#lighter...... the man that you are...........

[eeboyysworld]

teacher’s pet

Genre: smut

Seo in-woo X male!reader

Contains/Warnings: Teacher and student (reader is 18) ,bottom reader, sub!top Seo in-woo , rough, face fucking , semi-public sex.

Your teacher was a strange man, having caught his eyes lingering on you too many times than a responsible teacher should be doing. You could never admit it to your classmates and friends, but ..he was cute. And you may have been pushing his buttons lately, riling him up on purpose just to see his reaction.

It was only a matter of time before he would snap , losing all control at the flirtatious looks you sent him, carefully licking up a lollipop, pink tongue darting between plump lips as you eye his form.

Exhaling at the memory , watching birds chirp in the morning light , a cigarette layed between his lips, bringing hands up to light it. ..Ah, he must of ran out of fuel. Sighing through his nose, ‘great’ .

Watching the man lean against the schools wall, you fumble for your own lighter, happily skipping to the distress teacher. “ sir-“ flinching at the sound of your voice, his own reply fast .” Oh- ..” few seconds passes as he just stared at you before snapping out of it.”-uhm ..aren’t you suppose to be in class?” Smiling as you ignore the question,holding out the lighter in your palm.

Surprise fluttered across the man’s face, snatching the cold object out your hand, flickering the top up, the fire emitting. Blowing the smoke, tilting sideways as to not hit your face. Stammering on his words,” ah.. t-thank you.” Mentally scolding himself as you grin mischievously. Your finger sidling its way in between the cigarette, taking a long inhale before blowing it upwards.

Flushing at the close contact, eyes wide locked onto your lips before catching your eye,trying to be professional. “S-smoking with a teacher isn’t ..- really acceptable.” If that didn’t make you burst out laughing, popping your lips into a ‘o’ ,snuggling closer to the flustered man. Finger still attached to the burning cigarette ,as you pushed it between his lips.

“And.. having the hots for a student isn’t acceptable?” Whispering into his ear , lips just grazing the lobe before nipping at it. Maybe you crossed the line.. maybe the both of you did.

Not expecting it as the older man gripped your hips, harshly pulling you into an empty classroom. Shoving your body on top of a desk, his hand finding it’s way in your inner thigh. “ Please..” he had a look in his eyes, pleading for you.Intertwining your hands together, teasing him. “ Please what ..?”

Shaking ever so slightly, mumbling.” Let me touch you..” You liked your men starving for your attention.. and he was extremely willing to do anything for you.

“Mm-!” You had the man writhing, licking up his heavy length, curious kitten licks before swallowing him whole. Flinching at the sudden warmth, hands shaking as he hesitantly reached for your lock of hair, before ultimately giving in. Gripping the plush locks as you slowly started to bob your head.

Teeth grazing his tip that was leaking pre-cum, happily lapping up the wetness.Seeing the older man completely at your mercy made you coon inside.

Looking straight up at him, hair messy , lips glazed with his mess,” Fuck my face-“ he could cum right then and there.Gulping he asked if you were sure , to which you reply by mouthing his hard on.

The hands on your head gripped harder, hastily moving in and out your mouth, going faster and faster, the tip hitting the back of your throat.

The only thing you could do was moan around him, slobber making it easier to fuck your face faster. On one particular thrust did you gag, leaving the man to slow down a bit, cradling your jaw, “ Your doing so good for me beautiful boy..” catching breath, nodding at the words, mouth wide open and ready, hands finding his thighs.

Nothing but ragged groans and the sound of skin on skin echoed the empty room, knowing you guys can get caught was exciting to you. Finding the presentable teacher all teary eyes ,mouth open as whimpers left him. All because of your skilled mouth.

Hips stuttering as nonsense splattered out his lips, knowing he was close, repeatedly swallowing as your tongue swirled. “Shit— i-imm c-close..”

Popping off , arm coming up to jerk him to release, arching as you make eye contact. “ On my face-“ he couldn’t ever deny you, not when you looked so pretty for him.

Lips parted as his eyes watched his cream drip down your face to the collar, your finger smearing it down to your lips. His cock twitching at the sight.

Standing up,pulling the trembling man into your embrace, biting down his lip before kissing into him harshly.

“ Will I get good grades after this?”

A/N ; This movie was so sad but he looked soooso fine I couldn’t help myself

Ik he whimpers when it’s in 🤗

[thetadispatcher]

Dan glanced at Rook then back to Willow, he hadn't planned on acknowledging the comment, which was clearly the right choice based on Willow's reaction to it.

"Truly, I feel Peter's habit of personifying things is why the way I was treated wasn't questioned much." Anyone who knew Peter wouldn't feel inclined to question why an android was being treated like a human, seeing as Peter had a history of treating other non-human things in a similar manner that he occasionally expected those around him to do the same. Most were glad to see he was no longer talking to inanimate objects, and had moved on to something that could at least respond and looked human.

The PL600 knew better then to comment on the other android's reaction to the suggestion of calling Johan's android by an acronym, it would lead to the possibility of him being questioned on just what he'd learned. That was something he wanted to avoid, the other androids didn't need to know what had become of the world Peter's older counterpart had come from, and just what that version of Johan had done to it. It would likely lead to the issue with the unstable man worsening if the others knew just how far he could go if he was given any sort of power.

"I understand that well, sometimes I wish mine knew how to stay put. I'd take him to his room, but I know he'll just end up back down here quickly." Dan rolled his eyes, Peter's inability to stay put had yet to improve and his current state would definitely affect that. So carrying him was the best solution, Peter wouldn't be at risk of falling and hurting himself that way.

Dan carefully started taking the crates apart as Sixty and Daniel finished setting the computers up, gathering up the dismantled wooden sides in his hand. He handed it to Daniel, who nearly fell over from the weight, as he'd forgotten Dan made thing look much lighter then they actually where. Soon the two PL600s had the area cleaned up, allowing Brent an easier path in and out of the room to fetch parts as they were finished.

"Happiness now doesn't mean it has to last, that's what beauty comes from, dude." Dan turned his attention to Peter as the younger man started talking. "Flowers are beautiful because they wither, if they stayed like that forever they wouldn't be beautiful. That's the frag-frag-fragility-of the mortality of life is what makes things beautiful. You don't know shit." Dan chuckled a bit as he listened to Peter ramble.

"What are you talking about?" He asked as Peter turned his head to look at Vincent. "Oh, look, it's the purples." He promptly broke out into a fit of laughter. "You really are high out of your gourd, aren't you?" Dan shook his head as Peter kept giggling, clearly amused by his own comment. "Well, at least you're in a good mood."

If the bear was content with no treats, Rook was fine with simply shoving her face in her fur. "Would be funny if you could install a mini fridge."

"Please, ignore that." Willow cut in, "I must say that gesture was quite precious and it certainly justifies why that excuse would be so effective."

Or why nobody had bothered sending Peter to bed so far. They had provided instructions for the custom androids, the androids present could handle the task efficiently. Apparently, the resident human was simply too endearing to be dismissed.

While Dan seemed to find some use in Bishop's suggestion, the other was by far not a fan of the implications, or the tone of his organic counterpart. The lack of a LED didn't hinder his ability to show his distate for the suggested name. "That's merely an acronym."

Bishop simply raised an eyebrow "Does it really matter?"

The android glared at him.

"I understand the feeling." Willow replied, "My favorite human doesn't show the greatest self preservation instinct either. Training is a slow process."

[yierrem]

dating headcanons - zzzero men edition pt. 2 ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

ft. gn! reader x asaba harumasa, billy kid, and seth lowell ; a follow up to my previous dating hcs (which can be found here) and a response to a request ( ^ω^ ) first post of the year（≧∇≦）i hope you enjoy reading!!

asaba harumasa

very clingy. when you're not together, he'd be texting you random little updates or beg for your attention just for the sake of talking to you if calling momentarily isn't an option. sometimes he tries to use you as an excuse to get out of work, but after he's done it a couple of times, you've become immune to always bending to his whims and suddenly he's whining about how you don't love him anymore.

["wait i'll look at your texts later brb love u ^3^" "so you hate me."]

an avid quality time enjoyer, if i've ever seen one. he's content with lazing around with you or doing mundane tasks that don't require much physical effort. likes cuddling against you when you're just sitting engrossed in doing something with your hands and reading or watching something together.

even though he usually appears and acts lighthearted, deep down, he's genuinely happy with you and the relationship you share. he cherishes every moment you can spend together and wishes it could go on for as long as he lives. you're the person he refers to as family when on one of his much-dreaded doctor appointments.

alongside the nightmares he already has regarding his sickness, he'd have times when he'd wake up in a cold sweat from dreams of losing or leaving you and the people he cares for. thankfully, on the days you sleep over, he has you; he's comforted by the sight of your sleeping figure and clings to you for the rest of the night.

on a lighter note, sharing a bed with this man is probably a chaotic experience on a dreamless night; initially, you'd both fall into slumber comfortably cuddled against each other, but the following morning, one of you would be seconds away from suffocating in a vice grip.

billy kid

loves playing games with you. he's usually competitive when playing against you but when you're both on a team together, he's suddenly the biggest cheerleader there is. if both of you lose, that's totally fine! you'll get it next time. what matters to him is that you had fun together.

deeply appreciates it and enjoys when you match him nerd-for-nerd, even if you don't share a lot of similar interests. you take turns randomly info-dumping about any piece of media or activity you're into and both of you pay genuine attention to whatever the other is talking about. he loves listening to you passionately talk or share anything about any topic because you do the same for him.

adding on to the previous point: both of you make jokes about liking your favorite fictional characters or celebrities more, just to be playfully petty.

["if you had to choose between me or monica, who would you pick?" "...well, yes!" "..." "alright, then. between me and /insert favorite character/--" "that's unimportant."]

after spending so much time with him, you already know which maintenance products he likes for himself or his guns. kind of like how other people know what shampoo or body wash their partner prefers. when you see he's running out and you buy them without telling him, he'll notice and be weeping tears of joy.

if you take a while to open up to him about certain things, he's alright with that and will tell you to take your time or give you the space you need. he's been the same when it comes to sharing his past with other people and understands that some things do take courage to tell.

seth lowell

despite having been in a relationship for a while, he most likely still gets easily flustered from any vaguely flirty quip and intimate gesture that comes from you. you could use this knowledge to your advantage but do have mercy on the poor guy.

[there was one instance where you gave him a quick peck on the lips without giving much thought to it before leaving and all he could do was stay where he was with his brain buffering for a whole minute.]

even though he's somewhat shy about expressing his admiration or appreciation for you and sometimes stumbles through his words when doing so, he's sincere in everything he says and does for you.

you're one of the very few people he trusts with touching his tail and ears. it's come to the point where when you're both just laying together, he wouldn't mind the feeling of your fingers gently rubbing on a certain spot on his ears while you run your fingers through his hair.

he appreciates that you see him for who he is and acknowledge his efforts to get where he is now. your affirmations, whether spoken or unspoken, mean much to him and he feels like he can truly be comfortable when he's around you.

sometimes, he unknowingly acts or does very attractive things and it just blows your mind. he'd steer you by the waist from bumping into things or, if you're shorter, accidentally pin you against a wall/surface when trying to reach for something from a high place because he just wants to help! you should be more careful, you know. but you've already mentally imploded while your sweet, sweet boyfriend remains clueless.

[4chensungs]

don’t kiss and tell

brothers best friend!jisung x fem. reader

after the incident of your brother finding out you hooked up with one of his friends, you promised to yourself to never look out for him anymore. but who says he’ll give up on you that easily?

wc. 2.8k

warnings. smut (mdni), jisung is down bad, body worship like crazy in here, tit sucking, fingering, ass slapping, unprotected sex

part 1 for context here <3

IT HAS BEEN one whole month since you last talked to jisung. one month since you saw him probably for the last time in a hot minute.

the last few weeks have been extremely unusual; you keep questioning yourself how was he doing, if he's even ever going to appear at your house again to hang out with you brother, like he always did. he's probably not.

and fuck jaemin, fuck him for screwing your bond with him. it's useless, pure jealousy and he's so stupid!, stupid for being this mad with one if his best friends of years, simply because he thinks you're still a child.

on the other hand, jisung is being not so subtle in the way he still wants you. he keeps liking the pics you post on your instagram stories, sometimes even replying to them. and it's the sad fact you're not giving him a single reply.

his mind wanders to the thought of you being already completely over him, wanting to distance yourself fully right now, thanks to your brother.

but your heart knows that's not what you want, and it keeps giving you a warning that the next time that you see him, these feelings will come back stronger than ever.

you miss him. so bad, thinking about him makes you sick.

you're laying in bed, scrolling quietly through your phone when the damn notification appears. why does he keep trying? you sigh out loud.

the__and.y liked your stories.

you ran your hands through your hair, turning off your phone to stare at the ceiling to collect your breath. you can't, your brother is still furious with both of you.

jisung ♡: why do u keep ignoring me in every existing social media

is he really going to do this? at this late at night?

jisung ♡: i miss you

you kept reading his messages and not replying. you didn't contact him for a month.

maybe, just maybe, things may have gotten lighter with jaemin. perhaps he's not really remembering this whole thing, yeah?

you: i'm sorry jisung

you: idk if this is right i really don't know

you: im confused

you turn off your phone again while waiting for his reply. let's give it a try.

jisung ♡: why wouldn't it be right

jisung ♡: jaemin can't control your life, you can do whatever you want

hm.

you: i felt bad that day and he's still so mad with you

you: idc if he's mad with me, he's my brother at the end of the day

you: i worry about you and how hes fucked up your friendship

jisung ♡: baby you know what's fucked up

jisung ♡: you trying to convince yourself that you don't want this because of him

jisung ♡: say to my face that you don't want it

you want this so fucking bad. to be in his arms again, and the thrill of being with him behind closed doors. god, that's all you want in every way.

you: ji

you: i want to see you

jisung ♡: that's right

jisung ♡: i've waited for this princess

jisung ♡: waited so long

you: i need you

you: i don't care anymore

you really don't give a fuck - your brother can hold his protectiveness instinct for himself, he actually can. you can't control what your heart aims for.

and it screams for park jisung.

"you can't ignore him forever, you know that?"

"who says I'm ignoring him? I texted him yesterday saying he should come this weekend." jaemin huffed, acting oblivious to the fact that the only reason why he invited jisung over was because of the boys' annual end of year party.

chenle deadpans at him with his stare, letting out a chuckle, "if you didn't invite him I would've done it myself." he paused, turning his head to look at the man, "that would be bullshit."

bullshit. jaemin swore he almost threw chenle out of the car in the harshest way possible - clicking his tongue in pure annoyance, "yeah, it was just fine when he fucked my sister behind my back."

"i'm pretty sure they did not fuck."

if you didn't then why were you both half naked. in his car. at your backyard?

"i'm telling you, I saw it. she was literally on top of him and she was fucking moaning his name, chenle. that's fucking wrong." your brother spat while still not looking at his friend - eyes focused on the road.

chenle keeps going, "cut this off, jaem. you can't see her as a baby anymore. let her live."

jisung is indeed coming to your house again - sooner than you thought. but it did take some days for you to find out, tho. you brother wasn't the one who told you.

in the same day, the last messages jisung sent you before you went to sleep.

jisung ♡: dress up prettily for me tomorrow

jisung ♡: will you?

you: what??

you: you're coming???

jisung ♡: jaemin told me to go and yeah i didn't expect it as well

jisung ♡: dreaming of you again

jisung ♡: kissing your sweet lips holding you so close to me

jisung ♡: it'll be all mine princess

you: go to sleep ji

you: silly

jisung ♡: i'll show you what's silly tomorrow

—

the sound of the boys laughing and loud pitching talking in the living room did quite mess with your head, anticipating the moment when he comes. it's crazy how you got so dolled up for him only, he's the reason why you're even going out of your room this night.

if it wasn't for jisung, you'd probably just greet the guys and come back to your own quiet place, drowning in your thoughts, alone. just like you always used to do before he appeared in your life.

a knock was heard on your door just right after you finished your makeup. unexpectedly, you meet a very tipsy jaemin.

"what the fuck is this outfit?" he spats, crossing his arms in front of his chest - his body unbalanced. for a split second, you closed your eyes and thanked all the existing Gods under your breath. he's drunk.

you smiled, "felt pretty today. you smell like beer, don't talk to me."

"hey, hey, hey." he grabbed your arm before you could close the door and kick him out, "come say hello to my friends. don't be rude."

you fixed your hair and outfit and went to the living room, being find with chenle, jeno and donghyuck's figures sat around the big table, nestled with all the different kinds of drinks and alcohol.

your breath hitched when jisung was nowhere to be found.

after greeting the guys, you decided to wait in your room - not sure on how, or when will jisung get there and you'll finally get to release all of your wants. show him how much you miss him and vice versa.

not much time had passed before another knock was heard on your door. you were sprawled on bed, dim lighting decorating the ambient.

"come in."

you said that because you thought it was your brother. jisung carefully opened the door, eyes peeking first to check on you.

that scene truly felt like a movie. you slowly got up, a smile starting to pop up in your lips as you walked to him.

your voice trembling, "hi, ji."

you opened the door fully for him to enter your space, he wasted no time to step in and pull you into a hug.

a mess was happening in your head, so ridiculously dizzy from him - the masculine smell of his cologne filling your nostrils, his hands holding your body flush to him while yours gripped his black t shirt, so simple and casual but yet made him look so attractive.

or maybe that’s just because you miss him a lot.

jisung leaned away from your embrace, gently taking your hair out of your face while holding eye contact - hands flew to your hips.

"you look gorgeous. more than ever."

your arms secured their hold around his neck, feeling your cheeks burning red from his words, "just for you." you announced.

he nodded, "all for me."

you both smiled like two idiots in love as he leaned down to kiss you, mouths melting so sweet at first - tongues brushing here and there, hums being heard throughout the kiss, "so pretty in this dress." he mumbles in between.

his back hits the door as he closes it, left hand leaving your hips for a mere second just to lock it.  making absolute sure that no one will be able to interrupt.

jisung grabs a hold of your thighs to help you walk further into your room, so familiar to him.

all the times you've sneaked out, when jisung slept by and left jaemin's room in the middle of the night when he was in a deep sleep. all behind his back with so much carefulness.

when he lays you down he's quick to trail his wet kisses down to your neck, firm hands caressing your whole body, going up and down in motions.

you arch into him, playing with his black hair strands as his face rests on your chest, meanwhile his lips keeps smooching your hot skin.

you sigh in contentment, knees pressing together - trying to give him a sign that you're needy, so painfully needy for him.

"jisung i want- mhhm" your words get cut off by your own whine when his hand grabs the top of your dress to pull it down, hanging it just below your bra.

"don't want to take your dress off.. youre looking too beautiful like this." his deep voice quietly said.

you smile at his sweet comment, holding back all your whines combined with the feeling of his fingers messing with the lace of your white bra, throwing your head back with no shame when he pulls the fabric down to expose your breasts, still not taking it off your body.

"so pretty, princess. i could admire you all day."

cool air is fast to hit but it's soon replaced by jisung's hot mouth, circling your breast with his tongue, hand massaging the other while his mouth does wonders on your soft flesh.

when he reaches for your nipple you whine even louder, his saliva pooling and soaking your whole breast when he sucks it into his warm hot mouth, humming nonstop.

"you're crazy ji-jisung."

"should i stop?" he teases, leaning his mouth away from your nipple and replacing it with his finger, rubbing it.

"no for fucks sake.. but I'm trying so hard to keep quiet." your voice trembled slightly.

jisung looks at you then laughs, “they’re so wasted right now, no one’s conscious in that room, love.”

you pout at him, he softly traces your bottom lip with his thumb before kissing you again, “I promise you, it’s okay. but I need you to tell me it’s okay with you.”

his soft and caring voice did turn you on even more, it shouldn’t, but it made you wetter. eyes holding so much love and appreciation looking at yours - “I want this. I want you, ji.”

jisung smiles one more time, giving you a nod and resumed his work, mumbling a deep “fuck” under his breath when he tested the waters, hand went under your dress to feel your core.

he pulled the ends of your dress up to your stomach, your thighs ridiculously pressed together. you should be ashamed of how wet you were, but you’re not, not even a single bit.

he gives your thighs a caress, “let me spread them, hm?”

your breath hitches when he brings your knees to your chest, spreading you all open and full for him. jisung mentally coos at the scene in front of him.

just like your bra, white lace panties with a wet dark patch decorated in the middle, like a gift for him. it drove him crazy.

“did you miss me that much, princess?” you can only moan as response when he touches the wet patch with his finger before pulling the lace to the side, holding it in place with one finger, while his middle finger travels up and down your cunt.

wet, so fucking wet, “fuck. love, i might cum just by looking at this.” he cursed and cursed again, eyes wide open and looking straight at your puffy displayed cunt, so wet just for him. he knew that and so did you.

“oh fuck baby i can’t-“ jisung’s fingers spread you open to admire you better - in love, genuinely in love with how your pretty pussy shines for him, glistening and begging to suck him in.

he leans down fast enough to give your clit a quick kiss, “can’t stop thinking about how beautiful she is.” still caressing your core.

you moan his name desperately at his nasty but sweet comment, tons of whines and “jisung” ‘s leaving your mouth.

“ji please. want your fingers.” you manage to say.

“of course, gotta prep my beautiful girl.” he smiles, an expert finger circling your clit before diving down into your entrance. covered with slick, your cunt invites him just as soon.

experienced fingers pumping in and out continuously, you whine with your eyes closed at the sound of wetness.

jisung’s in complete awe, stoping his staring at your hole to kiss your face, first at the corner of your mouth, then at your lips, shutting your whines off.

“you’re perfect.” he leans away to say.

nothing’s more perfect in this world than the sensation of his long and thick fingers inside you, scissoring you and reaching the deepest and most sensitive spots ever. you’ll say that to him later.

you try to smile but you soon harshly bite your lip when he curled his two fingers inside, you yelped, “jisung! oh my god-“

he kisses you again, and again, until he’s satisfied and thinks you’re ready to take him. jisung’s fingers leave you empty, and you let out a cry - his eyes make their way to between your legs to see how you’re pulsating.

“never seen my princess this wet..” deep cocky voice says.

you reach out to take off your dress, “i’ve missed you.”

when your dress was discarded to the floor, he was quick to unbutton his jeans as they went to the same destination of your clothes.

you could see his erection through his boxers, and as much as you want to such him off right now, you’re needing him inside. now.

your panties were about to be discarded before jisung grabbed your hand and shook his head, “want them on, baby. s’ pretty. keep the bra too.”

knowing how he likes it with you, you turned around and pinned your front to the bed, arching your back and your ass in the air.

“fuck, just like that.” he pumps his cock at first, cooing you while you wait for him.

jisung’s hands flew to your back to arch it even more, then to hold your hips. he rubs the head of his dick on your entrance, how your pussy almost sucks him in just from the rubbing.

when he enters you, you let out a little too loud moan. hands clutching the sheets and tears filling your eyes.

he’s completely focused on how you keep clenching around him - the amusing view of your cunt sucking him all the way in, then out again.

your hips were pressed to his shaft, feeling him so fucking deep into your womb.

jisung coos again, “you don’t know how I’ve been dying for this.” he slaps your ass.

“jisung! jisung fuck, jisung.” you whine like a baby, lost in the pleasure. ass stinging from his big hand slap and cunt begging to be filled until you get sore.

“my love.” another slap, “fucking made just for me.”

his cock is so big and it leaves you like a babbling mess, so big that it almost hurts from how good it is, hits you in all places.

you both were getting closer, his thrusts started to get sloppier and messier, slower as he pulled away to release at your back.

your own release dripped down your pussy and thighs, while his hot cum painted your back down to your ass cheeks. what a scene.

“want them all to see this mess.. jaemin needs to see how you’re good to me.“ he admires the sight of your cunt clenching and unclenching around absolutely nothing but the air, “can’t believe you’re mine and no one can ever change that.”

you tiredly laid back on your back again, trying to fix your hair. jisung’s sweaty body joined you after tossing the dirty sheets aside, he breathes heavy, but still with that cute smile on his lips.

“do you think they heard something?.” you look up at him, voice low.

jisung thinks for a second, furrowing his brows, “i honestly don’t think so, baby. but you need to change these sheets..”

“of course i will, ji.” you laughed fondly. there’s still some questions hanging in the air, with what face will he come back to the boys?

“and if they ask you where were you this whole time and what were you doing…?”

“then i’ll just say that i was fucking the prettiest girl in the family and i don’t regret it.”

—

© 4chensungs

[writersblockiskillingme]

Red | The Salesman

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!reader

Summary: After a tiring day, you're just trying to go home, but while you're waiting on your train, a handsome man in a suit stumbles on you.

Warning/s: betting, money in exchange for a game, slapping (on the face, you nasty), salesman trying to recruit you for the games, smoking cigarettes, people on the station being kind of weirded out, maybe some cursing (idk), reader is in debt, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: So this is like the prequel to my story Russian Roulette, but it really doesn't matter whether you read that fic or this one first. You do you. I really love the request, btw. Hope you enjoy!

Request: hii can u make more stories in this story line between the reader n him? like i rlly wanna know what they were like tgthr before this situation since we r told they had smth tgthr at some point tyyyy

Part 2 here!!

The bench where I was sitting was quite cold, which, of course, wasn't surprising considering how cold it was tonight. My hand slightly shook as I wrapped my fingers around the lit up cigarette that I was smoking for who knows how long. My flimsy jacket that was wrapped around me did not bring exact comfort to me that I had hoped it would.

Shivering there, I sat as the announcer's voice rang around the train station, signaling that the train that I was waiting for to go home would be slightly delayed, forcing me to wait there for entire hour more than I should be waiting. It was already late and I was so done with today's day.

Trying to earn money was hard, especially when you're in a lot of debt. Being chased by the people who you owe money to, threatening to cut out your eyes, possibly even kill you in the end, wasn't fun either. You had to learn to sleep with one eye open. Constantly on edge, just like I was right now.

The job that I worked did not provide as much money as I needed it to. There was simply no way for me to earn enough money for food every day, to pay rent which I was already three months behind. My landlord was truly a fucking angel for letting me live in that house as long as I did, but I knew that that wouldn't last forever either. There was no way that I could afford to pay everything that was essential, let alone pay off my debts.

In frustration, letting out a deep, disappointed sigh, my hand slid into the pocket of my jacket, reaching for yet another cigarette and a lighter.

"Hello, miss."

I practically jumped from my seat, startled by a sudden voice next to me. I whipped my head around, finding the face that this voice belonged to.

Right next to me, smiling, was a very handsome man that looked like some kind of salesman. He was wearing a very expensive suit. His hair was as black as the night sky. His piercing eyes just as black. There was little to no facial hair, but that really suited him. He was very handsome and I quickly found myself surprised when I realized that he was actually talking to me.

"Can I talk to you?" He asked once he noticed how startled I was.

"I'm not a prostitute, sir." I said, sliding away on the bench further away from him.

"Don't worry, miss, it's not that." He chuckled gently, his eyes never leaving mine. "I just want to let you in on a great opportunity to win some money."

There was just silence for a while. I sad nothing all the while he kept looking at me.

"Um..." I looked at him and, for a while, just couldn't bring myself to speak up. "No, thank you."

"'No'?" He asked.

It seemed like I caught him by surprise, but after a little while I noticed something else in his eyes that I just couldn't seem to figure out. Some kind of amazement? Respect even? But there was definitely something that I couldn't label quite yet.

"There is definitely a catch." I smiled slightly. I would love to get some money, of course, but I know that it won't be that easy.

"Miss." The salesman smiled once again, his eyes surprisingly gently just like his voice as he spoke. "Would you like to play a game with me?

"Wha-What kind of g-game?" I found myself stuttering a bit. "Look, if this is some sort of sick perverted thing you're doing 'cause I swear if you try something, I am going to scream." I threatened, a newfound confidence overwhelming me.

He chuckled once more, "No, nothing like that, Miss."

All of a sudden, he quickly turned his face away from me as he reached to open his suitcase. I could swear that for a split second I saw him blush, but then I realized that I probably imagined it because there's no way. I mean, sure, he is very handsome, but the two of us are a whole world apart, too different from each other.

"I'm sure you've played ddakji before, right?" He spoke and I looked at the open suitcase that was resting between us.

There were a few piles of money on one side and two different colors of ddakji on the other side. Red and blue. I looked at him with surprise.

"You-You want me to play ddakji with you?" I asked, raising my eyebrow in question.

He nodded with a smile.

"For money?"

He nodded again, "Play a few rounds of ddakji with me and each time you win, I'll pay you a 100,000 won."

Damn.

I mean, sure, why not. I loved that game when I was a kid, and I didn't have a chance to play the game in what seemed like forever. Plus, if I win, I get money. It all seemed amazing, but then I realized what the problem with all of this could be.

"And what if I lose and you win." I asked, he continued to smile as he answered.

"Then you pay me 100,000 won."

"Sir, this is amazing and all, don't get me wrong." I gently said, "But I'm afraid that I don't have the money to pay you back."

"That is all right, miss." His smile unwavering. "We'll figure something else regarding that if it comes to it."

For a moment, I just sat there in silence, pondering the offer. But after a while I finally decided.

"Ah, sure," I sighed before matching his smile and meet his eyes, "Why not?"

"What color would you like to play as?" He asked me, taking both red and blue ddakji as I stood up. He followed me almost immediately.

"Red, please." I said and he smiled as he handed me the red ddakji.

As I reached for the red one that he was handing me out, our hands touched. For a moment we both froze, but then I quickly took the ddakji and moved away.

It was so strange. The feeling I got when I touched his hand. It was as if some sort of electricity went straight through me, forcing me to quickly move away due to the shock of it all.

He cleared his throat before extending his right hand, pointing to the floor, "You gotta first, Miss."

I nodded, and with that, he placed the blue ddakji on the ground, and I stood over it. I took a stronger hold of the red ddakji and stood up more straight as I glared at the blue ddakji. Goodness, I haven't done this in years, I thought to myself, letting out a shaky breath.

I took a deep breath.

I could feel his eyes on me.

I swang my arm behind my head before powerfully striking his blue ddakji. Apparently, I must have done something wrong because his blue ddakji moved but did not flip over. I let out a sigh, looking kind of defeated.

He stepped forward, grabbed his blue ddakji, and stood back up. I moved away, giving him more space, his eyes folowing my every move. Almost immediately, he swang his arm behind his head, slaming his blue ddakji on my red one, flipping it over with ease. I sighed as he turned to look at me, teasing smile making it's way on his face.

"So..." I spoke up, kind of unsure and slightly intimidated, "So what now? I lost."

"Don't worry about money." He spoke up, kind of surprising me with that one, "We'll discuss it at the end if that is okay with you, Miss?"

"Sure." I answered him, meeting his eyes.

His smile widened a little bit more as we, for a few moments, just stood there taking each other in. All of a sudden, he cleared his throat, snapping himself out of it.

"One more round?" He asked as he fixed his tie, I nodded, not saying a word.

Turns out, one round meant about five more. I lost every single round. It truly began to seem like luck wasn't on my side that day.

We got to the last round, the sixth one. I was getting annoyed, constantly losing. I took a deep breath. His blue ddakji stared at me, my red one locked in my hand. I flipped my ddakji over and decided that that was it. I swang my hand behind my head and delivered the most powerful swing yet. I stared at his blue ddakji and my red one as both of them flipped in the air before his blue ddakji landed on the cold floor. It flipped over... I won...

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped my lips as he gave me a little applause, smiling as I jokingly bowed.

"Wow," I chuckled, "I finally won the round."

"Well done, Miss." He chuckled lowly, but somehow so softly as he reopened his suitcase handing me 100,000 won. "As promised."

"Thank you," I said, taking the money, "but I lost like five times. Tell me, what can I possibly give you to make this even."

"How about you give me the pleasure of taking you out for dinner, Miss?" He spoke up almost shyly in a way that was so endearing, and even though it seemed like that look wouldn't fit him, it somehow did. "Only if you want to, of course."

"I..." I spoke up stuttering and blushing a bit, surprised by his offer, "I would love to."

After that interesting interaction, we went out to get dinner. I had a great time with him, and even though I hated to admit it, I started to like him. We talked on and on about random things. We were truly having fun and that made my day so much better.

Before separating, he gifted me a blood red rose, and he gave me a card that looked really strange. At the front of the brownish card was a circle, a triangle, and a square. I flipped the card over and saw what looked like a telephone number.

"Miss, there are other games like the one that we played where you can make even more money than you did. So much more." He started to explain, but his expression became different. His smile was gone and there was a sort of gloomy gaze in his eyes. That seemed to surprise him. "Think about it."

He stepped closer to me, looked me deep in the eyes before he started to slowly lean in. I found myself doing the same. Our lips met. We were just standing there, outside of the restaurant, rose in my hand, his hands on my face deepening the kiss.

As we parted ways, he told me that he hoped to see me again if I made it. Whatever that meant.

I took another look at the card that he gave me, staring at the number, not knowing that I will meet my childhood friend Gi-hun, not knowing what the games will do to both of us and to all the other people, not knowing the amount of money I was gonna win, not knowing that I will spend the next three years of my life chasing the man of my life, trying to haunt him down, not knowing how dangerous the last game that we'll play will be.

TAGLIST:

@shadow-tumbler

[gokyrts]

Can we pleaseee have more patron!carlos?? I want him to grow to love and care for her deeply. He’d do anything for her and kills anyone who disrespects her.

a/n: hey there!! I loved writing this! It’s understandably a bit more into the future of their relationship from the last two fics on patrón Carlos so just note that when you read <3 hope you enjoy!!

18+ | warning: cigarette burning (not on reader), semi-public s-x, road head — oral (m receiving), dirty talk

wc: 1.5k

THIS IS PART THREE IN THE SERIES. PLEASE READ THE INTRODUCTORY FIC HERE AND THE SECOND BLURB HERE TO UNDERSTAND AND ENJOY FULLY .

What began as a crackle of a cheap lighter threatening a premium quality parchment was soon a smoldering pile of ash, a clump that had the remnants of paper and a dying spark that refused to go out under it.

You put the cigarette out on a crystal ashtray, exhaling what was left of it in your lungs. Had you been anywhere else, you would have complained but in his presence, it felt almost natural. Carlos was seated beside you in a booth at a bar he owned. Maybe that was why when you put another cigarette to your lips, three lighters appeared in your field of vision, ready to light it for you.

Ever since your little escapade at the hotel, word of your sharp tongue reached the ears of Carlos’ lieutenants and earned you respect among them. You haven’t felt out of place as much either — the three lighters belonged to Carlos’ most trusted and you were seated among them.

While opinions of you changed for most men, some still saw you as a dirty stray el patrón picked up and kept for some reason. Such was the case of the man you saw outside the window, hopping off his motorcycle. In a cocky fashion, he walked in, waving at the barkeep before making his way over to your booth.

“Buenas, patrón,” his first greeting belonged to the highest among you accompanied by a nod in Carlos’ direction.

“Teto.” Carlos nodded back.

“Muchachos,” the lieutenants were next in line for a friendly greeting.

Then his eyes landed on you. His gaze swept over your body, lingering on places he deemed determined your worth. The nod he gave you was slow as if he hesitated about addressing you at all. “Señorita,” he looked away as he said it, suggesting the weight it held for him.

“Roberto.” You returned the nod in equal enthusiasm, which was none, allowing for the conversation to shift into a debrief Teto was leading.

The man sat himself across from you and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in your direction as a part of his ongoing disapproval of your presence. He flicked the ash off as he spoke, the dark particles landing on your folded hands atop the table.

“La DEA has been sniffing around the eastern lab, Don Carlos. They’re getting bolder,” you listened as the sicarios discussed a possible counterattack, eyes flickering between the participants.

“Princesa?”

You perked up at Carlos’ voice and his following nod to the group. He was asking for your opinion. You barely kept yourself from smirking but your body language gave away your growing smugness when you leaned back and took a long drag from your cigarette before even speaking. Carlos has been rubbing off on you in such manners much to Teto’s annoyance.

“I say — distraction. Give them something. These guys are new, they make mistakes and will be hungry even for the smallest movement from us.”

Carlos’ expression shifted slightly, his eyebrow twitching, suggesting your input had its desired effect. The senior members nodded too, seemingly valuing your answer but then there was a scoff. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was from but you did anyway.

Teto looked between his boss and fellows, his surprise growing seeing that they were considering your opinion.

He leaned forward, sighing. “These aren’t some cops you can bribe, little lady. This is the DEA,” his tone was condescending as he talked like you were a child who happened to stumble upon a strategic meeting. But you grew thicker skin over time spent with the cartel.

“Oh, of course, because we already bought all the cops there are to be bought.”

Teto squinted at you. “We?”

He knew he hit a nerve when you paused, and a smirk appeared on his face. His eyes dropped to the low-cut dress you had on. “I’m sure you could buy a cop looking like that.”

Silence settled over the room, even the barkeep seemed to stop polishing glasses.

The other sicarios looked at one another, at Carlos, at Teto, one of them hissed a warning to the latter to which he only leaned back and scoffed again.

“What?! You think she could be of any other help?”

Carlos was silent the whole time but his glare spoke volumes, the kind of glare he gave you when you did something bad but he was glaring at your offender now. He sat up, the light above the booth illuminating his face, adding to the intensity in his eyes.

“Teto,” he started, his voice low, laced with warning. “I will give you one chance to apologize. Now.”

“Don Carlos, I—“

“Now.” Carlos insisted.

“But she—”

Teto’s words died in his throat when Carlos snatched the cigarette he was smoking from him and gripped his wrist before slamming it on the table. Teto’s eyes widened when Carlos put the tip of the burning cigarette against the back of his hand, the sensation making him gasp and hiss. But the pain wasn’t the worst, at least from what you observed, it was the confusion in Teto’s eyes, the disbelief that his boss took such measures to protect you.

“Ah, puta madre!” Teto hissed again, squeezing his eyes shut, the scorching sensation overwhelming. “I’m sorry!”

Carlos released his hold on Teto, throwing the now-put-out cigarette into the ashtray. Teto’s hand trembled as he stretched his fingers, the burn mark on his hand an angry red color.

What should have been a sight to horrify you, especially after being witness to how cartels treat people, made heat pool in the pit of your stomach instead. Carlos protected your honor, and the three-degree burn, soon to be scar, on Teto’s hand would be a message to everyone with similar thoughts on insulting you.

Carlos leaned in across the table in Teto’s face. “Next time you bring me problems, try not to create more for yourself.”

He then turned to his other lieutenants. “Do as she said, distract them for the time being.”

All at the table stared as Carlos got up and fixed his clothes before calling you to him. He helped you put on a jacket, further cementing the status of princess you held and the treatment you received.

He reached for your hand next, tugging you along with him from the bar and into the sun-lit city. You could only stare, the way he acted making your heart hammer as you walked across the street to Carlos’ parked car.

“Thank you…” you said, unable to keep your eyes off of him.

Carlos chuckled, giving your hand a light squeeze.

“I didn’t do it for your gratitude, princesa,” he said as he got into the driver’s seat. “but if you want to thank me, you know what to do.”

His gaze burned through you and the heat in your belly intensified. You licked your lips, fixing your seatbelt so you’d be able to stretch your upper half over to him.

“That’s it, show me how grateful you are…” his hand found its way to your hair, thick fingers running through the soft strands as you freed his cock from the confines of his boxers.

Carlos put the car in gear, pulled out of the driveway, and made his way back to the safehouse, all the while sporting a smirk as your hot wet mouth worked him.

He stopped at a red light, his hand pulling on your hair. “Such a good girl, servicing me where everyone can see,” he murmured as he looked out of the window to a car next to you, his smirk widening into a sick grin when the passengers realized what was going on. He put the car back into first gear, letting you please him at your own pace for now.

The greenlight made Carlos slam on the gas pedal, forcing you further onto his cock. You choked as the tip hit the back of your throat, making Carlos groan and his hand move from the shift stick to the back of your head.

“Like that, princesa, like that…” he breathed out, feeling himself nearing the edge.

The speed with which he was going had you pumped full of adrenaline, so the potential danger went right over your head as you licked and sucked on his cock.

As the car went over a bump, the tip of Carlos’ cock hit the back of your throat again and this time he didn’t let you go.

“Hold it, hold it,” he instructed, keeping you pressed against him, relishing in your throat tightening around him. “I don’t want you to waste a drop.”

Your moan was muffled but the vibrations from it were what pushed Carlos over the edge. The salty stickiness splattered over your tongue and down your throat. Obediently, you swallowed everything and when he was sure you got it all, his grip on your head relaxed.

Coughing, you raised your head back up, cheeks red, lips swollen. Carlos kept his eyes on the road but the pleasure on his face was unmistakable. You fitted yourself back into the passenger’s seat and his hand came to rest on your thigh. His thumb swept over the soft flesh, drawing your attention to it.

“You’re welcome,”

His words took you a second but when his eyes met yours at the entrance to the compound, you knew. You acted out your thank you. His voice softened.

“Mi princesa.”

want more patrón!Carlos? ideas and suggestions are appreciated, leave them in my askbox!!

2025 @ gokyrts . do not distribute or translate my work on other sites.

[porcelian]

PEACH BLACK DESCENT | s. riley/f!reader | 8.4k

SYNOPSIS: Simon thinks you're a bird with a broken wing. You squirm in the hole of the hunters trap. The other wing flapping, air around you contorting as it picks you up and you escape from the jaws of the trap. He sits next to you now in his truck and wonders how he's going to clip your wings.

Tucked away in a far away town surrounded by woods a highway predator—Simon—goes hunting and digs his teeth into you.

WARNINGS/TAGS: Mature Themes, Extremely Dubious consent, Rape/Non-con Elements, Objectification, Size Kink, Size Difference, Marking, Kidnapping, Threats of Violence, Dacryphilia, Unsafe Sex, Manipulation, Butcher AU.

MASTERLIST & NAVIGATION.

You feel as if you were born in a galaxy slowly being ripped apart at the seams. Stars colliding, crashing; kaleidoscopic colors mix into together as they lose their golden ichor of life and dim into nothingness. A black hole drinks it's ichor. The unforgiving crooked teeth bites in the stars and they give into the hold.

A dying nebula. Hot and scorching as it brands your skin because of your sins. Engraved into your soul. It is dirt under your finger nails. Forever stained.

Stained—you think—you'll have to figure out how to clean up the sign perched near the motel wall—Highway Inn. A ironic and obvious name, considering it's situated right next to a highway. The road turns and twists, contorting into something akin to a labyrinth only a few unlucky ones can pass through and make it to this brick fortress.

(Unlucky, pitiful and poor souls,

Never seen again as the road takes them too.)

The bright and blinding fluorescent light of the motel cuts into your eyes like razors. The cold air bites your cheeks and fingers. Your breath chokes out of your mouth and it spreads in the air, swirling and contorting. The soft gray of it stand out against the dim rust-colored and cracking bricks.

You sit behind the dark oak front desk—the surface littered with blooming circles of lighter brown. A dusty bell of dimmed gold hangs above the heavy wooden front door.

You bring your hands to your mouth, huffing your hot breath into them. A futile wish for some warmth to engulf you. The soft murmurs of the few workers echo in one ear and leave through the other. It's an empty and eerie quiet tonight. The roads stay dark and life seems to be ripped away from it.

But, you swear you see light seep through the cracks formed by the curtain by the windows. Your eyes trail up and lock onto the road you can see outside.

A white truck passes. It always does. Like clockwork. A routine akin to a ritual. A never ending cycle the labyrinth road and motel seem to welcome and accept. Although, hesitantly. Your manager never looked pleased to see the truck drive the road in front of the motel.

You don't know why.

But, you think it has to do with the way it seems to slow down when it's near the brick building. The way it simmers to a stop. The way the front seat windows are a little bit cleaner and easier to see through from the inside than the others so you can feel someone stare at you. Their gaze heavy and intense, like tendrils around your neck. They squeeze around the sides. Bruises forming and blooming—a mark—curiosity killed the cat. But, you can't help to watch. You meekly welcome the gaze of the one behind the window. The glass slightly glimmers under the crescent moon.

(You think the person inside is satisfied with the effect they have on you.)

The white surface of the truck is faded white with wheels brown-black, the dirt seeping through the engraved rubbery surface. The windows are obsidian dark and you can't see through them. Only one remains open—the drivers seat. An arm drapes across it. The milky white skin littered with scars that dance alongside with ink-black tattoos. It snakes around the man's heavy arm like a serpent, trailing up to the shirt that hugs his skin so delicately and smoothly—a stark contrast between the tough and rough surface of his skin. His wrist flicks. Calloused hands follow. They move and curl.

(You wonder how'd they feel.)

You still think of the softness of it, them—him—the fuzz of his arm akin to a valley, an Eden you're not supposed to enter, a peach you're not supposed to bite, its ambrosia you're not allowed to drink and let it seep down your chin and chest.

Would his fingertips dance across the plush flesh of yours? Would his nails apply pressure and dig into your skin? You already can imagine the faint red and purples appearing under his hold, the crescent moons he'd leave under his unforgiving and damning touch.

(Like a black hole, alongside the stars it devours.)

Your manager—Roderick, a old and angry man grumbles as his dim and misty eyes settle on the white truck. He tuts. His hands grip the side of his belt, an indent you're familiar with makes itself known. He'd always been unsatisfied and upset whenever the man with the white truck appeared.

It's reached a new high today. The tension in Roderick's forehead is obvious. His brows furrow as he calls out to you, his rough and hoarse voice breaks the previous silence you'd taken sanctuary inside the motel.

"Stay inside," he orders, finger gauged at you, "I mean it. Keep your eyes to yourself, girl. Watch the keys and make sure you have the rooms cleaned," his eyes settle on the truck driver door opening, "we'll have visitors soon."

You stand wide eyed behind the front desk. Caught off guard by his words, your mouth hangs slightly open to question him, but you settle on just keeping any inquiries to yourself.

Roderick doesn't like questions. He never did. Especially about the missing people posters hang up near the motel. Especially about the news echoing information and words about missing people. Blurred faces and names. They simmer in your mind. You've met them here before. They checked in. Some greet you with bright and slightly strained smiles. Some thin their lips and their eyes dart away from you.

It doesn't matter.

They never leave the roads they entered to reach the motel. They get lost in the labyrinth and never leave.

(The black hole has taken another star.)

You'd heard about so called highway serial murderers. The media treats them like their ghosts. They appear to lock their jaws onto their prey, their crooked teeth digs in and the food hangs limp, succumbed to the bloody hold. Their eyes go hazy and dim, the life ichor drips out of them slowly as the predator has its fill, belly satisfied and sickeningly happy. After that they're gone, disappearing on the road again, their trucks their castles.

The opened truck door reveals the man inside. Your eyes lock onto him.

His heavy brown leather boots step on the concrete surface. You notice the scruff marks along the fabric, the lighter color like lighting dancing on the surface. His cargo pants are dirtied at the seams, as if he'd been in the rain soaked woods, moving as the wet dirt coats and sticks to him.

His upper body is akin to a behemoth—a mountain of a man with shoulders like steel, hard and unmoving. His fingers stretch every once in a while. The fuzz on the surface a stark difference to the milky-white surface. The dirt seeps under his fingernails, hammering the nail and making their forever home.

A stark black balaclava hides his face. The fabric old tearing at the seams. His eyes contrast and stand out against the visible alabaster skin—akin to earth brown like the woods and ground that surrounds you. There's a strange look in them. A feeling you can't quite make out as they settle on you through the opened door.

The bell chimes. The sound echoing through the front room. His feet scruff against the welcome mat. His eyes lock onto your figure. Black irises under lidded light blond eyelashes grow in size, almost seeping into the brown pooling around it. There's a glint in them— a subtle excitement and hunger.

(Like a predators gaze upon its prey,

Akin to a black hole and the nebula right next to it about to burst.)

He nods his head at you. For a moment you lose the sight of his eyes, but you can still feel the tendrils of them wrap around your neck. Though, this time they move further. Your cheeks feel blistered by heat. Your thighs ache as the surface of your uniform rubs together.

Your eyes catch his again. You can see the fabric move slightly where his mouth is supposed to be. He's smiling. Bearing his teeth to you. Crooked fangs glistening in the florescent lights as the smile reaches to high. The crows-feet next go his eyes crease.

He moves closer to the front desk. His frame covers yours completely. It engulfs you behind it and you settle into his shadow. Tendrils seep into the dark surface as it hugs your body. The balaclava fabric slightly moves again. The mans hoarse voice rumbles out of him, it starts near his stomach, belly covered by a hoodie, trails to his cords as it spreads a deep and infectious melody out of his mouth.

"I'll need a room. One bed. More on the bigger side. I'll take 13."

"Of course." You squeeze the breath out of your throat and force your body to move near the keys on the wall.

"Thank you, Lamb."

You can still feel his eyes trail your body. Irises dig into your flesh like razors, cutting into it until it reaches your spine, a soft touch akin to his fingertips dances across the skin and moves down, settling on the back of your waist—you'd call it a lovers protective touch, but you feel it's a bit different than that.

It's almost as if he's testing you, pushing your buttons, his fingers curling around your nerves and tugging, wondering what you'll do if he applies pressure, what noise you'll let escape your pouted lips, what words you'll echo in his ears, how'd you'd grip his skin and what kind of scars you'd add and decorate him with alongside the rest.

(Like a predator playing with it's prey,

An appetizer before it's meal.)

Your hands tug on the key to room 402. You turn on your heel, facing him again. You hesitate for a moment, breath catching in your throat. He tilts his head before raising his hands for you. An invite rests in the tense air, alongside it is a tempting ambrosia, a siren's saccharine call, beckoning you to take a bite, let it seep into your throat and burn inside your chest and untangle the threads in your belly.

You take a bite.

Your fingers graze his. The keys settle on the heart of his palm. The creases in his skin run like rivers and your fingertips linger for a single second to swim in and trace them.

The ambrosia calls to you again in the form of his eyes locking onto the connection between his and yours. His fingers curl again, grazing yours. Nails settle moon crescents into your velvety skin. They glide across the surface, taking in the slight warmth and feel of your skin before breaking contact.

The tangled and aching mess in your belly returns again. Your eyes dart back up to his again and your breath gets caught in your throat again as you see how dark they've become, ink seeking into the brown you saw a few moments ago. They dig into you, just like before—razors cutting, teeth mauling, tongue licking the blood dripping down your skin. He opens his mouth to drink his fill.

"It's Simon."

You swallow down the breath you didn't know you were holding captive in your throat and return his gesture with your own name. It seems like a deal brokered with an entity you shouldn't even look at—a faerie claiming your name alongside your body, a devil clutching your soul and future.

"O-okay, Simon. If you need anything, just see me at the front desk."

You take a bite and taste his name on your tongue. It spreads its blood into you, the metallic taste akin to a bubbling infection you can't and don't want to shake off. You swear you notice the same smile underneath his balaclava, curling and showing you his teeth.

"Oh, I think I will."

He murmurs your name alongside that, finishing his words like a promise to an altar. You like the way your name gets trapped behind his teeth, thrown to his tongue and chained to it, settling on it and spreading the same infection as his own name did to you.

Simon turns his back to you. He trails up the creaky wooden stairs and his steps echo in the room as they do in your mind. His smells sifts through the air—nitroglycerin and charred wood, bleach alongside the ridges of burnt wood. It fills your lungs with black smoke, seeping through the veins and clinging on—branding you like heated metal.

You don't see him again that day again.

A couple check in. A man and a woman. They feel as sickeningly normal as the 60's posters littered across the motel walls—aged with skin swirling on their faces, clothes sewn meticulously clinging onto their still strong clothes. They smile. The light glints on their dull and soft teeth.

(Like prey.)

They ask for room 12, as they booked. You hand them the keys and murmur sweet words—enjoy your stay, call me if you need anything. A verse engraved in your mind, leaving your mouth like you're a broken record.

The night creeps in. Tendrils of dark sift through the motel windows. The rooms are quiet. Only the soft echos of your shuffling feet and the periodic thumps can be heard around the building, for those you don't have an explanation for.

The next day you don't see the couple check out. You don't see them walk the hallways. Roderick shushes your questions about them. The curiosity blooms in your chest. It carves a home in your heart. A hole grows alongside with it.

In the early hours Simon checks out. Thank you, Lamb—he tells you, sweet words about you and his stay—I'll see you soon—you squirm and mumble a meek thank you's and see you soon. His words light fireworks along your skin, the flame dancing on the surface. You feel like a wire caught alight. Electricity sifting through the air between you two.

Your eyes drift to his hands, just like they've done multiple times. You squint, focusing on his short ivory nails.

There's a strange dark crimson stain underneath the nails—a stark contrast. Your eyes lock onto them and Simon notices your stare.

His balaclava shifts again as he smiles at you. His feet carry him to the front door. The bell rings as his hold makes the door creak open. He disappears just as quickly as he showed up.

You still smell the bleach and charred wood where he stood.

The day passes the way you expect it too. Endless cycle akin to a ouroboros swirling and consuming itself—pointless and unsatisfactory.

Your feet carry you through the front room. The bell ringing above you as you step outside. The cold air bites at your cheeks, trying to escape into your heavy coat. You bring the fabric closer and cover yourself even more to escape the unforgiving weather.

Your hands tremble as they dig into your pockets. Nails nick at exposed skin. The anxiety and paranoia grasps at you. Your mind keeps replaying back to your goodbye with Simon. He's a man you barely know, but feel a curiosity towards him that you shouldn't. A pull that seems to wrap around you and bring you to your doom. It is laced with a fear that spreads lightning up your spine.

You tither on that feeling as your feet take you down the labyrinth roads, a black river that is never-ending. The roads are seemingly quiet until a sound rings out in the air.

A truck drives closer to your side of the road. Your shoulder tense and feet quicken. You tilt your head in its direction. The familiar stark white color of the truck flicks a lever in your mind and suddenly you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

It's Simon. It's Simon as you move closer to the truck, now parked next to you. You raise your head, eyes wide as you peek through the darkened windows. It pulls down as you see the all too familiar balaclava stare right back at you alongside the earth-brown eyes with a tinge of an alive amber.

He leans back into his seat, legs spread—need a ride?—he asks, voice louder and reaching out to you. You thin your lips. The steps of the passenger seat beckon you closer—only a step is what you need to take.

You nod—yes, I appreciate it, thank you—you hum, voice soft and mellow. You watch him through lidded eyes, catching note of how he takes unnecessary turns and drives down longer roads.

You face him. A question burns on top of your tongue. You want to and do ask him—where are we going? Where are you taking me?—but, the gaze in which he gives you, alive and high on adrenaline is all he answers you with.

The blood underneath his fingernails are still there. You think you'll add to his collection.

Simon thinks you're a bird with a broken wing. You squirm in the hole of the hunters trap. The other wing flapping, air around you contorting as it picks you up and you escape from the jaws of the trap.

He sits next to you now in his truck and wonders how he's going to clip your wings.

You'd been so sweet to him. Opening your rib cage, moving the white bones and placing your heat on a plate for him. Your saccharine words echo in his mind. He'd never tasted something like it before. You make his teeth ache and belly hot. He craves another bite of the honeyed elixir that coats your body as sweat as your face contorts in something akin to fear and uncertainty.

"You should' have go' in the truck with me, Lamb." His words are like a final prayer, a nail in the coffin as his free hand moves towards you.

The truck stops at a dark part of town. Murky streets tangle into each other. A butcher's shop rests tucked away in the corner. The yellow and blue windows stand out against the dim muted colors of the rest of the street. An almost broken down and colorful sign of a butcher shop hangs perched above the building.

Simon finds your furrowed brows and thinned lips adoringly amusing. His calloused fingertip rests against your bottom lip. He bites back a groan as he tugs it down slightly. You follow his lead almost instinctively. His thumb digs in. Salty surface laid upon your soft tongue. The taste melts into your mouth. Your tongue raises and hugs his thumb to your teeth. Sharp surface digs into his skin. The metallic liquid coats your pearlescent canines.

He smiles—"Lamb has claws, good. It'll be even more satisfying 'o see how much you can do with them." —he presses deeper.

You try and shuffle towards the passenger door, hoping the lock hasn't been closed and you still have an option to escape whatever spider web you've gotten yourself wrapped in.

“I ‘pected you t’run.”

The hoped dies out in your mouth as you hear the lock fasten. You whine and he laughs at you. You can make out a crooked grin underneath the black balaclava.

“Wouldn't do tha’ if I were you.”

Simon's other hand leaves the steering wheel. It grazes the plush surface of your clothed belly and you startle back like an animal protecting it's weak spots. He's eerie quiet now. His hand trails up to your neck, touching the soft and delicate skin. You instinctively shift your head.

"I-I can pay you." You stammer. This is the first time you've been so close up to him. You can see burns and scars across the exposed skin. You shudder at the sight.

"Pay me?" He mimics back to you.

You nod frantically. His hand is still on your neck. You're afraid he's going to sense your pulse and figure out how you're fucking terrified.

Like—

Maybe, at the start you entertained this, but now you are actually a bird underneath a hawk, or more like a flesh eating vulture. It's claws digging and getting ready to bite and feast and Simon looks like a man that doesn't let any bite go to waste.

His eyes dig into you again like razors. He prompts you, asks you and beckons you to answer—will ya try t'run again?

You gulp. For a moment you stay frozen in his hold unable to answer but, his hold becomes stronger, pushing and adding pressure at the sides of your neck. You whimper—where would I go?

"Good girl."

His hand around your throat digs in. You gasp. He closes on the sides of your airway, careful not to push on the front where you gulp and swallow your fear and words. His eyes trail up to yours, watching as your own move and shake. Your hands crawl up to his arms. Your nails dig into his visible marred skin, leaving moon crescents in your wake. He huffs. His breath seeping through the fabric of his balaclava and hitting your face. You take in his smell again— nitroglycerin, bleach and charred wood, fire burning alive at the tips of it.

"Too late for that, Lamb." He croaks out. The words echo through your ears like church bells and a higher power giving you your sentence.

"But I think we can work something else out."

Something else turns out to be his hands gripping you too hard, making blue and purple marks bloom in his wake.

Your feet struggle to take big steps to follow alongside him. You could try and scream bloody murder, alert someone, run for your life, cross and jump fences and escape. Who would help you? Would they hear your pleas—help, this behemoth of a man is keeping me as his little toy.

You grimace at the thought.

He turns his head to face you. His eyes akin to a all too hungry boar ready to pounce.

"Don't get any funny ideas runnin' aroun' in t'head o'yours, Lamb."

"Funny?" You quip, letting it hang in the air as you add, "like getting into your truck and following you to some sketchy butcher shop that looks like a 00's old disco?"

"Cheeky little think ain't ya?"

"This isn't fair—"

"Fair? Life ain't fair, Lamb."

He tugs you closer. A strange look appears in his eye. The white of it akin to sea foam. He hums, taking in your fear and uncertainty. It simmers on his tongue and he swallows it down. There's a hunger in them. A familiar hunger you've always felt and now you see it mirrored in his own.

He moves you to the butcher shop by the scruff of your neck. The heavy door closes with a sharp crash. There's a stark smell of bleach hanging in the air suffocating your lungs. There's the tinge of sweat around the room too. The suspicious light brown colored stains lays across the floor. There is a smaller room tucked away he leads you to. A mattress laid across the dirtied floor. You swear you make out chains hung across the room. You wonder if he'll hang you from them.

(There's no escape.)

You remember the crimson underneath his nails. The couple from 12 and Simon— the man in 13. Ironic the number he settles with was 13. It suits him, you think.

"Did you kill them?"

Simon gazes back at you. His hands crawl up to his balaclava and grips the fabric. Your breath clings to your throat. The noises die out as your eyes lock onto him and his appearing face.

He's not—

Not how they describe them in the books.

Not handsome.

More ugly. Disturbing in a way that's obscene. He's more skin stitched together than man. More flesh looking too wrong than human.

You see his Glasgow smile first. The dip in skin alongside the corners of his mouth form a Cheshire grin. His lips look chapped and rough, a cut runs vertically along it, separating skin and showing his crooked almost sharp canine teeth. The dark brown hair stick together and clings to his forehead. It's damp and just about long enough for you to grip it in your hands. Suddenly the calloused hands make sense when you compare it to the face in front of you. Dirtied nails and sweat engraved into his skin.

"Questionin' and questionin'." He tuts, like reprimanding a child. You feel like one right now. His frame eats you whole, engulfed in one single bite. The rumble in his voice goes straight to your belly and lights up that ache in your abdomen.

"What do ya think Lamb? Bette' yet, stand straight." He reckons you to the middle of the room and you follow his words. You stand shaken.

He takes notice.

"Go on now. Strip for me."

Every piece of clothing you slowly let fall down your body you offer him, an exchange—I show you what I hide under layers and peel them off and make myself completely bare for you only standing in panties. He indulges in you.

Riley—you catch his name as he lets it escape his teeth. You ask what he thinks he'll get out of this and what he wants—I already 'ave ya, Lamb, I didn' ask for much more.

His lackluster answers are made worst as he trails closer to you. His eyes rake over your naked body, taking in every inch. You can feel the way his mouth waters because of the way he gulps. He groans and it reaches you down to your abdomen. The silent request he sends your way when he gestures to the mattress laid in the corner. Your shoulders stiff at the sight. Your feet glue to the floor beneath you.

He gives you that annoyed and impatient tut again. His hands clench and veins become more prominent. He shuffles closer to you.

"Do I 'ave 'o do everythin' by myself, huh?"

His hands move to your body. They settle on your waist, slowly trailing down. You whine at first, which he shushes you with a quick and soft—sh—next to your ear.

His teeth graze your earlobe. His fingers play with the waistband of your panties, the only fabric you have that conceals you with modesty. You dig your face into his shoulder as he tugs rips it off. The fabric burns into your skin, too harsh of a pull putting pressure on your skin. It leaves red marks on your plush skin as it comes apart at the seams.

He tilts his head towards yours. His stubble soft and delicate while it scratches on your cheek—a surprisingly saccharine touch.

His fingers trace across the red mark left on your skin. His scarred skin scruffs against your own plush flesh and you shake in his hold. In response his grip on you becomes stronger. It's a precursor to what's about to come—rain before a storm.

They trace bellow your pelvis and abdomen, grazing the surface of the fire that burns and aches inside. You bite down on your tongue strong enough to draw blood as you feel his fingers trace your slick soaked lips.

He hums as he takes in your shaking form. Body spasms and your little gaps ring out in his ears like a melody of a golden music box. Your slick drips down his fingers and spreads to his hand and your thighs like ichor and he swears he can taste your ambrosia on the tip of his tongue.

"You are enjoyin' this, ain't you?"

You hate how cocky and satisfied he sounds. As if you're some experiment to him, bending at his will, but he's right.

You took his form in during your meeting at the motel, shamelessly trailing your eyes hungrily over him, wishing for a bite. You entered his truck, sat near him like the good girl he wanted you to be. You nodded your head when he made it clear there was no escape.

You're getting touched so delicately by a murderer and your body responds for you. It screams out for his touch. Soaked so much it glides down and makes your thighs stick to each other uncomfortably. You step towards his touch, trying to get more friction with his fingers.

Simon sees it all. His eyes follow how you present yourself to him just like the many times before. He curls his fingers and spreads your puffy lips again. His rough fingers scruff against the soft flesh and you whine into his neck. His other free hand trails down your spine, touching the ridges of the bone and settling on the plush skin of your rear. He grips and you're sure he'll leave a mark shaped like his hand.

The sensation makes you almost throw yourself even closer to him. You surround yourself in his smell, the nitroglycerin spreads through your body like a high you subconsciously don't want to fall down from.

His finger teases the entrance of your cunt. Your walls quiver and squeeze around nothing. He feels the muscles tense and move under his touch and you feel against your body how he takes a hoarse breath, drinking in the sight of you.

You keep your faced tucked and hidden away from him. It's the one and only kindness he grants you. It's the sheer burning shame of it all. You paw like a distressed animal on his chest, fingers clutch onto his clothes and nails dig into his skin.

You muffle a loud moan that he rips out of your throat as in his shoulder as he forces one finger inside your cunt. It's rough and it scorches your walls like they're on fire. His finger digs in until the knuckle is almost gone into the hug of your puffy lips. Your pussy feels raw and it aches, skin aflame and red.

And, fuck does it hurt.

It makes you bend and arch into him even more.

Your mouth hangs open and your tongue rest on the fabric of his shoulder. You're sure you've made the surface wet, but Simon seems like a man that likes it messy and dirty.

What he's doing right now proves it all.

Finger with dirt and blood under it curls and moves inside of you like a hot metal rod, branding your insides. His free hand, sweaty and dewy leaves no corner of your body untouched.

He grazes your breasts. No means are they that small, but he still manages to cup one I'm his hand. He pinches the rosy bud in his hand and pulls. You gasp and mewl into him—no more's and mindless calls for god ring out in the room.

He tugs you closer. His mouth opens wide like a predator opening his jaws. Crooked and sharp canines make way for his tongue to trail across your chest. He leaves his spit on your collarbone, tits and buds as he sucks and bites into the soft flesh. You whine and raise your head to stare at the ceiling.

Your moans turn into screams when he adds a second finger.

"Wait—" He doesn't.

You don't like it. It's too much. Your moans become even louder in his ears when his mouth latches on the side of your neck and bites. Teeth dig into the delicate skin and bruises bloom. Marks settle on your skin as he continues his assault. Teeth shaped rings and circles litter your neck and spread to your chest.

He's branding you in every way possible. Outside, his marks form in bites and grips turning into bruises, inside— his fingers work you apart and dismantle your walls, stretching you out with every thrust and curl of them.

He groans as his thumb dances across your clit and for a moment you chase that high, raise one of your legs, bending at the thigh and grazing the side of his hips.

He tuts and pulls his fingers out.

You whine at the empty feeling settling back into your abdomen. The tangled bunch of nerves you subconsciously wished to untie with his touch turn into a mess again. Your body instinctively chase his touch, moving towards him.

He grips your waist, palms on both sides. The touch puts pressure on you and you're sure it'll leave more marks in the shape of his hands, just like the one adorning your bottom cheek. Your eyes slowly meets his. The glint in Simon's eyes have made the brown morph into a burning amber.

"Needy thing, ain't ya? Deserve it, you think? Made me work o'it. You were squeezin' my fingers, ain't that enough?"

He brings the fingers coated with your slick in front of you. They glisten underneath the ceiling's dim light, the milky white skin glowing in the dark room. He brings them even closer to your face.

"Clean 'em, Lamb. Go on."

He beckons you, his fingers lay on top of your lips, tearing them apart. You follow suit. Your tongue sticks out slightly. He takes it as a yes—not like he was ever looking for permission in the first place.

The wet fingers rest on your tongue and he pushes down. You gag and clutch his wrist, but make no attempt to push him away. He digs even further. His fingers swirl and curl on your tongue and the taste of your own slick melts like salt of the sea on your taste buds.

"Bite."

"W-wha?" You croak out, voice muffled by the fingers currently occupying your mouth.

"I said bite, Lamb. Show me wha' you can do."

Your eyes lock onto him for a moment. If you can taste his blood again, make him wince again just even for a moment, you'll take it. Your teeth dig into his fingers. A red ring appears on his skin as indents. You finally break the surface of his skin and the crimson blood seeps into your mouth.

(A taste you're getting used to,

A fact he's delighted to bask in,

He gets to keep you.)

"Good girl."

He removes his fingers from your mouth. You thin your lips, trapping the blood and the sweat of him behind your mouth.

He shuffles near the dirtied mattress near the corner of the room. His hands grip you hard again and lead you to it. You can feel what's to come in the pits of your abdomen. Your body screams at you. Nerves are fried and your mind is hazy from pleasure and pain being mixed into one.

"I go'a do everythin' by myself, Lamb?" He hums as he drops you on the mattress.

Survival. One word rings and echos through your mind over and over again. You promise yourself that is the only reason this is happening. The only reason your knees almost pull away from each other. The only reason your cunt screams at you to present yourself to him, bare and sweet for him to skin himself into.

Your knees shake. He takes notice.

"Fuckin' needy. You love this, don't ya?"

"No." —you whine,— "no I fucking don't."

Tears gather on the waterline of your eyes and they drip down your cheeks before disappearing in your hairline. He brings and fucking licks the salty liquid off your sweaty skin. You swear his tongue lingers and presses in deeper. Your thighs clutch together.

(He wants a bite.)

"Is tha' why you rubbing your thighs, tryna get off?"

You whine and turn your eyes trained bellow, gaze stuck on his waist—anywhere but his face. Anywhere but the asymmetrical flesh of his face where skin and flesh dips and scars dance across it.

(You wonder if he'd let you trace them.)

"You're starin'. Ain't nice. Haven't even taken it out yet, Lamb."

Your mouth waters.

This fucking bastard.

You lay unmoving and trapped beneath him as his thighs frame your rear and upper legs, completely shadowing them. You gulp and try and ignore way your cunt flutters at the sight of Simon's arms gather at the hem of his shirt, at the sight of him removing said shirt and tossing it to some forgotten corner of the room. And, fuck you try your best to ignore how your pussy clenches around nothing as his bare chest is revealed to you.

Burn marks akin to cigarette burns litter his milky white skin. A plush tummy rests softly covered by light blond fuzz that travels down to his pants and turns into a forest of a happy trail. Something tenses under that happy trail, prisoner to the pants that tighten every second your desperate and debauched mewls and moans echo in the room and in his ears.

He smells like war, burnt wood and smoke. His hold freezes you to the spot underneath him, caged like an animal, just like the Lamb he loves to call you. You're forced to inhale his smell. The heavy smoke enters your lungs and heavies your body so you can never leave.

(Ruining you for anyone else.)

"Let's see if y'worth the trouble you put me through, Lamb."

His hands move to your hugged knees. You think,—he's pushing them open, oh my god—but he settles with connecting your legs, pushing them closer to your chest. Your soft thighs and pussy are on display for him. You don't want to admit the fact you can feel your pussy pulse with the thought he has you presented on a plate. Your cunt aches for his fucking touch again.

His crooked grin returns. It looks too wrong. His sly hands move to his pants and you swear you bear a zipper be brought down. You don't know what compelled you, but you tilt your head to the side and glance at what he'd just set free.

You see the faint pinkish-red tip first. It's angry uncut surface glistens with precum and you whine at the sight. The pinkish hue slowly turns into pale cream and the bluish veins dance across the surface of his cock like rivers. You gulp. He laughs.

"You should see how ya clench aroun' nothin' Lamb. You wan' it that bad?"

Something big pokes you where your thighs meet. He's going to fuck you, but first he'll use your thighs and brand himself into that piece of you too.

Your tears pool again. He won't even fuck you yet—

He coos, satisfied with your reaction.

"Don't worry, Lamb, you'll get my cock. Trust me, when I'm in your pretty cunt nothing will tear me out o'it."

You almost black out. Your mind turns putty. You go limp and drip into a puddle on the mattress.

His hips move and his cock pierces the plush flesh of your thighs. You see the head of his dick. He's fucking big. You feel the veins of him along your skin. He groans and first, he throws his head back to stare at the ceiling with a choked groan, next—he moans and falls down back to you. Hands cage you, settling on both side's of your face.

"You're fucking soft, Lamb. Fucking hell, squeezing me like your cunt did the same with my fingers."

You moan like a broken record. The underside of his cock grazes your clit. The hood of the sensitive bundle of nerves is pulled up, brought down with every thrust of his hips.

Your hands grip his arms, hanging onto him. You move closer without been noticing, seeking his clothed thighs to touch your cunt.

He lets our a breathless laugh again. Taking notice of the slick coating your cunt and the buttom of your rear. He catches the way you shuffle closer to him, wanting more and wanting more.

(You call it a bodily reaction,

It has to be.

To him it's you sharing the same hunger he has.)

"Gonna be good f'me?"

He removes his cock from the warm and soft hold of your thighs. He lets out a hiss at the movement before cupping your cunt, his palm dwarfs it it's entirety. You grind against him, seeking any release you can get.

"I expect an answer outta ya, Lamb."

He drifts above and pushes down onto your clit. Three hands rubbing circles onto the sensitive bud. You arch your back into him and your chests almost touch.

"Fuck, yes—" You rip the answer out of your throat. You take in every burst of pleasure he gives you. You swear you see starts behind your eyelids.

(Is the black hole going to take them as it plans on taking you?)

"Good girl."

His calloused hands still dance across your clit. The harsh skin burns yours. It feels as if he's burning you like the charred wood he smells like. It hurts. It aches. You can't take it. It hurts too much.

He moves with intent. His cock comes closer to the bare entrance of your cunt. You panic. Hoarse voice escapes you as you shift away from him.

"Wait—fuck—wait, no condom?"

He stares at you for a moment, a brow raises at you like you're a child asking him a stupid question. His hand grips the sides of your face. You let out a choked poor excuse of a scream. He brings you closer to his face.

"Never fucked raw, Lamb?"

"I-I've never tried this."

You croak out, like you even had the choice to try this.

"You don't know how it feels when a cock comes inside you?"

You let your mouth hang open. Words dry on your tongue. How do you even answer that?

His eyes settle on your lips. His fingers trace along it. Moving closer in your proximity, his own ripped lips touch yours. For some reason you don't push him, you don't scream at him. You stay frozen. You lie to yourself when you try and convince your mind it's all because of the fear.

The moment only lasts for a few second before he smiles again—The sickly Glasgow smile spreads even more. You shudder in his hold. Of course, all because of fear.

"You'll take my cock—"

"Fuck—no, it's too big— it won't fit."

He pushes harder on your cheeks. Your lips contort as you look up at him.

"We'll make it fit, Lamb."

Your mind turns even more hazy at his words. They light a spark down your abdomen. Your toes curl, knees bend and hug at his sides, bringing him in even closer. Simon groans. His head tilts and positions himself and his cock right at the entrance of your aching cunt.

The tip of his cock slowly pushes past your raw lips of your pussy. You move and writhe in his hold under him. Simon is unforgiving in the way he pushes himself into you. You swear he's trying to split you in half. You're sure you'll feel him in your belly, chest and throat by the time he's in.

You mewl and your hands grasp at his chest. Your nails rake down his skin. They move to grasp his shoulders and you bring him even closer, beckoning him to you.

"Simon—"

"Fuck. I know, Lamb. You're squeezing me—"

Simon gasps. His hands grasp the soft flesh around your waist. His hazy eyes take your entire body in. You notice them as they do. You catch the hunger in his eye. Your walls flutter again when you see the possessive glint curling in the burning amber of his eyes.

There's a certain high that spreads through your veins when you see how much he's affected too. He's slowly pushing his cock into you and the moans and groans leave him like hoarse and broken notes. You figure out what the high is that you're currently feeling.

A man like him. A man of his size and cruelty. A man bathed in blood with the crimson stuck underneath his nails no matter how much he tries to wash it off. That man is on his knees for you, bottoming out in you, getting drunk on the feeling of your cunt's walls beckoning him in and fluttering around him. You did that.

Or, your cunt did. Though, with the way his eyes glint when they reach your face.

Yea, you did that.

You're dragged out of your reverie when you feel Simon's cock dig in deeper. You curl into his hold. He moves even deeper into you. He makes a home inside of you, his veins engrave themselves on your fluttering walls.

The room smells of sex. The moans and gasps of both of you echo through out the room. The nitroglycerin sifts through the air. His sweat rolls down onto you and joins your own.

The way his hold keeps you steady and your plush thighs keep him close and cunt keeps him warm is a stark contrast to how he had handled you, how he'd trapped you in his jaws and dug his teeth in you. It is a dichotomy you take like a high and let it spread lightning through your body.

His hips don't give up their assault. They thrust deep inside you and you can see how his cock disappears in your cunt. His unforgiving thrusts carve into you. He moves out and back in—ouroboros of an endless cycle.

He grins and pushes deeper.

Maybe you've gone crazy. You've lost it truly. His length soothes some aching and raw feeling inside you. Untangles your nerves and you let moans ring out like a melody as an answer to the hazy bliss.

You settle your hand on your lower belly where the hotness and the scorching feeling act as a balm and calming oil for you. Your fingers feel the way your stomach bulges from Simon's cock, the way he meticulously moves his length along your clenching walls. You push down on him.

He rolls his hips and groans. A sickeningly saccharine smile grows on his face.

"'m too big for you, huh?"

You can feel him twitch inside you. Result of some masculine high he's on right now. He hangs on his words, but doesn't wait for an answer and digs himself into you again and again and—

You think he likes it — the fact it hurts you and you mewl and struggle to fully take him. It feels his chest with some debauched pride. The fact he's the one working you open on his cock, that he's the one that you're perched and split half upon.

"c'mon, Lamb. Cum on my cock, the one who's makin' you whine and moan f'me."

"I can't—"

"Greedy little thing, ain't ya?"

He removes one hand on the waist he's been using to hold you as he bullies his cock into you and moves it to your puffy clit. He drags shaky circles and you arch into his hold. You whine and mewl. He answers with hoarse groans and gasps of his own.

Your body goes limp in his hold. You raise your hips in a last offering to him. Make me cum, make me—

"Little fucking minx."

Your breath is knocked out of your chest as his thrust becomes sloppy and fast. His voice cracks and he lets his head fall onto your shoulder. His cock deep in you, embedded, full balls slapping at your ass, fingers working your sensitive and raw clit as your pushed to the edge.

Your mind's so hazy you can't count how many times he untangles you with his cock and fingers. Your mind can only focus on the way he pulls you apart with his length, spearing you in half.

His hand leaves your clit. It returns back to your waist and he drags your whole body even closer. His thrust become final. They reach so deep you see galaxy's and nebula's behind your lidded eyelids. He groans and rolls his hips one last time before—a warm and heavy liquid spreads through—he comes, inside you and deep. He settles down onto you, muscles shifting and laying soft by your sides.

Your things once wrapped around him and keeping him warm now rest laid on the mattress. You feel your body tense and the soreness bites at you.

He moves away, pulls out in a agonizingly slow way, just to see your face break out in shame and pleasure one more time.

He shuffles to the other side of the room. You stand as well. Shaky legs move you to your discarded clothes. It earns you strange look from Simon.

"Wha' are you doin'?"

"I'm just—"

"Wait, you don't think you're leavin', right?"

"I thought this was—"

"—a one time thing?" He finishes for you before continuing. "Lamb, you ain't goin' nowhere."

"But—"

"Sleep."

Simon wakes up countless of times. Cock still hard and leaking with cum. The same cum you had stuffed deep and safe in your fluttering cunt. The cunt which you presented him with during the night. You were awake, half asleep, or even blacked out, but still mewling on his cock.

You took everything he gave you like his good girl. You are so good to him.

He'd knew you be. Knew from the moment he saw you first through the window of his truck walking to work in that sad excuse of a motel. Knew from the moment when you'd eye him passing by. Knew when you first met him. Your plum lips and flushed cheeks are engraved in his mind. Knew you'd take his fingers and cock well from the moment you let your sweet words beckon him closer.

He got his answer when you laid naked and bare in front of him. Your arched spine and trembling hands digging and clutching his clothes as he pumped his fingers in and out of your puffy pussy. Your mewls as he fucked your thighs slick with your arousal you tried so hard to deny.

In the end his bites and bruises adorn your skin. It's his cum in your cunt keeping you warm, dripping down onto your thighs.

You're his now. He has branded you. There's a rough similarity to the way he marked you and the way butchers mark the good meat and flesh.

He's not supposed to target locals. Too noisy. People ask and turn their heads, wondering where one of their own is.

Price had made it sure Simon knew this.

But, he deserves you, doesn't he?

Your soft skin around him and his rough arms morphing you so he can carve a place in your rib cage to be the one and only to sit there warmed by your blood.

© PORCELIAN ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[ooooo-mcyt]

Do you guys ever think about what a turning point Double Life was for Joel?

During Third Life and Last Life, Joel was alone.

In Third Life he kinda floats around from alliance to alliance, being pushed into whatever faction is pushing hardest, and then dying with very little notice from the rest of the server.

In Last Life, Joel has allies sometimes, but they cycle in and out of his life. Scar, Grian, Lizzie, they're all there for an episode or two, but then they're gone. Joel is lonely, and he knows it, he feels the aching hollowness in his chest. Over and over Joel talks about needing a team, but instead he ends up the most hated man on the server with a roster of situational alliances.

That's who Joel is, someone who causes chaos, setting the world ablaze, who is sometimes tolerated for mutual benefit, but who's almost always alone, and who (as far as other people seem to notice) doesn't mind it that way.

And then Double Life happens.

The universe itself hands Joel a partner. Someone who's life relies on him, and who he has to rely on in turn. Someone who he has to trust implicitly. Someone who won't leave, because the two of them being a team is sewed into the fabric of reality for the season. And you can see how much lighter Joel is, how much he thrives when he isn't alone, when, for the first time ever, he can end one session and be able to fully trust that he'll still have someone on his side when the next one starts.

Of course, Double Life doesn't last forever. Limited Life comes around and, as far as alliances go, it's like the previous season never happens. It's..difficult for Joel. He takes every little betrayal (of which joel perceives many) from Etho very hard. Which could have left Joel in a worse place than he started. Joel could have lost Etho and decided to never let himself care about anyone again. But instead, he does the exact opposite.

In Limited Life, Joel clings to Jimmy and Grian. The universe showed Joel what it was like to be loved, and I get the sense Joel couldn't stand to lose that, so he found a team and held them so close they could never leave (he would have given jimmy more time, all the time he needed, to keep him at his side).

In Secret Life, Joel absolutely surrounds himself with people. Joel joins the largest faction on the server, never far from people, from life, from laughter or joy. There's no chance for Joel to ever really be alone unless he chooses to be.

And finally, Wild Life. Joel wins because of family. Because he came into the season and he fully opened himself up to love and trust from other people, and he received it back in droves.

I've seen people say it's ironic that Joel won through "family" instead of bloodshed, when he's such a hostile and isolated player. But, while Joel is still chaotic, he never wanted to be alone. Joel was isolated for the first two seasons, in part because of bad circumstances, and in part because he didn't think there was any other way to be. And then the universe showed Joel how it felt to be loved, and he's never let himself be alone since. Of course Joel thrived in Wild Life.

[sillyzlaurr]

My takes on Tenna and Mike designs, relationships and stuff⛹️

Tenna - Queen of tv world. She's loud bright star and i can't say she's mentally stable;) Tenna is very active and chatty and she will do literally ANYTHING (like various tv shows) to get lighters' attention. Even if it means someone gets hurt. Nothing personal, it's just show business🤸

Mike. Struggled with his design a lot, i hope you guys recognise microphone in this dork ;)

Tenna's right hand man. He's quieter and more secretive, he's got tons of connections and he's the one who's looking out for "big shots". He obeys Tenna, even if not all of her decisions are to his liking. Yeah, they don't have the healthiest relationship. In their alliance, Mike acts as the brute force and commands the shadowmen

Height comparison⛹️

Also Tenna can move her torso and head 360 degrees. I wish I could animate to show you guys how cool she can move OUUUUUUUGHHGGGGG

More doodles of her and Mike. She's bossy mad crazy ass and you better not disappoint her

A few of older doodles that I still like

Also, my headcanon Spamton and Mike used to be really great friends and business partners

Tenna doesn't like it. Really doesn't like it...

And for dessert, a doodle of meeting with Tanna ;)))

It was fun to think about them, hope you enjoyed me yapping!!!!

Stay tunned bc i still want to draw stuff with those guys

[chuuminn]

chuuya x reader - scorched lungs

featuring; early dating period awhhhh, tton!reader being a bad smoker, reader wears mascara, chuuya uses ‘doll’ as a nickname, shotgunning, just something a lil silly, intentional lowercase, 1.2k word count

'what to do when your stupidly handsome date offers you a cigarette’ was not covered on your theoretical pre-date flashcards. stumbling out a “sure ! i’d love one” probably wasn’t the right answer. but chuuya's leather dressed fingers were already retreating to tuck away the polished silver cigarette case, leaving you with a neatly rolled stick dangling dumbly between your thumb and forefinger.

"just relax,” yosano's words had been cooed with a reassuring smile when she swiped mascara onto your lashes, not three hours before. “i'm sure your 'mystery man' will adore your quirks."

pshhh, quirks. the term normally refers to small things, right? the little endearing habits you notice about another person. like how you know that ranpo’s hand always brushes his pocket when he stands from his desk, seeking out spectacle shaped reassurance. or, that dazai is a terribly clingy drunk; but only until he hits drink number nine or your fingertips accidentally graze the edges of the cotton that wraps his skin. whichever comes first.

quirks aren’t the ugly, hacking cough that accompanies your every attempt at smoking.

you could just return it, yes. laugh it off and continue to enjoy the sound of the water lapping at the pier beneath you. only, the mere possibility that your date, effortlessly suave as he seems, might brand you as ‘lame’ or ‘a buzzkill’ summons an uncomfortable bubbling into your chest and the rising of a shrill nagging voice in your mind. it heaves, preparing to berate you, until-

a flicker against the dim evening — subtle, but enough to catch your gaze — banishes the nerve.

chuuya’s struck his lighter, illuminating the planes of his face for you to admire. there was no better backdrop for him than here, leaning against the railing of one of yokohama’s many bridges.

he mentioned growing up here, and judging by that passionate gleam in his eyes when he’d spoken about it, you could tell he loves the city fiercely. a few unruly strands of fiery hair catch the flickering light, stark against the muted twilight blues behind him. it’s a museum worthy painting, if not for the five pronged silhouette of the port mafia towers intruding over chuuya’s shoulder. an irksome smear on the yokohama skyline.

nooo. nope. you didn’t need to spend more time than absolutely necessary thinking about the port mafia and your many unpleasant. especially not while on a date that, up until now, was going suspeciously well.

you follow chuuya’s movements as he cups the lighter, shielding it from the harbour breeze, to deliver it to his lips. the glow of the flame stretches towards him as he inhales, a motion you were becoming all too familiar with. barely a month of dating and already you were giving into the grand gravitational pull of chuuya nakahara. so when those gloved hands extend the light to you, it’s all too easy to tilt your body closer to his.

difficulty comes when you fumble with the end of the cigarette over the lighter. the blasted flame, it was mocking you! mischievously dancing around the edge of your cigarette and refusing to share its heat. you offer a sheepish smile to your merciful date. “mine’s broken.”

there’s a breathy chuckle before reassuring fingers wrap around your wrist.

it wasn’t as though this was the first time he's touched you; but still, the gentle guidance sends warmth blooming along your skin. he curls your fingers and moves them to better cup the light, protecting it from the wind as he’d done. immediately it settles into a steady flame. traitor. “better?”

“better…” you can’t say the same for your heart, sure the damn thing was about to beat out of your chest. the new proximity makes your head spin. a seductive cinnamon-y musk joins the lingering smoky smell in the air. he’s close enough to feel the air shift across your shoulder as he takes a slow deep drag of his own cigarette.

“ow -” the flame in your grasp jumps, nipping your thumb and demanding your attention. you’ve already been standing there an awkwardly long time, and frankly the angle of your arm was beginning to hurt.

what more was there to do, other than take an enthusiastic and far too ambitious inhalation…

there’s a glint of amusement in chuuya’s eyes as he watches you sputter, a lopsided smirk adorning his pretty features. your eyes are wide, no doubt in alarm from the choking miasma burning its way to your lungs. yeeeah, he’d figured that’s how it might go. you were polite, maybe a little too eager to please, a far cry from the company he normally kept. definitely not someone who indulged in this particular vice often. it was… sweet. “you alright there, doll ?”

“uh huh, yep, just- perfect-“ you wheeze, head bobbing quickly. unconvincingly. a blind hand waves the air clear of the wisps still curling from the offending stick. “how are you- ugh, holy mother of- how are you meant to enjoy this when it burns so bad !?“

you summon the meanest glare you could muster, scowling down at the cigarette. the muscles in your abdomen cramp and seize as you cough into your sleeve, earning a smoky huff of amusement from chuuya.

“cute." he hummed with a slight laugh, silver curling into the evening from his quirked lips . "here, lemme help ya”

his fingers uncurl from yours, surrendering contact only long enough for him to catch your chin. your stomach turns and any air remaining in your poor burning lungs is stolen as the tips of his bangs brush against your nose. when he next speaks his voice is a soft rasp, eyes flitting over your features. somewhere hidden in the breaths that follow, a whisper of vulnerability tickles your lips. “this okay?”

“yeah,” you reply easily. “ i trust you.”

you aren’t sure why those words made his breath hitch.

“just, try it again, yeah?” he drawls, bringing the cigarette to his lips once more. “breathe.”

the cherried tip flares as he takes a long slow drag, before he leans into you. the dangerous beginnings of a protesting whine build in your throat when he stops just shy of a kiss, only to be stifled by the sight of bittersweet silver cascading from his slowly parting lips.

you drink in his breath, the smoke trickling down your throat to pleasantly warm your chest instead of scorching it. the fiery fog fills you, singeing his name into your lungs.

with a shaky 'whoosh' it wisps out from your lips, smooth and silky tendrils dispersing into a hazy curtain between you. the barrier does nothing to quell the heat of his gaze, mismatched eyes half lidded and smokey in their own right. you’d be more than content staying here, counting his lashes. the sheer intimacy of sharing a breathe sent your mind reeling into a dizzying swirl.

“heh,” his lips twitched up as his smoldering gaze finally tore from your own, casting over the rest of your slightly tilted face. “you’re blushing —“

“am not !!!”

thank you for reading !!! this is the first part in a series of nonchronological one shots between our reader and chuuya, with dazai poking his head in every now and then. i am super duper excited, i hope you enjoy where we go from here. comments, feedback and reblogs are all welcome and appreciated ! mwah !

masterlist

[arsenysworld]

No Pickles, No Problems

April Ludgate x Male Reader

Y/N wasn’t sure how he ended up in this situation. He wasn’t even that hungry, but April had insisted on dragging him to Paunch Burger after a long day of avoiding work at city hall. Now, he found himself staring at the towering Big Mac in his hands, feeling his chest tighten—not from the grease, but from the green abominations peeking out from under the bun.

“Uh, April?” he murmured, shifting uncomfortably.

April leaned against the counter, scrolling through her phone, her ever-present smirk plastered on her face. “What, did they forget your precious extra napkins or something?”

“No, it’s… it has pickles,” he whispered, glancing nervously at the cashier a few feet away.

April froze mid-scroll. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, pickles?”

“I—I’m allergic to pickles,” Y/N admitted, voice so quiet she had to lean closer to hear. “Like, my throat could swell up, allergic.”

April blinked, and for a moment, Y/N thought she might just laugh it off and tell him to man up. Instead, her expression darkened, and her smirk twisted into something far more dangerous. Without a word, she grabbed the offending burger out of his hands.

“April, it’s fine, I can just—”

“No,” she cut him off, her tone sharp enough to slice through steel. “They had one job.”

Before he could stop her, April stormed toward the counter, her combat boots thudding against the floor. The few customers in the restaurant turned to watch as she slammed the Big Mac down with a force that made the soda cups on the counter tremble.

Travis, the cashier, looked up from his phone, startled. His expression shifted from bored indifference to pure terror as he met April’s withering glare.

“He. Ordered. No. Pickles,” she said, enunciating each word like a knife being sharpened.

Travis blinked at her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Uh, I-I can fix that,” he stammered, his voice cracking.

“You’re damn right you’re gonna fix it,” April snapped, leaning forward until her face was mere inches from his. “Because if he eats a pickle and drops dead, I’ll make sure you’re the one explaining to his mom why her precious son kicked the bucket in your crappy restaurant.”

Behind her, Y/N tugged at the sleeve of her leather jacket. “April, it’s not a big deal—”

She spun around, silencing him with a look. “Not a big deal? Do you want to die choking on a pickle? Huh? Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life avenging your death like some sad, goth widow.”

Y/N’s face turned crimson. “Uh… no?”

“Exactly,” she said, turning back to Travis, who was frantically assembling a new burger. “Get it right this time. No pickles. Not even a hint of pickle juice. Do you hear me?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” Travis squeaked, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

When the new burger was handed over, April inspected it with the intensity of a forensic investigator. After a long moment, she nodded. “Good. You live to serve terrible food another day.”

As they left the restaurant, Y/N glanced over his shoulder to see Travis slumping against the counter, visibly relieved.

“Was that really necessary?” Y/N asked, biting his lip to suppress a nervous chuckle.

April shrugged, casually slipping her hand into his. “Of course. No one messes with my boyfriend. Not even fast food morons.”

Despite himself, Y/N felt a shy smile tug at his lips. “Thanks. For, uh, sticking up for me.”

April smirked, leaning closer. “Don’t get all mushy on me, nerd. Now eat your pickle-free burger before I throw it in the trash.”

Y/N laughed softly, his chest feeling lighter. She might have a dark sense of humor and a terrifying streak, but April cared in her own unique way.

And that was more than enough for him.

@fandomnerd9602 @jacenradio7 @6rookie-writer0110 @multi-fandom-enjoyer

[urinarythreatinfection]

Is This Love?

Luffy x Male Reader. Angst and fluff. I said slowburn but this is more average burn, my bad. 2235 words. Small allusion to Whole Cake Island. Part one, Part two

Desc: Sanji reminisces on his conversation with Luffy with you and then other stuff happens.

Sanji flicks at his lighter, finally lighting his cigarette and taking a breath as he looks onto the night sea. He’s on nightwatch. ‘Well, I was going to be awake in 2 hours anyway.’ He tells himself, considering he wakes up at 5am. ‘Wonder how Luffy’s holding up.’ He remembers that the captain was restless before, he hopes that wasn’t enough to make him fall asleep on duty. ‘I’ll check up on him.’ He turns and walks over to Luffy’s side of the ship, seeing the rubber man laying down on the Sunny’s head. ‘Is he seriously asleep!?’ The chef runs up to the head. “Luffy! Hey!” No answer, but when Sanji hops onto the figurehead to scold him he finds his friend with his eyes open. Awake, just… silent. “What’s up with you?” He’s confused.

“Sanji, can you-”

‘He’s going to ask me to make him something, isn't he.’ It clicks in Sanji’s mind, however..

“-tell me about romantic love.” it isn’t that at all. Sanji’s eyes widen and he almost chokes on his cigarette. Love? Romantic love? And this question is from Luffy!? “...Is this… about (Y/n)?” He asks cautiously and Luffy nods. That explains it. “So this is why you were restless.” He sighs, not knowing whether to be anxious or relieved that this is the reason his captain’s been acting off. “You don’t have to force yourself to learn about it, Luffy. (Y/n) isn’t the type of guy to need that out of you.” A cloud of smoke is let out into the night air. “He’s probably already moving on from it.” Instead of a hum or answer Sanji sees a frown on Luffy’s face. ‘What’s with that look?’

“He’s moving on so easy? He said he was in love with me, but he’s already getting over it?” There’s an upset tone in his voice.

“Why are you complaining about it?” Sanji’s confused, he knows Luffy to be bratty and selfish at times but like this? “Were you planning to just lead him on?” Luffy looks up at the chef.

“Lead him on?” He tilts his head.

“Yeah, string him along. Keep him always loving you even if you don’t feel the same, just because it makes you feel better about yourself. Not caring if it hurts them.” This is disappointing, he’d thought the rubber man’s selfishness would at least not harm his crewmate’s emotions like this. Even if he’s harsh to you due to your status as a man, Sanji still cares for you. However, Luffy scrambles to get up and latches onto the chef, gripping his shoulders.

“Is that what I’m doing!?” He’s panicked, freaking Sanji out a bit.

“If you don’t love someone and just use them to feel better that’s exactly what you’re doing.” Still, he answers. In response to that Luffy slowly lowers himself onto his feet, looking down.

“Using him… Hurting him.” That’s not.. what he wants at all, but he doesn’t want you to stop loving him either. Sanji looks down at his captain and realizes that his face is turning red. He’s using his brain too much.

“Hey you don’t have to think so hard about it.” It’s starting to worry him, what if he overheats or something? “Just don’t lead on someone you don’t love back.”

“But I do love him!” He shouts. “I just don’t know about the whole—in love thing. I don’t like that he doesn’t smile at me like before and that he doesn’t pick me up! He doesn’t even..” Luffy pauses, putting a hand on his head as he speaks in a quieter voice. “He doesn’t even pet my hair anymore. (Y/n) used to do it all the time but it’s been a week since he did it. Even when I did good stuff while keeping my hat off he doesn’t do anything.” The chef goes silent, Luffy eventually continuing. “He said all that stuff about loving me then just.. left me alone.” After a few moments Sanji reaches up and pets the captain’s hair, but the captain puts his straw hat on his head in response.

“Felt different?” The blonde asks and Luffy nods. “Then maybe (Y/n)’s different.” Sanji isn’t a love expert either, but he has felt romantic love before; and had his heart hurt because of it. “It feels different, love like that.”

“Is there something wrong… with me?” Luffy clutches the rim of his hat, stressed. He seems so small like this, so vulnerable with insecurity. It reminds Sanji of his own insecurities, and how this boy, so bright and carefree, accepted all of it. He can’t leave his friend, his captain like this. The blonde puts out his cigarette and takes a deep breath, speaking.

“I’m not going to stand here and pretend like you have no faults or that there’s nothing different about you. You rush into things, hate doing anything you find even a little boring, and do everything you can to empty our fridge. It’s annoying.” He thinks about their journey so far. “But you’ve been my captain and friend for over two years and I know for sure that your faults are a part of you; they don’t make you ‘wrong’. And if it does, then everyone on this ship is the same, because we’re here with you. Including (Y/n).” Sanji’s done bad things to Luffy, to the rest of the crew, and in his opinion he’s the one with the most faults; but Luffy accepted him. “You told me my faults make me who I am, that they’re somehow all the things good about me, so it’s the same for you. You rush in to help people, work hard on things that you love,” The chef looks away. “and, well, in a way breaking into the fridge has made the crew smarter about safety.” He says with a sigh before looking back at the smaller man. “So if you insult yourself like this then you’re insulting all of us, Captain.” Luffy looks up at Sanji, eyes twinkling with the light inside him that had been clouded with insecurity.

____________________

“DID HE CRY!? WAS HE CRYING!?” You grip onto Sanji’s shoulders, shaking him before getting a hard kick to the stomach and falling to your knees.

“Calm down.” The chef says, annoyed. “No, he didn’t cry.” Despite the pain in your gut, that gives you solstice. “He went silent for a bit before smiling and almost suffocating me with a hug.”

“I still made him stressed, though…” Horrible, bad friend, bad crewmate.

“Stop focusing on only that part. I told you this because of what he said, what he did. Luffy is acting differently not because he thinks you’re some sort of creep that confessed to him. It’s because you’re different to him, yet left him alone.” He puts a foot on your head, talking through gritted teeth “You should know by now that leaving him alone is the worst thing you could do to him. He already hates it when anyone does it but now you do it?” It stings but not as much as your mistake.

“I didn’t know I was acting that different, I was just trying to get my mind off of it and let him forget about it too.” The faster you moved on the faster things could go back to normal. You sigh, you can’t believe you’re getting emotional advice from Sanji. He takes his foot off of your head and you stand up. Still, even if you’re different to Luffy it doesn’t mean it’s necessarily love. It could just be a special care, but that could be Luffy’s form of love. Sigh, maybe you’re just making things too complicated. You just don’t want to force him into something he doesn’t feel, making him confuse his platonic feelings for romantic ones because you gain from it. You’re not underestimating him enough to think of him as some sort of clueless baby, he’s got emotional maturity, but the things that Luffy doesn’t know about he really doesn’t know about. You have this knowledge now, about how he feels, but what now? You don’t want to force him, accidentally or not, but you also don’t know if you can just pretend you didn’t hear this. Especially when you know now how stressed it made your captain and love.

“Did you already move on?” You break from your thoughts at the sound of Sanji’s voice.

“No.. I’ve been trying to but I’ve just gotten more used to keeping myself calm around him, trying to be as platonic as I can.” However much you can be with Luffy, anyway. He’s always touchy but trying to endure that adorable behavior is too much for you to handle right now. “Thanks, Sanji.”

“You’re welcome,” He smiles. “I’ll put away the dishes so go think or something.” It immediately fades as the chef puts out his cigarette and makes a shooing motion before turning to the dishes.

‘I’m different, huh?’ You think to yourself as you leave the kitchen. While pondering you spot Luffy and Usopp fishing. On cue, the rubber man moves his hat from on his head to resting around his neck. It reminds you of what Sanji told you, about Luffy keeping his hair uncovered so you can pet it. He must’ve used his haki to check if it was you when he heard the door open. You walk over and Luffy not-so-subtly pushes his bucket of fish where you can see. Usopp, in return, pulls his bucket to be more hidden so you focus on his friend’s. What a bro. You know how he feels now, but you still end up nervous. “Nice catches, Luf.” When you speak he perks up, then looks back at you with shiny eyes. You talked to him!

“They’ll be tasty too!” He says proudly, though he looks strangely tense. You hesitate for a moment before reaching your hand down and petting the rubber man’s head. His eyes sparkle and his smile brightens as he lets out a happy “shi shi shi”, his body untensing. He doesn’t pull away, look uncomfortable, or stare at you weird. You didn’t mess up. You continue to pet him for an unknown amount of time, the both of you relishing in the feeling, before his line starts to move, pulling so hard he almost falls over the railing. You catch him by the back of his shirt, allowing him to plant his feet on the ground and start pulling.

“How huge is this thing!?” Usopp yells as he tries to help Luffy but is stopped.

“I don’t need help, I can do this!” The rubber man tells him, determined as he pulls harder. The fish struggles and struggles but is pulled up and forced out of the sea. It’s giant! The shadow looms over all over you before it flops hard onto the ship’s deck, flopping around before Luffy punches it in the head, finishing off his big catch. The star fisherman hops up onto the fish and yells with his arms in the air. “I dedicate this catch to (Y/n)!”

“To—To me!?” You point at yourself while Luffy laughs, music to your ears. This is why he was trying so hard, why he was determined to do it on his own. It was all for you. His eyes meet yours, bright and joyful as your heart thumps out of your chest. Is he courting you!? Is this courting!?

“I don’t think (Y/n) can eat all of this before it goes bad.” Chopper points out with a hoof on the fish’s scales. Sanji comes out of the kitchen and spots the fish.

“That was the rocking, I’ll have to get working on this.” He says while studying the new ingredient, but the captain shakes his head.

“I’ll do it.” He states, still determined.

“As if! You’d ruin the whole thing!”

“But I caught it for (Y/n)!” Luffy whines and Sanji looks at you.

“For him?” He puts together what’s going on and sighs. “Idiot, how do you expect him to eat it if you make it inedible. Just let me cook it.”

“No! I’ll do it!” He really isn’t relenting.

“Luffy I can’t eat this whole thing, and Sanji can cook it for everyone.” The captain still pouts. “I’ll eat most of it,” You climb up onto the fish and reach your arms out, pulling Luffy into a hug and his eyes widen. “Thank you for catching it for me, I love it.” The captain’s eyes widen and something starts to happen, his face gets hot and he can feel his heart thumping. When you pull away to talk to Sanji about the catch he still feels weird.

“???” “?” He’s dizzy, looking at his hands while confusion fills his head. What’s going on? Did pulling the fish make him tired?? Is it poisonous? But neither Sanji nor Chopper said anything about it. Weird weird weird! You feel a rush of wind as Luffy runs past you, bursting into the ship and past Robin who notices his red face before he’s gone.

“Oh my.” She says with a giggle as she walks out onto the deck.

“Whuh?” You stand there confused. Did he have to piss or something? Robin looks at you, a knowing smile on her face. It seems she doesn’t have to worry so much after all.

There you go chat, pretty gangster right? I was p stumped on it at first after getting the Sanji part done but then got some spark and kept writing. The captain's cute, right? Leave a comment about how adorable the Lufster is if you agree.

[alacants]

inspired by that ask: i guess this begs the question of what jannik is to carlos, what he sees/saw in that man that nobody else did etc like. does carlos ever resent him / their rivalry / janniks sometimes lack of reciprocity? is it complicated for carlos too? what is it about that carrot that is so compelling to someone like carlos

boy have i had a lot of thoughts about this one. presumably during that one magical night match in alicante there was tennis chemistry. as a tennis savant himself carlos can sense the It Quality in someone else. but the response, as a promising young player, to identifying  talent in another player is not by definition that you talk them up constantly for the next several years. it is not by definition to call them your one and only rival. so carlos doing so could be because of something very special about jannik himself. (for rpf purposes: love at first sight, soulbond, overwhelming thirst, you name it.) or it could be because of a more general hunger. 

namely, the hunger for someone else who gets it. a hunger which would only intensify the better you get. if you are a prodigy, no one else is going to understand your exact experience but another prodigy. (this is 1. the kiss of death for runeraz 2. juanki & carlitos bedrock. in whatever way you wish to take that.) 

hopefully it's obvious that this does not mean that's the only path to a meaningful relationship—you can take this idea, or this assumption, and go a million places with it. (what if the two of you shared the same experiences but have diametrically opposite takeaways, what happens when you stop being a prodigy and they don't, what does it mean that someone who doesn't get the experience still gets you.) but it is undeniably a very very specific experience. and it's pretty normal when you're early in the process to think, my friends and loved ones don't get it, and i really really really want someone to get it.

meanwhile, jannik has expressed, more than once, doubt about the worth of the relationships he's formed after becoming successful—he's said that he knows his old friendships are the real thing because they have nothing to do with tennis. he's said that thanks to clostebolgate he knows who his real friends are. he's experienced a rapid version of the prodigy hype/backlash cycle: this kid is a surprise talent??/this kid doesn't have it after all/grand slam vindication/doping backlash. he does not trust this environment, or most of the people in it.

i see it as: carlos has never experienced real serious negatives as a result of his talent and passion for tennis. (broad generalization but: stayed close to family, supportive and stable coaching environment, financial stability, quick and overwhelming success, no serious injuries or psychological breakdowns or reputational scandals. so far!) tennis is inarguably a good thing, and he wants more of a good thing. whereas jannik's experiences with tennis have been much more emotionally ambiguous—significant personal sacrifice leaving his family at a young age and struggling to secure finances, the choice between a close personal relationship and the professional success that would validate those sacrifices, clostebolgate. 

so one take on this is that carlos feels that tennis is more real than real life, and therefore his non-tennis loved ones are missing out on something essential, and jannik feels that tennis is less real than real life, and therefore his non-tennis loved ones are the only ones whose love he can trust. (interestingly it's probably darren and simone who are doing the most damage to this emotional barrier over the past six months. but in rpfdom carlos would sure as hell be trying haha.)

i think what i'm saying is that i really want to read the jannik/tennis slowburn, where tennis is carlos???? 

drifted pretty far from your ask here so to end on a lighter note. it has to be the tennis, because if you put aside the tennis, WITH LOVE AND LIGHT TO JANNIK, you're left with lanky floppy carrotman vs teen thirst trap machine. (i love lanky floppy carrotman. im just saying.) this is something that only further sells me on the ship, the fact that i honestly do NOT really see it but carlos apparently does. there is a thing my friend and i refer to as "seeing CarlitosVision", which is when a certain photoshoot/styling choice/video angle/trick of the light captures jannik in such a way that he looks, like, objectively hot. the difference is that jannik looks like this to carlos all the time. 

(yes jannikblrs i know that he also looks like this to you guys all the time. that is exactly the point.)

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem! Florist!Reader

Chapter Four: Poppies - Imagination

Summary: You finally get to visit Andrew at his workplace, and he discovers a not-so-new way to handle his feelings.

Word Count: 2711

Author's note: Hope you're all enjoying! Sorry again for having such a splotchy posting schedule, between holidays and getting the flu I was... preoccupied. Anyways, have a chapter of your favorite tattoo artist yearning his heart out as compensation 🖤

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @padfootblackswh0r3

fic below the cut <3

It had been three days since you had gotten coffee with him, and all Andrew could think about was you. It was getting a little concerning. Concerning to him, at least. He was a grown man, who was he to have — for lack of a better word — a crush? Let alone one he was too embarrassed to express his feelings for?

It was close to torture, but he had no right to complain. He had brought this upon himself, and he accepted it. He asked a woman, particularly one he thought was beautiful, to get coffee with him, paid for her, and still ended the whole affair with their relationship being at most friends and at the very least acquaintances. Stupid idea, and the definition of a missed opportunity. Alex had already berated him over this decision (“What do you mean you bought her coffee, just the two of you, and you didn’t even attempt to drop a hint that you like her?”). And it’s not like he didn’t torture himself over it, thoughts randomly popping up telling him what he could’ve or should’ve said or done. The regrets he had, no matter how minuscule they were, ate away at him when he had nothing else to think about. All because of a choice he made and a label he refused to give. What a way to self-sabotage.

Everything about you, from how you met to how easily your conversations flowed, was magnetic, pulling his thoughts (and him) towards you. The serendipity of it all was like he had been transported into one of those overly saccharine romantic comedy movies he would sometimes catch his mother watching. What was the term she had used once? A meet-cute?

The slight vibration of his phone in his pocket brought him back to his reality. A call from an unknown number. Usually, he would hang up, or at least ignore it. But he was in between clients, and more importantly, a little bored. So he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Y/N. From the florist.” Andrew let out a sigh of relief at the sound of your voice. “That end of the world you were warning me about last time never happened, so I had enough time to finish your bouquet.”

He chuckled at that, a lighter sound than he intended.

“That’s fantastic. Both the world not ending and the bouquet being ready.”

“Is it alright if I swing by soon?

“Yeah. I’m on my lunch break in between clients, so I’m free.”

“Perfect. See you in…” you paused, which he surmised was you mentally calculating how long it would take you to get there before continuing, “about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

He grimaced as you hung up the phone, and true to his word, he waited. His time was occupied with sketching a design for an appointment he had in a few weeks, Alex hanging around with him. Immediately, everything was put down when you walked in. Fifteen minutes later, just like you had told him, he heard the bell above the door ring. He watched as you opened the door, tightly gripping a vase containing the flowers, letting in a beam of sunlight with your entrance.

“I’ve got one order of a chrysanthemum arrangement for Andrew?” You announced, feigning not knowing who he was.

“Great, you're here. Let me take that off your hands.”

He rushed over and grabbed the bouquet from you, and in a moment he had to remember to thank the gods for later, his fingers brushed yours, making his heart rate spike so suddenly he almost had a medical issue.

God, he was pathetic.

“Thank you so much for this. You never fail to amaze me.”

“Of course. You can keep the vase, by the way. Free of charge.”

He looked down at you, his brows furrowed but a smile still on his face.

“You are physically incapable of not being nice to me, huh?”

“Please. I do this for all of my orders. You're not special,” you joked, and he scoffed in reply.

“Wow… and I thought we were friends!”

“I’m just humbling you a little. Besides, I can't let other customers think I have favorites. It's unprofessional.”

“Favorites? Plural? Do I have competition?”

“Yes. It's you and a little old lady that orders centerpieces for her dinner parties. Don't go beating her up for the top spot.”

A beat passed before a mischievous smirk came across your face.

“Though, I am a fan of a guy that would fight in my honor.”

Not being able to sense your tone, Andrew swiftly changed the topic, unsure and unwilling to think about how he'd throw a punch for you.

“So, you used flower language for this, right? What's it all mean?”

You smiled, and the way your face lit up gave him a rush, a sudden burst of butterflies in his stomach. He listened intently, despite his urges to focus on you and not the words you were saying.

“Alright, I’ll give you a quick rundown of the meanings. Chrysanthemums are joy, of course. There are some sunflowers, specifically dwarf sunflowers, because they represent pride, like how you’re proud of your work, hopefully. Orange roses for fascination. And last but not least, calla lilies for magnificence and beauty, like what you create here. Hopefully you and your colleagues like it.”

He couldn't help the incredulous laugh that cane at the end of your statement.

“Are you kidding me? It's beautiful. Of course I like it,” he reassured. You didn't verbally reply, but the new warmness of your features was all the response he needed.

He paid, making a comment along the way about how he almost left his wallet at home this morning, but caught himself: “I promise I’m not forgetful, just… all over the place.” You listened, seemingly actually invested, and took the money from him once he offered.

“Thank you. You are single-handedly keeping my small business afloat.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, both out of confusion and concern.

“Are you not doing well?”

“I mean, we're making sales, meeting the quotas we should be. Barely. But we're not exactly a hotspot anymore. It's not common for people to get flowers, and if they do they get cheap bouquets cheaply made at a grocery store or online. People these days don't bother to make an effort.”

He observed you as you thought for a moment, a pause only he could have read into. He could’ve sworn you looked him up and down, though his hopeful imagination could have tricked him. There was more optimism in your tone this time around.

“You do, though. Make an effort, I mean. I appreciate it. You might be the only guy I know that does.”

Your words were taken to heart, but he deflected your compliment, fearing he'd become too flustered if he let it linger.

“Is the bar truly that low?”

“That's not low! These days, finding a guy who tries is like winning the lottery.”

You barely gave him time to react before pulling out your phone, which had just vibrated in your pocket.He could already see the disappointment set into your features.

“Crap. I have to get back.”

He offered an understanding nod, knowing as much as he wished he could stay in this moment, reality had to set back in.

“I hate to say goodbye, but it was really nice to see you. And your place of work. Keep me posted on if the flowers help raise people’s spirits.”

“Goodbye. Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

“Quoting The Bard at me? So you’re an artist and a nerd. Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I am. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find out more soon enough. I’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye.”

The door closed behind you, leaving Andrew feeling a bit emptier now that you were no longer there. Finding the right time, Alex made his presence known again. Andrew was so focused on you he had almost forgotten he was in the room.

“So… that's the Y/N you keep talking about?”

“That's her.”

“The one you platonically took to a coffee shop?”

“The very same.”

Alex gave him a look: a squint accompanied by an oddly pensive expression, like he was trying to make the situation make sense.

“Is something the matter? Do… do you not approve?” Andrew asked. Alex replied slowly, cautiously.

“No, she seems wonderful. No complaints here. In fact, that’s the issue.”

“How so?"

“Maybe because you took a woman, an amazing one at that, on an outing that was a date in every aspect but its name. You essentially blocked yourself off from you two being romantic. It doesn’t make sense to me! How are you the same lad that would write love songs in college?”

“That was a decade ago! I’m more cautious now.”

“Oh, yeah. You're so cautious, in fact, that you started liking your florist. A woman that you've only met four times, including one time where you basically went on a date!”

Andrew felt a shame as if he had just been yelled at by a parent, though most of the sting came from the truth of his words. Only after he exhaled a deep sigh did Alex speak again.

“Listen, I don't mean to scold you. I’m only saying all this because I care about you. That being said, if you don't take this girl out sometime soon…”

“Alex!”

“I’m being serious! I was standing right there. I saw how you look at her and you're… enamored of the poor woman. If you don't do something about the way you feel— doesn't have to be soon, just eventually— then the only person that will regret it is you.”

Andrew gave a slow nod as he processed the other man's words. He hated how wise he could be sometimes.

“I… I need to find the right moment. I need to take my time.”

“Then take it. Just don't bottle up your emotions for too long. You don't handle it well. Plus, after a while of you blabbering on about the same person, it starts to get annoying.”

For the first time since you left, Andrew laughed, Alex joining in a moment afterwards.

“Alright,” he said, slapping a hand on Andrew's shoulder. “Let's get back to work.”

Andrew ruminated on his friend’s words on the drive home, his grip tightening on the wheel. As much as he hated to admit it, Alex was right; he did need to do something about what he felt for you. But he never did specify what.

It had been a while since he felt like this towards someone, so he wasn't lying when he said he needed to take his time. If he were to ever make a move on you, he would have to make sure he was certain. He didn't want to ruin your newly-labeled friendship, run the risk of throwing away something just starting, and something good. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t use an alternative method to handle these feelings.

He stepped into his flat, and for the first time in recent memory it felt… empty. Not necessarily from the absence of friends or family, just absence. The empty seats at his table, on his couch, in his bed, they almost screamed at him. He had never realized that the silence of being alone was so deafening.

What better way to fill the silence than with music?

He got straight to work, his craving to create overriding any hunger for actual food he had. Despite his own better judgement, Andrew had written down the lyric he had absentmindedly created a few days ago in his phone. He considered continuing from there, but preferred to do things the old-fashioned way. So he grabbed a pen, sat down at his kitchen table, opened his notebook, and began to write.

I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me…

He hadn’t opened himself up to this creative vulnerability in so long, so he was admittedly a little rusty. Words were crossed out, rearranged, and substituted with synonyms if the amount of syllables didn’t fit the rhythm. Eventually, after he had eased into it, it felt no different from when he sketched a stencil or tattooed a client. Oddly enough, the more he wrote and the more effort he put in, the more the lines continued to blur until he felt just as comfortable as he did at his job. Whether it be a tattoo gun or a ballpoint pen, Andrew was always in his element when he had ink.

There was also the added factor of what inspired all of this fervor to write: you. You kickstarted something in his brain, subconsciously flipping a switch. that made him more musical. Before you he would turn on the radio or shuffle his Spotify and merely admire whatever song was playing, but after you came into his life, his thoughts strayed more towards you: I could write something like this. About her.

Should he consider you his muse? He’d decide later on.

Time slipped away from him, to the point that he was shocked to look at the clock and find less than an hour had passed.

One last similarity between the two was discovered. He harbored a similar sense of pride after he had finished— or, more accurately, stopped himself after writing a verse and a chorus. Not a finished verse and chorus either, simply a rough draft to remind him how to get back into the mindset.

The only difference was the audience, or lack thereof. There was no way Andrew was letting anyone see this or even know about it. He would maybe, maybe, consider showing you one day. Even then, he could only imagine he’d want to shrivel up in a corner as you read it, or God forbid, as he sang it to you. He couldn’t dare to think about that now, even though the guitar resting against the wall in his bedroom was almost calling his name. He had to leave it there for now. He could barely handle writing for the day, let alone singing and playing. For now, he was taking baby steps.

Even if he could muster up the courage, there was no chance anything he wrote would be leaving the eyes of his friends and family. He was no poet, and no star. He already had a job that let him express himself and make meaningful pieces of art. For that, he was grateful. He could be happy with keeping the songs for himself, writing for only his own eyes, and letting what he created at his job be for the whole world.

The notebook — funny how such a small object now held a power over him — was closed and stuffed in an empty shelf space in his closet, an attempt at keeping it out of sight and out of mind. His attempt was semi-successful considering every step of the rest of his day was accompanied by the thought of it. Not the shame, just the knowledge of knowing he had written something. The shock of actually having the strength. It stuck with him until he went to bed that night, not even nearing sleep being able to offer him solace. He tossed and turned well into nightfall, until it got to the point that he was getting restless. And desperate. So he picked up his phone. To avoid simply doomscrolling until his eyes began to flutter, he found some website that detailed flower language and started to read.

He willingly went down a rabbit hole, keeping a separate tab open to search for flora he didn't recognize by name. He made mental notes of meanings he found particularly interesting. The last flower he read of before falling asleep was the poppy. It meant eternal slumber, coincidentally what he was longing for at the moment, but also imagination. It was almost perfect how poppies represented the day he had. This was his last coherent thought before he drifted off.

There was a third definition, one that also summarized his day, that Andrew’s eyes didn't stay open to read.

Oblivion.

[dorcas4meadowes]

rafe x stonergf

You made no effort to cover yourself as your sheets fell around your waist. A pleasant heaviness washing over your body after a night of too much sleep, and too much sex. Mere feet from your tousled blankets stood Rafe over your seething teapot, pulling it off of the hot plate and pouring it into a chipped mug onto the counter.

You never envisioned that Rafe Cameron, owner of the Kook domain, would be making coffee, standing pressed against the sides of your inherited caravan. Not only was it a month ago was the notion that you ceased to possess an espresso machine, let alone a drip pot, worthy of his expression to fall, but here he was settling into your fold out table with a hand made clay mug resting in his palm.

 His eyes drifted around your home in a swift movement, landing on your slumped figure as you leant across your bed to the night stand - constructed of hardback books - to lick the filter closed that edged out of your blunt.

The pressured decline of his cup against your table, caused the flick in your lighter to momentarily desist, slowing to a gentle smoke that lulled Rafe towards you. The mattress slightly dipped as he eased into your side, your hand finding the back of his neck pulling him closer to you, shattering the reflexes instilled from his childhood (stfu he’s literally a white man) . You allowed his mouth to brush against yours, your thumb pressing his lower lip downwards and diffusing the bitter smoke into his mouth.

You couldn’t suppress the usual effort of yours to hide your grin as he tried to conceal his gentle cough as a rasp, closing your eyes and taking another drag, easing the smoke out in a smile as he peppered kisses along your bare shoulder.

“I have to go,” he muttered against your neck.

“Mhm,” you hummed, his hands blindly finding yours, pressing a kiss against your content lips.

“See you at the Boneyard tonight?,” he asked, slipping off of your body.

“Maybe, gotta graft the berries, my brother is trying to get his hands on them”.

“That won’t take all day, and Barry is on the mainland,” he replied, tying his shoes.

“Hm maybe”.

He downed his coffee and kicked at your door that only opens with a harsh budge, leaving without another glance in your direction.

୨୧

Your blade ran underneath the stem of the strawberry sapling, intertwining it with the cannabis stalk, hooking them together with a clip. Sweat beads formed along your forehead, and dripped towards the soil beneath your feet, the warmth making staying within the confines of your greenhouse an unbearable task. The screech of the glass door welcomed escape.

“Thought you were in the Mainland,” you responded, your eyes drifting against your brother's dirty clothes and messy hair.

“Things have a way of working out,” Barry replied, plucking a berry from the bushes and spitting the top onto the floor. You pursed your lips and stood from your squatted position and ushered him out of the house and closed the door behind you.

“Look I need a favour,” he was almost asking, but he never did, “I need you to do the rounds for me tonight, i -,” he finished his sentence short and looked for your assurance.

You rolled your eyes and abruptly noticed the spare bike parked beside your brothers. You knew who it was, but questioned it anyway.

“Who’d you bring?”

“Cameron,” Barry yelled, the blonde seamlessly appearing from out of your eyeline.

“This is my sister,” he nodded towards you, “make sure she gets to the yard tonight”.

“Yeah,” he said lowly, turning to you, "Rafe Cameron and you are?”

“Not impressed”.

୨୧

requests are open lovelies <3

[queen-penelope-of-ithaca]

I wrote WYFILWMA from my own perspective, it might be a tad repetitive and advice would be appreciated, but here's my little short 'story' of sorts :)

And there he was.

There is nothing in the room, nothing in the palace, nothing in the world other than him and I in this moment. It must've only been a minute since he'd left for war. Maybe he was coming back to grab his bow.

In that instant, twenty years of pain- two decades of sorrow and longing- faded quicker than I could blink.

"Is it you?"

He looked up. Those eyes. Gods, those love-filled eyes. They hadn't aged a day.

"Have my prayers been answered? Is it really you standing there?"

It couldn't be. My mind- my heart- my very essence- had paused in true and utter disbeleif.

"Or am I dreaming once more?"

That must be it. I had dreamt of our reunion for nearly twenty years. I must be within one of those bittersweet reveries.

But no. Something was different.

"You look different- your eyes look tired. Your frame is lighter, your smile torn,"

His face softens, holding a gentleness only a man who knew true cruelty could express.

This was no dream.

"Is it really you, my love?"

He sighed. Such a simple, gentle sound- but that soft sigh, that small exhale, my entire being had yearned for small little things like that for longer than I bothered to remember.

"I am not the man you fell in love with,"

But he was- the same honey-like eyes. The same soft brown hair I used to run my fingers through. His hair was longer now- tousled and salt-blown from years on the sea.

"I am not the man you once adored,"

Once adored? What was he talking about? There was not a minute of my day, waking or resting, where I had not yearned for this man. There was no 'once adored'.

"I am not your kind and gentle husband,"

And yet, yet, his voice was ever so soft. He turned. He avoided my gaze. This man, my husband, avoiding my gaze. I'd never seen such an action from him, in all my time.

"And I am not the love you knew before,"

This bastard. I wait for him, wait for his arrival, I hold out on sheer hope and faith that he will return to me one day- and when he does, he dares tell me that he is no longer my love? It was all I could do to keep from scoffing aloud.

"Would you fall in love with me again?"

And there it was. He believes- he thinks, in that ever-so-quick mind of his- that I had ever even considered moving on from him. My eyes narrowed momentarily, but I remained silent.

"If you knew all I've done?"

My head tilted. What did he mean? What, upon this gods-forsaken earth, could possibly sway my devotion for this man?

"The things I cannot change- would you love me all the same?

I know that you've been waiting- waiting for love,"

I sighed. Maybe he truly had done something I might find reprehensible. No matter how much doubt weighed in my stomach, the question made its way out of my lips.

"What kinds of things did you do?"

He looked back up at me. His eyes, his soft eyes, held so much sorrow. Shame was eating at him from the inside out.

"Left a trail of red on every island-

Traded friends like objects I could use,"

Ah. So that was the fate of his fleet. For a moment, I considered how Ctimene might react- but, my sister-in-law was my lowest concern in this moment.

"Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands- and all of that was to bring me back to you,"

I knew it. Nothing he had done could waver my adoration, my steadfast affections- he was dumb to think so.

"So tell me, would you fall in love with me again? If you knew all I've done-"

I knew what he'd done. Or some shortened version of it- and nothing in my heart had changed. Staring into the face of love himself, I could never care this way for another.

"The things I can't undo- I am not the man you knew- I know that you've been waiting, waiting-"

He knew nothing of my wait, if he truly believed I could possibly deny him, or his loving embrace. It had been near impossible not to wrap my arms around him the moment he entered the room. But-

Patience was a virtue I had much of.

"If that's true- could you do me a favor, just a moment of labor-"

If he held such an idiotic belief, such as that I might no longer wish to love him- I would ask him a question of equal stupidity.

"That would bring me some peace.

See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over- lift it high on your shoulders- and take it far away from here!"

I watched the change in his face. The hurt. The anger. The complete shock. Good. He knew some of how I had felt when he questioned my vow of lifelong devotion.

"How could you say this? I had built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat,"

I know. I know that. And I had waited twenty years with unfaltering hope for his return- I knew what that blood and sweat devotion felt like.

"Carved it into the olive tree where we first met! A symbol of our love, everlasting-"

He was so close to the point- but he managed to miss it each time. God, this man. Prodigy of Athena, huh?

I guess it never stopped me from loving him, did it?

"Do you realize WHAT YOU HAVE ASKED ME?"

I didn't react to his tone. He was upset- a man torn by war and sea, a man who had fought tooth and nail to return home to me and our son. And yet, he beleived I'd dare deny him the love that I, too, craved so deeply.

"The only way to move it is to cut it FROM ITS ROOTS!"

Finally, at long last, he had reached my point.

"Only my husband knew that, SO I GUESS THAT MAKES HIM YOU!"

He appeared taken aback- his anger rapidly dissipated, replaced by that characteristic softness I was so fond of.

"....Penelope...."

Gods, how I had longed to hear my name from him, just once more. The nights I'd spent crying to Aphrodite to return my love to me, just so I can hear him speak, just so I can hear his voice, just one more time- all of that was granted, every sleepless prayer, every offering I'd burnt in desperation- my decades-long sorrow ended in this moment.

"I will fall in love with you, over and over again- I don't care how, where, when- no matter how long it's been, you're MINE,"

He stepped closer. I could see the little nick-scars on his face- marks that I was certain hadn't been present twenty years prior. Marks that made him look so ethereal, so unreal, so divine.

"Don't tell me you're not the same person- you're always my husband, and I've been waiting-"

And oh, how long I had waited. How many days had I stared at the beaches of my island, hoping I might see the speck of a ship on the horizon, or walking my palace halls just hoping to hear his joy-filled laughter lighting up the halls again.

"Waiting-"

Tears pool in his eyes. I knew they were flowing from mine just as freely. I didn't bother to wipe them away.

"Penelope-"

This day, this holy day, every single crevasse and crack that had dug its way into my heart over the past two decades sealed itself closed, healed with the very words leaving the man's lips.

"Waiting, waiting-"

He had said something. I couldn't hear him over my own wails of what felt like all-consuming, disbelieving joy.

"Waiting, waiting, waiting-

Oh, for you,"

His arms wrapped around me. Those arms, so strong and worn. He hid his tears in my shoulder as I wept openly, holding him as close to me as I could manage, as if I feared he might be whisked away with a moment's notice.

"How long has it been?"

I finally managed to croak the question to him. It felt like no time in the world had passed. Maybe we were still young and in love, maybe I'd just awoken from a nightmare and he was comforting me so softly.

"Twenty years,"

It didn't matter. Not a moment of my life had been spent without his presence. I would never, never leave this man. Not in my life, nor in my death. I would hold him in his sickest days, tolerate him at his most temperamental, hold him as he sobbed- just as I had all those years ago. Nothing- not one ounce of my love- had seeped away.

"I love you,"

Odysseus, Reigning King of Ithaca, Father of the brave prince Telemachus, General of the Trojan war, protégé of the wise and bold goddess Athena, Slayer of the Kalydonian Boar- he was all of those things, yes- but at this moment, he was my husband.