for him to respond. As soon as I initiate it, he’s there, pulling me tighter, cradling me against him, rocking me back and forth like I’m something precious to behold.

“It’s okay,” he repeats again and again and again, as if we entered a time warp and we’re back on the train, back in the Capitol in our little apartment, sharing a bed, guarding against nightmares we stupidly thought would be the height of our troubles. “I have you, Katniss. I won’t let anything hurt you now.”

I cry into the collar of his shirt, drained and shaking and still half-crazed, feeling slightly better only when his fingers begins to smooth my hair away from my face.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Peeta whispers gently, his hand moving from my hair to my lower back, rubbing soft, soothing circles there to alleviate my trembling.

Time begins to pass. My tears dwindle to nothing. I feel the shaking come to an end. Every last ounce of energy I have left seeps from my body. My eyes grow heavy.

And pretty soon, I feel myself lifted once again, into strong, protective arms, cradling me like a baby as they carry me up the stairs and down to the end of the hall.

I’m tucked into bed gently, with the utmost care. The covers are brought up to my chin, my hair is brushed off my forehead and his fingers lightly dance upon my cheek. But it’s not enough. I still crave more.

“Don’t leave me,” I whisper, and my voice still isn’t mine, it’s someone else, someone who isn’t afraid to ask for what she wants. For who she wants to lay beside her in the darkness.

“Okay,” he murmurs and it sounds like a promise but as he sits down on the side of my bed and takes my hand in his, planting a soft kiss upon the back of it, I know he doesn’t understand what I’m truly asking.

“No, Peeta, that’s not what I meant,” I say, shaking my head, before pushing the covers back. “Can you get in? Can you stay with me?”

I don’t really grasp my word choice and all the underlying meanings until it’s already slipped out and too late to take back again.

But I only have a moment to be filled with regret. Because that’s how long it takes Peeta to slide in beside me.

And as I curl into him, wrapping my leg around his waist, burrowing my face in the curve of his neck, basking in the feeling of utter safety and happiness that I have never, ever found in another pair of arms, he whispers the only thing that could erase my chagrin.

“Always.”