#like him calling the hardwood bed a waste was out of line i think but their marriage seems p solid overall | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hrina · 3 years ago

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Be Sweet, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M (minors dni!) WORD COUNT: 6k

hey everyone! here's part one of my new enemies-to-lovers series :) this fic will be five parts in total, but i'm only posting the first part on tumblr. you'll be able to read the rest of it on patreon if you wanna sign up!

as always, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated. i love hearing your thoughts! enjoy.

~*~

August 27th, 2021

“Who’s opening tomorrow?”

Ella scrubs a wet rag across the table closest to the door. You cast a furtive glance up at her, flipping absentmindedly through the jumble of papers on the counter in front of you. Nick’s messy scrawl catches your eye, and you pause, reading the haphazard comment written at the bottom of the page.

Customer requested a very specific shade of pink trim. See back for details.

You flip the order, scoffing at the Pantone strip taped to the other side. The square labelled Quartz Pink has been singled out, encircled in bright red. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Alice and Olly, I think,” you say, shoving the form to the bottom of the pile.

“That’s good,” Ella grunts, returning the napkin holder and the sugar dispenser back to their spots on the table. “And you’ll swing by sometime during the afternoon?”

“Yeah,” you say, drumming your fingers over the papers. “I’m gonna help Olly in the back. You know how much he hates dealing with fondant.”

“How could I forget?” Ella rolls her eyes, smiling to herself. You grimace when she tosses the damp cloth in your direction. It lands on the counter with a loud splat! You nudge it away with your elbow, shaking your head.

“Gross.”

“You’re gross,” Ella says.

“I’m lovely,” you reply. She grins.

“Where’s Alex taking you tonight?” you ask, changing the subject. Her eyes light up instantly, and she clasps her hands together against her chest.

“It’s a surprise,” she says, giggling girlishly.

You groan. “I hate surprises.”

“It’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend, then, isn’t it?” she retorts. You snicker, and she continues: “He told me we should stop off at home to change, though, so I’m guessing that wherever it is, there’s a dress code.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

“Right?” She twists her wrist, peeking at her watch. “He should have been here by now. It’s already a quarter past seven.”

“The hospital is just down the street,” you remind her, organising the mountain of orders into a neat stack. “Give him another five minutes.”

She nods. You spin on your heel and push through the door leading to the backroom of the bakery. The large space is split into two sections: on your right, there’s a wall of ovens, and a cluster of metal racks filled with pale, unprocessed dough. On your left, tables and counters lined with all sorts of decorating necessities—piping bags, spatulas, scrapers, turntables. You make your way toward the small cabinet perched against the nearest wall and pull out the top drawer, sliding the orders inside. Olly should have no trouble locating them tomorrow morning.

When you return to the front of the shop, Ella is locked in a passionate embrace with a gangly, dark-haired man. You recognise him immediately.

“Doctor Dao,” you call out, resting your elbows on the counter. “Did you at least wash your hands before putting them all over my best friend?”

Alex and Ella break apart swiftly, but he keeps one arm wrapped around her waist. “Hey, cookie,” he says, flashing you an apologetic grin. “Didn’t see you there.”

You arch one brow, lips curling into an amused smirk. “I’ll say.”

Only then do you catch sight of the other man lingering by the door, and your smile quickly morphs into an irritated frown. Harry is watching you with twinkling eyes, like he knows the effect his presence has on you. How could he not? You don’t try to hide your disdain, especially when it comes to him.

“Harry,” you say curtly, lifting your chin in stubborn acknowledgement.

He brings two fingers to his temple—a mock-salute. “Sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw. God, he makes your blood boil. Rather than responding, you turn back to Alex, who is now smoothing his palms over Ella’s silky brown hair. “You’re late,” you tell him. “You were supposed to be here when we closed.”

“Sorry, cookie,” Alex says, and he sounds like he means it. “My last surgery of the day had a few…complications.”

You purse your lips as the annoyance melts away. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods, blowing out a heavy breath. He looks tired. “We figured it out.”

“That’s good.”

Alex directs his attention back to Ella, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Just let me grab my bag.”

“Cool,” he says. “You don’t mind if we drop Harry off at his place, right? His car is fucked, apparently.”

Ella’s grey eyes widen. She peers over her boyfriend’s shoulder at Harry. “What happened?”

Harry waves away her concerns, chuckling quietly. He tugs on the collar of his blue scrubs, and you can’t stop your gaze from trailing across the plethora of tattoos inked into his arm. Your nose wrinkles at the sight. He looks ridiculous. What kind of doctor would agree to don such outrageous body art?

“He’s being dramatic,” Harry says, shooting Alex a pointed glare. “My car’s at the shop right now, but I’ll have it back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“Oh.” Ella relaxes. “Okay, that’s great. Babe—” She turns to Alex. “—when are our reservations?”

“Eight-thirty,” Alex says. “Plenty of time.”

“Awesome,” she chirps. She scurries around the counter and playfully bumps her hip against yours. “My purse is in the back. Give me one second.”

And then she’s gone.

You stare at Alex, fighting a clever smile. “Tonight’s the night, huh?” you murmur, quiet enough so that there’s no chance of Ella overhearing.

He beams, shouldering his knapsack and dragging his sweaty palms down the front of his shirt. His scrubs are a light purple, you note. The shade compliments his dark skin.

“Yeah,” he replies, gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip. “She’ll say yes, right?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “Of course she will.”

Just then, Ella bursts through the door, her leather purse swinging wildly against her waist. “Alright!” She claps once, striding over to you and planting a wet, sloppy kiss onto your cheek. “I’m off.”

“Bye,” you say, wiping her saliva from your face with the back of your hand. “Have fun.”

Alex waves at you as she tugs him out of the bakery. “See you later, cookie.”

You wink. “See you.”

Harry is the last one to leave. He glances at you momentarily, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smug smile. The look makes you bristle. He’s absolutely infuriating.

“Got any leftover almond croissants?” he asks. Silent laughter taints every word.

You point to the exit. “Get out.”

He bows his chin in farewell, approaching the door. “Sweetheart.”

“Asshole,” you reply flatly. Now that your friends are out of earshot, you’re under no obligation to tolerate him. Sometimes, you find yourself actually craving his company, just so you can drop the pretence and really give him a piece of your mind. You’re a mature adult, and you won’t ruin a social gathering because of one presumptuous dickhead, but everyone has their limits. You don’t owe him shit.

Harry chuckles to himself, and you clench your fists at your sides. He shoots you one last maddening smirk before disappearing out the door. You rush forward, latching it swiftly and ensuring that the sign against the glass reads ‘CLOSED’. Once you’ve successfully locked up, you march into the back of the shop, plucking your own purse off one of the metal counters and tugging it over your shoulder. You shut the light and return to the front, scanning the clean tables, the empty display cases, the shades drawn over the windows. Shards of the sunset stream through the cracks in the blinds, casting orange stripes along the floor.

All clear, a voice in your head whispers, and you sigh.

Finally—you can go home.

August 28th, 2021

Quick, frantic knocking rouses you from your sleep. Blearily, you sit up on the mattress, knuckling at your puffy eyes. The hardwood floor is cold against the soles of your feet when you climb out of bed. You shiver.

The insistent clamour continues as you pad down the hallway. You tug at the hem of your worn, baggy t-shirt, concealing your midriff. Ella wastes no time after you open the front door, surging past the threshold and vaulting herself into your arms.

“He proposed!” she squeals as the two of you stagger backward. You freeze, remembering Alex’s plans from the day before. His apprehension, too—the way he wiped his clammy palms against his scrubs and anxiously dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Shock ebbs and flows through your veins for a fraction of a second, but then you’re sweeping Ella into a tight hug, rocking your bodies from side to side.

“Oh my God,” you say. Excitement festers beneath the murky exhaustion clouding your mind. “He did it.”

Ella steps back, brows knitting together in bewilderment. “You knew?” When you nod, she scoffs, aiming a half-hearted swat at your bicep. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” you retort, rolling your eyes at the demand. “Come on. Let’s see it.”

A bright grin stretches across her lips, and she holds up her left hand, wiggling her fingers keenly. You spy the ring resting on the fourth digit: a simple platinum band topped with a large, clear diamond. Grey morning light bounces off the gemstone, and it winks at you as if it knows something that you don’t.

“Gorgeous,” you breathe, gripping Ella’s wrist to bring her hand closer. You scrutinize the ring carefully, smiling to yourself. “He’s got good taste.”

“Doesn’t he?” she gushes, beaming like an idiot. You beckon her into the kitchen, and she collapses onto one of the tall stools positioned in front of the marble island. A quick glance at the digital clock on the stove reveals that it’s only eight in the morning. You groan, rubbing gentle circles against your temples.

“I was hoping I’d get to sleep in today,” you say, lips curling into a wry smirk.

Ella shoots you a sheepish, apologetic smile, sliding her purse off her shoulder and placing it on the counter. “I’m sorry, cookie. I couldn’t wait.”

“I’m just kidding,” you tell her, floating around the room to prepare a pot of coffee. “So…how did he do it?”

She launches into a frenzied retelling of the night before. Alex brought her to the same restaurant they’d visited four years ago on their first date. They ordered their food and made conversation. Things proceeded as usual until the end of the meal, at which point Alex set his napkin down on the table and excused himself to the restroom. Two minutes later, the waiter arrived with the bill. Ella accepted it graciously, scanning the thin paper and pausing at the question scrawled at the very bottom of the slip. When she snapped her head up, searching for her boyfriend in the crowded dining area, she found him kneeling a few feet away from her chair, a small velvet box nestled securely in his steady hands.

“I started crying immediately,” she tells you, groaning at the memory. “I couldn’t keep it together. It was so embarrassing.”

You toss your head back and laugh. Despite the crimson blush staining her cheeks, she joins in. The coffeemaker beeps, signalling that the pot is ready. You fetch two mugs from the cupboard and fill them with dark liquid. Ella accepts her drink eagerly, blowing cool air across its surface. You grimace as she takes a tentative sip—you’ve never understood her penchant for unsweetened black coffee. Sugar and cream are a must.

“I’m so happy for you, El,” you tell her, stirring a small spoon around your mug. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”

Her eyes grow damp. You snicker quietly, reaching across the island and swiping your thumb beneath her bottom lashes. She catches your hand and kisses your knuckles softly, clearing her throat.

“Will you—?” She releases a shuddering breath. “Will you be my maid of honour?”

You stiffen at her request. Her gaze rakes over your face, like she’s searching for any clue as to how you might respond. At last, your shoulders sag in relief, and an ecstatic smile splits across your cheeks.

“Of course,” you say, voice thick. Tears gather in your own eyes, but you blink them back furiously. “I would love nothing more.”

She sets her coffee down and skirts around the counter, yanking you into another bone-crushing hug. You grin as she presses a handful of sloppy kisses to the side of your head. Her elbow knocks against your abandoned mug, and a few drops of coffee spill down the side of the cup. You laugh at her enthusiasm, pulling back and sweeping your hands over her silky hair.

“It’s probably way too soon, but have you guys started discussing anything?” you ask, arching one eyebrow.

Ella flushes pink, averting her gaze. “Um…when we got home, there wasn’t really much of a discussion going on.”

You cackle, poking at her ribs. “Oh, he gave it to you good, didn’t he? It’s a miracle that you’re not limping right now.”

“Be quiet,” she yelps, stamping her eyes shut.

You lift your hands and shoot her a teasing smirk. “I’m not judging, okay? If anything, I’m living vicariously through your various sexual conquests. It’s been months since I last got any action.”

“Maybe that should change,” Ella says, folding her arms over her chest. “You and Harry could probably fuck out your frustrations. His dick is huge, apparently.”

You balk. “Ella!”

She shrugs, grey eyes widening comically. “What? Alex told me!”

You snort, but say nothing. She watches you cautiously, examining your features for any signs of acquiescence. Any indication that you might actually be considering her lewd suggestion. You almost gag.

“Why do you hate him so much, anyway?” Ella asks, flicking an invisible speck of lint off her shoulder. “You’re not still hung up on that fiasco with the almond croissant, are you?”

“I’m not doing this with you again,” you say, and she sighs.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But can you at least try to be civil while we plan the wedding? For my sake.”

After mulling over her words, you slouch in defeat. “Fine. But only for you,” you say, throwing a stern finger in her face.

She beams. “Thank you.” Something dirty flashes behind her pale eyes. “And if you do end up sleeping with him, I want all the details.”

You shove her gently and scoff. She laughs.

“Honestly,” you start, shaking your head, “it doesn’t matter how huge his dick is. I’d rather walk across hot coals than let somebody like him climb into my bed.”

“What makes you think it wouldn’t be the other way around?” Ella snickers. You glare at her, but she just steps back, raising her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, fine. Have it your way. But I’m expecting you to find someone in time for the big day. Don’t let your plus-one go to waste.”

You roll your eyes, thoroughly unconvinced. “Noted.”

September 2nd, 2021

“Olly!” you call, sticking your head into the backroom. “Ella and I are going on our lunch break, but Leyla will be here in, like, twenty minutes. You going to be okay by yourself until then?”

Olly doesn’t even bother looking over his shoulder, too busy piping little flowers along the sides of the rectangular cake laid out in front of him. He lifts one hand, waving away your concerns before running his palm over his short blue hair. He buzzed and dyed it just last week after claiming that he couldn’t stand how the long brown curls stuck to the nape of his neck. It took a few days to get used to the change, but now that the initial shock has faded, you have to admit that he looks great.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Olly says, putting the finishing touches on the cake. He sets his piping bag down and turns toward you, wiping his palms against his red apron. His left ear bears a swirl of shiny silver piercings. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Thanks,” you say, flashing him a small smile. He returns it, and then you’re spinning on your heel and letting the door swing shut behind you.

You find Ella waiting outside the bakery. She urges you along, and you squawk at her impatience.

“What’s the rush?” you ask, falling into step with her as you both amble down the sidewalk. “We have forty-five minutes.”

“I don’t want Alex’s sandwich to get cold,” she explains, holding up the small paper bag clutched in her right hand. You snort.

The two of you make it to Ridgefield Hospital in record time, mostly because Ella grips your arm and gives it a forceful tug whenever you start lagging behind. You walk through the automatic doors, ignoring the row of ambulances parked outside. The secretaries sitting at the front desk shoot you a few distracted smiles—they’ve all grown accustomed to your frequent visits by now.

Ella babbles endlessly as you enter the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor and waiting as the metal doors slide shut.

“I want to ask Alice and Leyla to be part of the bridal party, but I’m scared the guys will feel bad if Alex doesn’t choose them as his groomsmen. Like, I think they’d understand, considering I work with the girls and we’re all pretty close, but I don’t know.” She nudges you with her elbow. “What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever the fuck you want,” you tell her, shrugging. “It’s your wedding. And I don’t think Olly, Marcus, or Nick will mind if they’re not part of the bridal party. Olly doesn’t care about that stuff, and Marcus and Nick already have their hands full with their jobs at the bakery. Plus, they know Alex has his own friends—not just the ones he’s met through you.”

Ella nibbles on her bottom lip, her head bobbing in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You lay a placid hand on her shoulder. “You’re already overthinking this. You’ve only been engaged for a week. Enjoy it.”

She shoots you a grateful smile just as the elevator dings and the doors glide open, and the two of you step out onto the hospital’s paediatric floor. It’s a stark contrast to the other sections of the building. Instead of barren white walls, these ones are painted with all sorts of pretty, colourful decorations—flowers, rainbows, sunsets, animals. A massive sign in front of you denotes the different divisions on the floor and where to find them: the ICU, the operating rooms, the palliative unit, the psychiatry wing, and the oncology department. You and Ella turn right, making the familiar trek to Alex’s office.

“He should be on his lunch break, too,” she says. “Unless they paged him for another emergency surgery.”

You hum in response.

Sure enough, you find Alex at his desk, twirling a blue pen between his fingers as he pores over the stack of papers in front of him. Ella knocks gently against the open door, and his face lights up when he spies her standing in the threshold. He moves quickly, crossing the room in five long strides, and plants a searing kiss onto her lips. You look away, rocking awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs after he and Ella break apart. That’s when he notices you behind her. “Hey, cookie.”

“Hey,” you reply. You toss your thumb over your shoulder. “I’m just going to—you know, the usual.”

He nods.

The last thing you see before you turn around is Ella holding up the brown paper bag, and Alex’s face splitting into a bright, easy smile.

You meander through the halls, trailing your fingers over the rich artwork covering the walls. The end of the corridor cleaves in two; you turn left and enter a large atrium. The ceiling is high and peppered with skylights. A small cafeteria sits off to the side, clusters of families chatting and laughing together as they eat. Children sprint around the space, their arms outstretched. Some of them are dressed in normal clothes—others don pale hospital gowns, their skinny legs bared for all to see. You wrench your attention away from them, fixing it instead on the far wall.

Slowly, you cross the room, surveying the vibrant handprints stamped against the plaster. There has to be hundreds of them, you think. They vary in size—some are so tiny you could cry. Colour becomes scarcer the higher you go—the youngest children are too short to reach those levels, obviously—but still. The sight takes your breath away. You visit this mural every time you find yourself at the hospital, and every time, you unearth a new detail that you hadn’t noticed before.

You walk along the length of the wall, dragging your fingertips across the dry, smooth paint. Purples and pinks and oranges and blues. Reds, greens, yellows, browns. Each handprint is a person—a pair of little feet that scuffled over this very floor, a blank story that had yet to unfold. Briefly, you wonder how many survived whatever illnesses plagued them, and how many succumbed to their conditions. The thought makes your throat grow tight with emotion, so you quickly shove it aside.

Ten minutes pass before you’re leaving the mural behind and heading back the way you came. You’ve just rounded the corner when a strong, solid body barrels into you. You grunt at the impact, smacking one palm against the wall to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you start, lifting your head to meet the stranger’s gaze. “I wasn’t paying—oh.”

Harry smirks, his green eyes glittering with mirth once he recognises you. You purse your lips, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Harry,” you say, nodding stiffly.

He folds his arms over his chest. “Sweetheart.”

His brown hair is tousled, and his biceps strain against the white button-up adorning his torso. Black slacks cover his legs, and he’s wearing a pair of pristine leather shoes, ones that look like they might’ve cost a month’s worth of rent. Your teeth grate together noisily. The sound echoes in your ears.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, as though the two of you are old friends. You want to scoff—you’d rather stick your hand in an oven than make idle conversation with him.

“Visiting Alex,” you say tightly, stepping back. “Ella brought him lunch.”

At that, Harry straightens. “Ella’s here?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I’d run into her,” he murmurs, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

You throw him a scowl. “Asshole.”

Harry cocks one eyebrow, tilting his chin haughtily. “Forgive me if I prefer her company to yours. At least she doesn’t treat me like I’m some insufferable bastard.”

“Maybe if you stopped being such an insufferable bastard, I wouldn’t treat you like one,” you shoot back, planting your hands on your hips. You tense as Harry’s gaze rakes down your body—head to toe, like he’s sizing up an opponent. His nose wrinkles in disdain, and you fight the urge to deliver a sharp, backhanded slap across that pretty, perfect face.

Harry opens his mouth, and you brace yourself for whatever retort he has prepared. What comes out is nothing overtly nasty, but it is enough to make you want to shrink away and curl into yourself until you wink out of existence.

“You smell like yeast,” he says, and tosses in a derisive sniff just for the added effect.

You recoil as the words slam into you, blinking in shock.

Asshole. Rude, arrogant, condescending asshole.

“I own a bakery,” you grit out. Harry shrugs, but says nothing else. Your lips flap wordlessly as he pushes past you, his shoulder bumping against yours. You watch him go, massaging the tender spot on your arm with shaky fingers. Your eyes fall to his ass for only a moment before skittering away, and a hollow laugh catches in your throat.

What a fucking prick.

September 17th, 2021

“Attention, everyone!” Ella stands at the head of the table, clinking her fork delicately against her glass. “I wanted to make a little toast.”

The conversation around you tapers off into silence. You sit back in your chair, focussing on your best friend. She looks splendid in her pretty blue dress, her dark hair twisted into an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck. She peers around the room, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek. When her gaze locks with yours, you grant her a tiny, encouraging nod.

She beams, her next words imbued with renewed enthusiasm. “I wanted to thank all of you for coming here tonight to celebrate our engagement with us.” She holds out her hand, and Alex presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “We’re so grateful to be sharing this milestone with such a wonderful group of people.”

You inspect the other guests gathered around the table. To your right sit Alice and Leyla, the first employees you hired when you were trying to get your business up off the ground. It’s odd seeing them like this—poised and elegant, looking nothing at all like they do during the long, arduous shifts at the bakery. Alice’s blond hair has been fashioned into an intricate braid, and Leyla’s brown eyes are lined with dark kohl and smoky eyeshadow. They clean up nice, you must admit.

Next to Leyla: Ella’s older sister, Hillary. They have the same piercing grey eyes, though Hillary’s hair is a shade lighter. You didn’t miss the sour expression that trundled across her face when you waltzed into Alex and Ella’s condo. She’s jealous, you think. Jealous that Ella chose you as her maid of honour instead of her. You’ve been ignoring her resentful glares for the better half of the night, letting her bitterness pass over you like a cloud. Whatever her problem is, it’s clear that the issue lies between her and her sister. You’re not getting in the middle of that.

It doesn’t help that she’s been fawning over Harry all evening. Upon witnessing her coquettish behaviour, you glanced at Ella, brows raised, but your best friend just rolled her eyes and yielded a helpless shrug of her shoulders. At least the attraction didn’t appear to be one-sided—that would have been humiliating, you think—because Harry gave as good as he got, chuckling sincerely and flirting right back. You had to suppress the urge to retch, and sent out a quiet prayer of gratitude when Ella and Alex sat them as far away from each other as possible at the beginning of the meal.

On the opposite side of the table: Alex’s groomsmen—Milo, Sasha, and Connor. You’ve been in their company a few times, mainly on birthdays and other special occasions. According to Alex, they all met when Milo accidentally vomited during their very first anatomy lesson at medical school. Milo insists that the putrid smell of the cadavers was simply too awful to bear, but everyone else claims that he just couldn’t stand the idea of being so close to a dead body. No matter the truth, the story always makes you giggle. The four of them have been good friends ever since.

The five of them, you remind yourself as your gaze settles on Harry, who is lounging in the chair directly across from you.

Harry—Alex’s best friend. Harry—Alex’s best man.

You wanted to rip your hair from your scalp when Ella broke the news. Several images flashed through your head all at once. You and Harry inching rigidly down the aisle, arms linked. You and Harry donning the same colours, your gown complimenting the spry flower pinned to the lapel of his suit. You and Harry flanking Ella and Alex while they recite their vows, glaring daggers at each other behind your friends’ backs. Even now, the mere thought of it has you biting down on an exasperated groan.

You don’t realise that you’ve zoned out until the faint quirk of Harry’s mouth catches your eye. You blink once to yank yourself from your daze, and clench your jaw when you find him staring at you with an amused look on his face. He places his elbows against the arms of the chair and clasps his hands together. Unmistakable smugness emanates from him, as if he somehow managed to crawl inside your mind and saw exactly what you were envisioning. Your nostrils flare, and you fix your attention back on Ella, who has reached the end of her speech.

“Cheers,” she says, holding up her glass. The champagne inside sloshes and fizzles temptingly. Would she allow you to chug the entire bottle, if you asked?

Everyone around the table mirrors her movements, raising their own drinks and touching them together lightly. Quiet, delicate clanking fills the room, and the friendly chatter resumes. You nudge Ella with your elbow, shooting her a proud smile. “That was great, El.”

She beams. “Thanks, cookie.” She then picks up her fork and motions to the plate in front of her, piled high with seasoned chicken and steaming, roasted vegetables. “Let’s eat.”

~*~

“Are you sure you’ve got him?” Alex asks Sasha, gesturing to the very inebriated Connor wobbling at his side.

Sasha wraps one arm around their friend, letting Connor rest his full weight against him. He bares two rows of perfect ivory teeth, flashing a wicked grin. “Yeah. Besides, I’ve been meaning to pay him back for the shit he pulled at the barbecue last month. There’s a Sharpie in my car.”

“You’re going to draw a dick on his face, aren’t you?” Alex muses.

“Obviously.”

With that, Alex bids them both farewell, shutting the door and heaving a dramatic sigh. Ella approaches him after a moment, hooking her chin over his shoulder and murmuring something indiscernible into his ear. He chuckles softly.

“Didn’t peg you as the voyeur type, sweetheart,” a low voice says from behind you.

You jump, whirling around and coming face-to-face with Harry. He’s got a green washcloth slung over his left shoulder—the shade brings out his eyes, a traitorous voice in your head whispers—and his arms are folded neatly across his chest. Your gaze falls to the collar of his black button-up, where he’s undone the first two discs, leaving his sternum exposed. Tendrils of ink peek out from beneath the dark material.

You frown and take a step back, putting distance between your bodies. “You’re such an asshole.”

“So I’ve heard.” His lips twitch, and he rolls up his sleeves. “Now, if you’re done ogling them like a lovestruck puppy, I could use some help in the kitchen.”

You grit your teeth, but follow him into the other room. Harry grabs the rag hanging over his shoulder and holds it out for you. You snatch it from his fingers without a word, and the two of you take up residence in front of the sink. Harry plunges his hands into the soapy water, rinsing the dishes thoroughly before passing them to you. You stand as far away from him as possible while you dry each plate, your movements stiff and choppy. This is not how you wanted to finish off the night, but Alex and Ella spent the entire day preparing the food, and it was delicious. The least you can do is spare them the hassle of tidying up.

The tense silence eats at you, until you feel like you might explode. Unable to bear it any longer, you hastily blurt, “Saw you getting pretty cozy with Hillary before dinner.”

Immediately, you want to kick yourself. Where the fuck did that come from?

Harry snorts, shrugging coolly. “We’ve hooked up a few times, but it’s nothing serious.” He shoots you a mischievous grin. “You jealous?”

“Of Hillary?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please. The woman’s standards are practically underground. Why else would she be interested in someone like you?”

Harry scowls, and hot satisfaction surges through your veins. Yes, the taunt was mean, but no, you don’t care. “You’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?” he says.

You flash him a petty, insincere smile. “Only to you.”

He squeezes the yellow sponge nestled in his right hand, scrubbing it forcefully across a dirty plate. “Maybe you should find someone to hook up with. It might help get that stick out of your ass.”

“I have better things to do,” you sneer, narrowing your eyes.

“Better than sex?” He chokes on a derisive laugh.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like…things!” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists. “I run my own business, for God’s sake. And I’m going to make Ella’s wedding cake.” You announce the last part proudly, hauling your chin into the air.

Harry, however, looks unimpressed. He shakes his head, blowing out a heavy sigh. “Uh-oh.”

You pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs again, but you detect a hint of malice behind the action. “It’s just…I’ve seen the way you decorate cakes. Ella might be better off going elsewhere—you know, to an actual professional.”

Son of a—

“That’s rich, coming from you,” you say, motioning to the mismatched tattoos littered across his arm. “What would you know about professionalism? It looks like you let a preschooler doodle all over you.”

Harry bares his teeth in a feral grin. “Deflection. I’m not surprised.”

You bristle at his words. “Asshole.”

“You’ll need to get a bit more creative with the insults, sweetheart. I’m growing bored.”

“Is that so?” you say. “I think ‘asshole’ suits you just fine. Maybe you should have become a proctologist instead of a paediatrician.”

“At least I pursued something I was good at. I’m not sure if you can say the same.”

“You fucking—”

“Everything okay in here?” Ella asks, floating into the kitchen. You spin around to conceal your anger, placing your hands against the counter and inhaling deeply. You roll your shoulders back and slap an artificial smile onto your face before turning once more.

“Everything’s fine,” you say, and fake a yawn, covering your mouth with your palm. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m exhausted.”

Ella’s bottom lip juts out into a pout. Her red lipstick has faded, leaving only a stain of scarlet in its wake. On cue, Alex walks into the kitchen behind her, setting a steady hand on her hip and cocking his head to the side. “Hey. Everything okay in here?”

You nearly snort. Fucking soulmates.

“All good,” you tell him, nodding brusquely. “I’m just going to finish up with the dishes and head home.”

“Okay.” Alex presses a soft kiss to Ella’s temple, murmuring something about needing to get out of his stuffy clothes. You whirl, drying the last of the plates with frantic, shaky fingers. In your peripheral vision, you spy Harry watching you, but the stupid bastard must possess some scrap of self-preservation, because he keeps his mouth shut. You say nothing else as you whack the rag down onto the counter and stride out of the room.

You don’t miss Alex and Ella’s hushed whispers at the other end of the hall, but a little voice in your head tells you not to interrupt them. You halt at the front door, snatching your purse off one of the metal hooks mounted on the wall. You’re in the middle of putting on your shoes when you hear it:

“I was hoping we could arrange a truce, you know.”

You twist around, palm flying to your chest. Harry is standing a few feet away, his hands still wet with the water from the sink. He clasps them together and ducks his head, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was ashamed.

Something vile bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You gnaw on the flesh of your cheek, trying to reel your emotions back in. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of witnessing another outburst.

“Keep your fucking truce,” you spit, and wrench open the door. You shoot him one last withering look before stepping out of the condo and slamming it shut.

#be sweet #harry writing #lmao you can tell i've given up on posting my writing on tumblr cus i don't even tag it with the typical fic tags anymore 😭

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bowlegsandbiceps · 3 years ago

Text

Suptober Day 6: Cemetery Boys

Mature | Biker!Dean/Castiel | Destiel | 5,285

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

Castiel was sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant when Benny slid into the seat across from him. He stuck out like a sore thumb in his rough jeans and flannel amid the midday lunch crowd all in skirts and suits. It took Castiel a moment to pick his jaw up off the table but when he did, he was livid.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Relax buddy I’m just here to deliver a message.”

“You can’t be here. I’m waiting for someone.” Castiel glanced around, noting that a few eyes flicked away, their interest peaked by the rough and tumble man who clearly wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Your boyfriend.” Benny rolled his eyes, hooking his elbow over the back of the chair, and gazed around the space. He smiled wolfishly at an old lady who immediately averted her eyes. “You find it ironic that you went from dating a man on one side of the law and then immediately jumped into bed with a guy on the other?”

Castiel grit his teeth. “I did not immediately - Look I didn’t like you when we ran in the same circles so if you’d be so kind as to show yourself to the door.”

“Right back at’cha, sweet cheeks.” Benny grinned. “But the prez sent me on an errand and I gotta complete it.” Benny’s face turned serious as he leaned over the table, lowering his voice.“Some shit’s about to go down.”

Castiel blinked then leaned in as well, his own voice a low rumble. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”

Benny snorted. “Look I dunno if your new boyfriend talks shop with you but the Demons aren’t taking too kindly to his new two strikes policy. They put out a hit on him.”

Castiel squinted at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

Benny examined his fingernails. “Figured you’d wanna know.”

Castiel bit his lower lip, thinking. “No. No, you wouldn’t come here-“

Benny sat up straighter in his chair. “You’re right I wouldn’t. But the VP gives an order, I follow it.” Benny leaned closer.

Castiel clenched his jaw. “Dean sent you.”

Benny lifted his hands and clapped loudly four times, drawing every eye in the room to them. Castiel sunk down in his seat. “Now you’re catching on.” Benny grinned, eyeing Castiel. “So, what is it like fucking the D.A. fresh off bein’ a biker’s old lady?” Benny gestured loosely. “So to speak.”

“You need to leave.” Castiel nodded towards the door. “Now. You have no right to interrupt my lunch-“

“Looks like I was interrupting you being stood up, but okay.”

“-with bullshit. I told Dean to stay out of my life and I meant it. Sending you instead is not a loophole. It’s a waste of your time.”

Benny snorted. “Don’t I know it.” He sucked his teeth. “But say I am right. And your shining beacon of civil obedience does have a price on his head. Would meeting him for lunch right now really be that good of an idea.”

Castiel grit his teeth. “If Dean thinks he can come in and disrupt my-“

“Hello, darling. So sorry I’m late.” A man in a dark suit, impeccably tailored, rushed by, leaning to peck Castiel on the cheek. When his eyes fell on Benny he barely even blinked. “Benny Laffitte, where’s your kutte, it’s not often you see a Man of Mayhem out of uniform unless it’s in my courtroom.”

Benny gave him a wan smile. “Crowley. Just passing on information to your beau here. I’ll be on my way.” Benny stood from his seat, towering over Crowley

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “What information is that, pray tell?”

Benny grinned down at him. “I ain’t no snitch, Mr. Prosecutor. Ask your boy.” Benny gave Castiel a nod before he swaggered away, a hush following him through the room so that the clang of his hand on the glass door rang out when he exited.

Castiel sat back, chewing his bottom lip as Crowley took his seat, grabbing the napkin on his plate and draping it in his lap. “You want to tell me what that was all about.” Crowley reached for the bottle of water on the table, tipping some into his goblet then topping off Castiel’s.

Castiel brooded for a moment. “Nothing. It was nothing. Just…”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Just?”

Castiel heaved a sigh. “Dean thinks the Demons have a hit out on you.”

Crowley blinked, setting the bottle back down. “Well, it’s a good thing you were never inducted into The Cemetery Boys because you fold like a cheap suit my love.”

“Oh shut up,” Castiel groused, reaching for his water glass but he was smiling by the time it touched his lips. Crowley gave him a smirk. “So… it’s ridiculous right?”

Crowley raised his brows, hooking his elbows on the table and holding one hand in the other. “Oh know they have a bounty on my head.”

Castiel choked on his water. “Wh-what?”

“No need to worry, darling. It’s merely a formality so they look tough for all the other little gangs around town.” Crowley sipped at his water.

“The MC never put hits out on anyone just to look tough,” Castiel objected, looking horrified and Crowley lifted a brow.

“Oh did they put them out for other reasons?”

Castiel’s eyes went flat. “The Cemetery Boys are a group of motorcycle enthusiasts. The worst thing they’re guilty of is drinking too much on a weeknight.” Castiel scoffed when Crowley smirked.

“Drug trafficking, weapons trafficking, racketeering, sports betting-“

“Alright, alright,” Castiel huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked around the room for a moment before glancing back at his boyfriend. “You’re safe though?”

Crowley’s eyes softened, his hand reaching across the table. Castiel took it. “I’m touched. Yes, safe as houses.”

When Castiel pulled into his apartment complex that evening after work he couldn’t help but notice the Harley parked across the street from his building. A young man was sitting astride it, eyes on his phone. Castiel slammed the door to his car watching as the young man jumped and met his eyes before he immediately looked down again. Castiel sighed, striding over with purposeful steps.

“Hello, Sam.”

The young man looked up, his shaggy hair hanging in his eyes before he shook it back. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel looked around. “Where’s your brother?”

Sam shifted. “Dunno.”

“He wouldn’t have you here by yourself. Where is he?”

Sam’s face screwed up, indignant. “Hey, I’m a Prospect now!” He twisted so Castiel could get a look at the designation on the back of his leather vest.

Castiel’s brow creased. “I thought you were going to Stanford.”

Sam’s head dipped, fiddling with his phone again. “Nah, I belong here. With my family.”

Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sam, you wanted to be a lawyer.”

Sam shrugged him off. “Yeah well, now I wanna be a Cemetery Boy. What do you care anyway? You left.”

Castiel’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I was with Dean for a long time-“

“Yeah. And you left.”

“-and you know why I left. It’s why you left too.”

Sam leveled his gaze on Castiel. “Yeah. And I came back.” He paused. “It’s not safe for you right now. Crowley’s got a detail but you don’t. He should be protecting you.”

“I don’t need protecting, Sam!” Castiel sighed exasperatedly. “And if I did it wouldn’t be your job to do it. Or Dean’s.”

Sam shifted, his hazel eyes going soft in a way that Castiel knew was going to hit him right in the gut. “You could come back too. You don’t have to pledge-“

Castiel started to laugh. “Yeah, no. I’ve moved on.” Castiel made to turn away. “Tell your brother he should do the same.”

“He has!” Sam called after him, voice petulant. “New girl every night!”

Castiel’s eyes cut over his shoulder at Sam before heading up the stairs to his apartment.

The creak of his bedroom door woke Castiel from a dead sleep at 2:13 am. His eyes opened to his alarm clock, fluttered for a moment as his brain cleared. The sound of a hammer locking into place brought everything into sharp perspective and before he even took a breath he’d rolled off the side of the bed, the gunshot booming impossibly loud in the silent room.

He didn’t have a weapon, had always hated guns, but crouched between his closet and his mattress he would have given anything to have Dean’s pearl-handled .45. He’d give anything to have Dean here. The sound of boots on hardwood thunked closer and Castiel stood abruptly, grabbed a pillow and threw it.

It hit the intruder in the face and the gun went off again, the flash bringing spots to Castiel’s vision as he rushed the guy, knocking him hard in Castiel’s dresser. The intruder was trying to get the gun up and Castiel grabbed for the lamp, smashing it over the guy’s head as he made a break for the door. Pinballing off the hallway walls he tripped into the living room just as his front door was kicked in.

Dean Winchester charged forward, reaching for Castiel on instinct and shoving him behind him. The intruder emerged from the bedroom, gun outstretched and Dean brought the bat he held up and swung. The sickening crack of a wrist breaking, followed by an inhuman howl of pain turned Castiel’s stomach and he had to hold on to the back of his couch to keep from hitting the floor. Another sickening crack of the bat and the horrid sucking sound of a man trying to pull in a breath his body won’t accept.

“Dean.” Castiel turned his head, immediately snapping his eyes shut when he saw Dean raise the bat over his head but thanks to the sound of it cracking across the intruder’s back, Castiel’s brain unhelpfully provided him with a visual. “Dean! Please!”

Dean froze bat aloft and looked over, finding Castiel hanging on to the back of his couch, legs trembling beneath him. He was sucking in breath through his nose and letting it out of his mouth slowly as if trying not to vomit. Dean dropped the bat.

“‘ey Cas,” Dean grabbed his biceps and immediately pulled him to his chest. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“W-w-who was that. What….what’s happening?”

Dean petted his hair, sucking in a deep breath as Castiel’s arms went around him feebly, Castiel leaning all his weight against Dean. Dean pressed his face to the top of Castiel’s head. “Nothin’ for you to worry about. You’re safe now.”

“I want a uniformed officer on this building at all times. No one should come in and out of here without express clearance. Is that clear!?”

Dean and Castiel watched from where they stood leaning against the back of the couch as Crowley continued his rampage. Dean leaned towards Castiel.

“He’s pretty intimidating for a short guy. I’ll admit it.” Dean shrugged and Castiel cut his eyes at him.

“He’s not short. You and your brother are just freakishly tall.”

“He’s shorter than you.”

“I too am taller than average.”

Dean pounced. “Since when do you like average?”

Castiel’s head whipped to look at him. “Since it generally follows the law.”

Dean made a face. “A whole hell of a lot of good it did you tonight.”

“Winchester, what are you even doing here!” It seemed that Crowley’s tirade had finally turned to him and Dean gave him a placid smile.

“Oh just taking care of Cas here. You know. What you should have been doing.”

Castiel raised a hand. “Hey, hey now. This was no one’s fault.”

“Really,” Dean asked, his eyes ablaze as he glanced at Castiel and then lanced Crowley with a heated stare. “Last time I checked, D. A. Douchebag here had a security detail. Why wasn’t he protected, huh?”

“There were no credible threats on-”

“It’s the Demons, Crowley!” Dean shook his head, his face slack in disbelief. “They always make good on their threats. He should have had someone on him from the second you got the intel two days ago.”

“Wait, what?” Castiel looked to Crowley astonished. “Fergus, is he telling the truth? Did you know about this and not tell me?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, looking supremely satisfied as Crowley’s face soured. He looked from Dean to Castiel. “Darling,” Crowley took Castiel’s hands in his, leading him away from Dean. “I would never put you in harm’s way. I’m appalled you’d even think it. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to the intel. I thought…” Crowley pursed his lips. “I thought no one would dare go after you.” His eyes cut to Dean, gaze hateful. “I was wrong.”

“Damn right you were wrong,” Dean accused, pointing a finger at Crowley. “And it almost got him killed.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, holding up a hand.

“What? Cas you can’t possibly be giving him a pass on this.” Dean’s voice was indignant.

“Dean you can’t possibly think that he knowingly let this happen.”

“I think something stinks in here and it ain’t the biker,” Dean snapped.

Castiel sighed, reaching for Dean’s shoulder and forcing him to turn towards the door. ‘Thank you. For… for…”

“Saving you,” Dean supplied and Castiel fought the roll of his eyes.

“Yes, thank you for that, but I think the police have it from here.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder and leaned closer into Castiel. “I don’t trust him, Cas. There’s something really fishy about this.”

“You’re paranoid, Dean.”

“It’s not paranoia if you’re right.”

Castiel sighed again, rubbing his forehead. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“You should come to the clubhouse. It’s safe and no one would-“

“Good night, Dean.”

Den pressed his lips together, throwing one last scowl over his shoulder at Crowley before giving Castiel a pleading look that went unanswered. He heaved a sigh and left.

Castiel laid awake a long time after Crowley had fallen asleep, listening to his light snores. They’d talked after the police cleared out, Crowley apologizing profusely for not taking the threat more seriously. Something continued to niggle at Castiel, some deep-seated intuition that wouldn’t let him sleep.

Castiel: Dean?

Dean: Yeah, Cas.

Castiel: I wasn’t sure if you still had this number

Dean: Looks like I do.

Dean: Everything okay?

Castiel’s thumbs hovered over the screen as he chewed his bottom lip.

Castiel: Yeah. Yeah, everything is fine. I’m sorry for bothering you.

Dean: It’s no bother Cas. Message me any time.

Dean: Or call.

Castiel put his phone back on the bedside table and resettled but sleep didn’t come.

Castiel’s unease stayed with him through the morning and well into the next afternoon. Crowley had assured him that the threat on him had been neutralized but agreed to keep a uniform officer on him when Castiel didn’t let up. He couldn’t focus at work, his mind drifting to Crowley and what he was doing, who he was talking to. Was he safe? Was Castiel? By the time evening came, he had a pretty terrible headache and a determination to get some answers.

Rocky’s Bar is a ramshackle establishment off route 6 that Castiel had hoped to never set foot in. The fact that the Cemetery Boys ran nightclubs all over town was a well-known fact as was their reputation for keeping order in these establishments. Castiel just wasn’t much for strip clubs, especially those run by his ex-boyfriend.

Stepping inside he expected to smell cigar smoke and sex but instead was greeted by a pleasant, feminine scent, sweet and cloying but not overbearing. He spotted Dean immediately behind the bar, grinning at a scantily clad woman as he loaded drinks onto her tray. Castiel stamped down the flare of jealousy in his gut.

Dean was watching the show now, eyes on the girl spinning on the pole as he wiped down glasses behind the bar. Castiel sidled up and it took Dean a minute to look at him. When he did he dropped the glass he’d been wiping so that it shattered on the floor.

“Shit!” Dean hopped back to avoid glass spraying over the toes of his boots. “Cas? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I need answers.”

Dean had moved down the bar going for a broom that was tucked in a corner. He paused, looking back over his shoulder at Castiel. His jaw tightened as he turned away again, snatching the broom and coming back over to sweep up his mess.

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?”

“I did,” Castiel said, pausing to watch Dean methodically push glass into the dustpan. “Now I’m asking you.”

“What’d he tell you?” Dean set the broom and dustpan aside, crossing his arms over his chest and Castiel was not at all distracted by the flex of his biceps and the way his shirt stretched around his muscles. He wasn’t wearing his kutte, just a black v-neck and jeans.

“That I was safe. That the threat had been neutralized.”

Dean’s eyes widened just the slightest bit before his face went dangerously blank. He turned his head, looking down the bar, and then returned his gaze to the stage. Castiel huffed, annoyed, and stepped into his line of sight.

“Do you ever get tired of looking at tits?”

Dean snorted. “Absolutely not.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and turned to stomp off. “Never mind. I don’t even know why I bothered to come here.”

Dean was out from behind the bar in a microsecond, reaching for Castiel’s arm before worming in front of him, blocking his exit. “Sorry. I’m sorry. You want answers? I’ll give them to you. Just… “ Dean looked around and his eyes landed on something over Castiel's shoulder. He cocked his head back and Castiel glanced back to see Benny dutifully pulling himself up from an armchair and making his way over. He begrudgingly took Dean’s place behind the bar.

Upstairs in the office, Castiel couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. It was a tiny space, just big enough for the large desk and a few filing cabinets. Dean wormed his way behind the desk and Castiel forced himself into the small armchair across from him. There were posters of half-naked women on the walls and Castiel was once again struck with an extreme sense of inadequacy. Dean loved women, but Castiel knew Dean has also loved him.

“So you wanna hear word on the street or just straight facts?” Dean was pulling out a bottle of whiskey from one of the drawers along with two mugs. One of them was the one Castiel got him for Christmas two years ago that said “Send Noods” with a bowl of Ramen noodles.

“Let's start with facts,” Castiel said showing Dean his palm, declining the drink. Dean shrugged and poured himself one.

“The fact is that the Demons are going after Crowley and the people close to him.” Dean picked up his mug. “You.” He sipped. “They’re using out of towners, seasoned guys not prospects.” Dean’s eyes leveled on Castiel. “That makes it a serious threat.”

“Why?” Castiel asked, shifting in his seat.

“Prospects are idiots,” Dean waved a hand then pursed his lips. “My brother excluded.” Dean shook his head. “You don’t give important jobs to prospects. They’re meant for grunt work and low-level intimidation. That guy I clubbed in your apartment was a Nomad - an out-of-state-er, no home club. Meant to blow in and out of town, generally used for serious shit they don’t want traced back to the local club.”

“O-kay.”

Dean sighed, seemingly annoyed that Castiel wasn’t understanding something. “These guys are one step down from trained assassins, Cas. It was a serious threat.”

“Why would Crowley lie to me?” Castiel burst out and Dean downed the rest of his drink.

“I dunno, Cas. Why do you think?”

Castiel bristled. “Oh, I guess you have an opinion?”

Dean gave him a smarmy grin. “Oh, I have several.”

“This is stupid.” Castiel threw his hands in the air. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Castiel made to leave but Dean stood, gripping his wrist and refusing to let go. “Cas, wait. Come on. This is serious okay? I assume he put a uni on you?”

“Yeah but I ditched him,” Castiel settled back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean rubbed his face hard. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I didn’t want Crowley to know I came to you, Dean. Why do you think?” Castiel scoffed shaking his head and Dean set his jaw.

“What he got a problem with me or something?”

Castiel gave him a deadpan stare the lifted a finger, counting off each, “Drug trafficking, weapons trafficking, racketeering-“

Dean hissed waving his hands at Castiel. “Alright alright, enough.” Dean sighed. “Word on the street is that Alaistair put the hit out because your boyfriend,” Dean looked disgusted as he said it, “is trying to go maximum sentence when he’s only at two strikes.”

“Didn’t Alaistair maim and torture two immigrant women?”

“Yeah, but they were stealing his coke when they were supposed to be muling it.”

Castiel blinked. “So he tortured and maimed them?”

Dean gave a shrug.

Castiel felt his stomach go cold. “Do you do that?”

Dean gave a shrug then smiled. “We don’t run drugs, Cas. We’re just a group of motorcycle enthusiasts.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “That’s it? That’s all the information you have?”

Dean shifted in his seat. “There’s some other things. In-fighting and some club shit you don’t need to know but it’s not relevant to you or your safety.”

“But it’s about Crowley?”

Dean gave a short nod.

“What is it?”

Dean reached up to rub his chin, the scratch of his stubble barely heard over the thumping bass in the club below. “He’s paying off some officers on the force.”

Castiel’s brow crinkled. “What? Why?”

Dean shrugged. “No idea.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Okay so I have some idea but it’s just a gut feeling. And you only wanted facts.”

Castiel frowned. “Tell me.”

“He’s going to make a bid for mayor right?”

Castiel blinked. “Uh… yeah he’s been thinking about- how did you-?”

Dean waved a hand. “Guys like him only want power. And he’ll do anything to get it. He’s set all his pieces on the board. Stellar win record in court, charitable donations to all the right charities…” Dean eyed Castiel. “Wholesome, attractive man on his arm.” Castiel fought a blush, looking at his lap. “But he needs an edge.”

“What kind of edge.”

Dean tilted his head. “That I don’t know.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Are you going to continue to have someone in the club tail me?”

“Do you want me to have someone in the club tailing you?” Castiel hesitated. “I’ll keep Sam on you.”

Castiel was driving home from the club when his car was sideswiped by a large panel van. Dazed and dizzy he could barely process that he was being dragged from the car. A man smelling of whiskey and day-old sweat pulled him up before punching him solidly in the jaw. Castiel’s ears rang as something solid ran into his assailant, knocking Castiel out of his grasp and Castiel fell back against the fender of his car, trying to focus.

The sound of fists meeting flesh echoed down the empty highway. Castiel heard a shout and someone scuffling before two meaty hands gripped the lapels of his trench coat and began to drag him towards the back of the van. Castiel began to struggle, eyes trying to focus and he saw Sam Winchester fighting against two men in black hoodies and face masks, his wide reach the only thing keeping him up in that fight.

A twin engine sounded in the distance and Castiel felt his heart clench, struggling harder as two sets of hands tried to haul him up into the back of the van. He could barely see, the old two-lane road unlit except for the headlight of the bike as it drew nearer and the broken headlights of the van crunched into the side of his car. Castiel��s feet were leaving the ground as he was lifted bodily and he yelled out despite himself.

“No! Let me go! Get off me! Help! Help!”

“Get off him you son of a bitch!” Dean’s voice rang out in the silent night, the motor on his bike dying as he skidded to a halt and let it drop to the ground as he vaulted off of it. He fired off a round into the air, everyone around him cringing down and looking his way.

“Shit, Dean Winchester,” one of them muttered, dropping Castiel immediately and it was enough for Castiel to break free.

Without thinking he ran towards Dean, throwing his body at him and Dean accepted him with open arms, cocooning him in a tight embrace. Castiel clutched him close, fear pumping through his veins, heart galloping so hard in his chest he felt sick from it. He heard boots on gravel and one of Dean’s arms shot out, pointing the gun at the man who tried to approach.

“Stay out of this Winchester.”

The gun fired and Castiel gave a small cry, pressing his face hard into Dean’s shoulder trying to block out the distinct sound of a body hitting the pavement.

“Anyone else got something to say?!” Dean shouted, his other arm still wrapped tight around Castiel. “You.” Dean gestured with the gun. “Tell Alaistair he comes near Castiel Novak again, he’ll be shitting his own teeth for a week.”

A high laugh bubbled from behind Castiel and he gripped Dean tighter at the icy sound. “We don’t work for Alaistair. Don’t you know, Winchester? There’s a new God in town and he’s playing for keeps.”

The gun went off again and someone howled in pain. “I’m not much for riddles,” Dean spit.

“Dean…”

“Shut up, Cas.”

Castiel shut up, keeping his chin tucked over Dean’s shoulder.

“He calls himself Lucifer,” A trembling voice hissed. “He’s working with the prosecutor.”

Castiel’s breath hitched. He felt Dean swallow hard.

“How?” Dean’s voice was more a command than a question.

“To take over the Demons. Alaistair goes down and he’s the new leader. Anyone who stands against him dies.”

“What’s in it for Crowley?” Dean demanded.

“Mayor,” Sam chimed in, his voice astonished. “He puts Alasiatr away, the infighting stops and there’s peace on the streets again.”

“What does this have to do with Cas?” Dean redoubled his grip and Castiel tried to keep himself from trembling. Silence. Another gunshot, this time followed by rapid-fire speech.

“Jesus! Okay, okay! He wants him dead.”

“Lucifer? Why?” Dean asked.

“No, Dean,” Sam replied and Castiel knew before Sam even said it. “Crowley.”

“What?” Dean’s voice was astonished, his gun lowering a bit and Castiel merely closed his eyes, turning his face into Dean’s neck.

“You said it yourself. He needs an edge,” Sam’s voice was almost giddy with understanding. “What’s better than a dead husband?”

Dean’s entire body stiffened. “They aren’t married.”

Castiel curled in more, his throat feeling as if it might burst. “Not yet. I found the ring. He was going to ask soon.”

Dean growled softly. “Alright, you and you, listen up. Anyone comes near Castiel Novak and they’ll deal with the Cemetery Boys. You want a war you fucking got one. Now get your friend out of here before he bleeds out on the side of the road. Sammy, call a tow and wait with the car. Cas,” Dean’s voice softened as he turned his head, nose brushing in Castiel’s hair. “You’re with me.”

Castiel didn’t object.

Castiel wasn’t fully cognizant of anything that was happening to him until he found himself being helped into a pair of Dean’s sweat pants in the room above the clubhouse. Dean had practically carried him up the stairs, sat him on a chair, and chattered at him about anything and everything while he went about putting clean sheets on the bed.

Castiel shivered as Dean guided his arms through an old club t-shirt, one that Castiel used to sleep in when he and Dean had been together. Why had he ever left Dean? He’d been so mad for so long he couldn’t even remember why anymore. And given the night’s events, he was sure it was small and insignificant in comparison to everything he’d done for Castiel tonight.

“Dean.” Castiel reached for his hip and Dean placed his hands on Castiel’s biceps, steadying him.

“You need to get some sleep. You’re dead on your feet.”

Castiel acquiesced though reluctantly as Dean guided him over to the bed. The mattress was lumpy but the linens smelled like fresh laundry and Castiel curled up as Dean tucked him in. Castiel caught his wrist when Dean made to move away.

“Stay. Please.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Cas, I-“

“I just want you to hold me.” Castiel knew he’d likely feel shame later but right now all he wanted was comfort. “Please.”

Dean was perilous to stop himself, toeing out of his boots and letting his jeans fall to the floor. He shrugged out of his kutte, hanging it on the arm of the chair before tossing his flannel aside and slid between cool sheets next to Castiel. Dean chuckled as he was immediately enveloped, Castiel latching onto him like an octopus, and god, how he’d missed this.

“Thank you,” Castiel murmured into his chest and Dean shivered at his warm breath on the bare skin of his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. Dean. I’m sorry.” He was starting to hyperventilate and Dean held him tighter.

“Shhh, calm down, Cas. It’s okay. You were just… It doesn’t matter. I forgive you okay. Don’t freak out, just breathe.”

“How could I be so stupid?” Castiel panted, his eyes squeezing shut. “How could I not see it?”

“Well Crowley is a slimy, lying son of a bitch and you’re… well… you trust people too easy, Cas.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, you do. It’s something I love about you but only when I’m around to look out for you.”

“I never should have left.” Silence stretched. “Dean?”

“I’m not gonna argue with you.”

Castiel couldn’t help it, he huffed a laugh. “You’re an asshole.” They were silent for a moment. “What do we do now?”

“Well, I got some lube in the drawer over th- OW!” Dean winced as Castiel pinched his nipple hard. “Easy on the goods.”

“I meant about Crowley.”

“Oh, you should definitely break up with him,” Dean nuzzled his nose into Castiel’s hair and received another, less severe, nipple tweak.

“We can’t go to the police.”

“Nope.”

“So what do we do.”

“We’ve got church tomorrow. I’ll bring it up.”

Castiel sat up, gazing down at Dean. “You’re gonna get the club involved?”

“Honey, we’re already involved. You fuck with one of us you fuck with all of us. They hurt you. They’re lucky I only blew out their knee caps and not their skulls.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped shut. “Jesus, Dean please don’t kill anyone.”

“Aw, Cas you’re no fun.”

“This isn’t funny!”

Dean’s face turned sober. “I know. I’m sorry, I know it isn’t. Look, we can’t do anything tonight, but I promise you, you’re safe here. YOu’re safe with me.” Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s.

“And we’ll just… figure out the rest?” Castiel gazed up at Dean, taking in the dusting of freckles across his nose. A small smile pulled at Dean’s lips.

“Yeah. We’ll make it up as we go.”

#suptober21 #biker dean #destiel #fanfic: supernatural #spn fic #writing by me

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thisisthehardestthing · 4 years ago

Text

тоска, Tanaka x Reader, 18+

Written for The Smut Pile Server Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

тоска tus-ka: Russian, noun It is a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, lovesickness.

Russian Mafia AU: Tanaka Ryu x A Reader OC Rating: E for explicit Warnings: Violence, Blood, Death, Oral sex, Public Sex, Grinding, Cheating, Denied Orgasm, Manipulation, YEARNING Word count: 11,752 Part 1 | Part 2

GLOSSARY

This is my baby. I have spent so much time writing this. I won’t give too big of an intro. Please enjoy.

Special thanks to: @joyousandverywarlike for being my ride-or-die beta, @pleasantanathema , @present-mel and @linestrider for hosting this collab, and everyone in the server for being amazing friends. I would not have been able to write this without any of you, and I truly mean that.

1.2

Part 1 - Valentina

The room is all rich browns and leather, an oiled hardwood floor, mahogany furniture and taxidermied bears. Against the wall, watching over everything with a bored expression is Daichi "The Bulldog" Sawamurov, Mafia Boss of the Bashkortoskaya. His brown eyes inspect his nails as another grunt echoes in the room. Beside him, you, Valentina Sawamurova, stand tall, a well-manicured hand hooked onto his bicep. In a neat line with arms clasped behind their backs stand six bratji, 'brothers', the hitmen of the Security team. They all watch as a shaved-haired man beats the shit out of a pariah.

Tanaka "Khazak" Ryunoslav wipes his tattooed knuckles, alternating X and O’s, onto a white handkerchief pulled from his neatly pressed slacks, staining the fabric red with blood. It is not his. In a simple chair at the centre of the room, a man -no, he doesn't deserve to be called a man- a boy slumps forward. His head hangs low as blood seeps from his brow, nose, mouth. A tooth lays in his drenched lap. Shivers run down Tanaka's spine as he takes in the defeated form of one of his boyevika.

"Huh? Nothing to say for yourself, predatel?" he questions, bruised knuckles tugging the fallen head of his ex-comrade up to peer into their eyes, almost swollen shut.

"I did not betray the Bratva, I swear on my babu-"

"You only swear on God and the Pakhan, traitor." Tanaka interrupts, releasing his grip so that the boy’s head falls back down in a large swing before lifting up with a painful groan. The Bulldog sighs, checks the time on a glinting gold Rolex. Your fingers slip from the bulging bicep to cross in front of your chest. He nods to you, keep watching, and you smile back, wide, catty, red lipstick violent against white teeth.

"Tanaka, enough. Finish him and dispose of the body. I am tired of his crying. Like a baby. Ha!"

"Da, Boss."

"Make sure his friends are sent a message, also."

"Of course."

Tanaka doesn't take his eyes off the trembling informant but acknowledges the Boss's departure with a casual wave. Most people wouldn't have the audacity to be so lax to the Head, but he isn't just anyone. He's the most trusted. More than you.

"Nyet, nyet, nyet, nyet!" the rat cries, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and splashing onto the floor as he struggles against the bonds. Filthy. Fuck, how Tanaka loves it. He holds his hand out and a more competent, loyal, brat hands him a gun. His fingers curl around the weighted metal of the handle with a sigh, cocking it, and without hesitation, pulls the trigger.

There are only a few seconds of silence after the bang, just enough for Tanaka to relish in the feeling of complete calm after the storm. The hole between the eyes spits blood onto his crisp white shirt, before the lifeless body is untied by his boyevika in the room and dragged out to be 'made an example of'. One by one, the men clean up. A mop, bleach, breaking down the chair for firewood later. No loose ends, including The Khazak's shirt as he unbuttons it to be burnt with the chair. All the while, you watch from the sidelines, against the wall, as the wife of the Boss should.

Your toes tap rhythmically against the floor, the clackclackclack of your stilettoes a steady beat for the men to work to, but your eyes are on Tanaka's back. So muscular, so supple, still shivering from the endorphins of taking a life. The twin pistols tattooed on either shoulder blade seem armed, willing to fire again.

You watch as he drops down fluidly with crossed legs to sit on the floor in the very spot he killed the predatel with no remorse, taking deep lungfuls of air to relish in the feeling. He can feel your eyes on him, a smile threatening to spread across his lips as he turns his head over his shoulder to peer at your scrutinising gaze -which is very careful not to let your lust show. But he knows it's there. He can taste it on his heavy tongue.

One by one, the men walk from the room, leaving only the two of you in your husband's office. The oak door shuts.

"Tell me, Gadyuka, how was I?" Tanaka enquires, eyes closed and head straight so that you can see the back of his scalp move as he speaks. The shorn hair shimmies and waves with his words, washing over you in the vast expanse of the room. Your pseudonym, 'viper', poison in your veins.

"Same as always: bloody," you hum, pushing off the wall and walking in front of him to lean against the broad desk. "You enjoy making a mess, don't you, Ryu?" you use your nickname for him, not his name, or his pseudonym, but something more intimate. He barks out a laugh, chest shaking as he examines the backs of his knuckles with gleaming eyes.

"Blyat, you know damn well that I do."

Like a gunshot has just echoed once again, the silence in the room is deafening. Your gazes lock, his ocean-grey ones with your cat-like stare. From his position on the floor, he looks up at you. Your stocking-clad legs are inviting his hands to stroke up them, and he's lucky enough to see the hint of the garter strap under your short skirt. He licks his lips. You tap the desk behind you impatiently, nails clacking against the glossy hardwood.

"My husband is going away on business in a week."

"I know, I arranged security."

"You're not going with him?" you ask, eyebrow quirking, no longer tapping the table. Tanaka shakes his head, a coy smile pulling at the corner of his lips, dried blood cracking on his sharp jaw.

"Then where will you be, Khazak?"

The grin almost splits his face in half with his reply, "in your bed, Gadyuka."

His bluntness never fails to shock you, to send heat pooling between your thighs and your heart spasming beneath your ribs. You almost want to have him right there, on top of the ledgers and documents of the many businesses Daichi is in charge of. Tanaka places his strong hands on the floor, easily dragging his body to your feet where he sits once more, staring up with eyes cloudy like the spray of a hurricane. A palm wraps behind your right leg to pull it close to his lips, kissing the lycra, the apex of your kneecap. His touch ripples through your skin so that your chin tilts up, breaking the gravity of his eye contact.

"Careful, Ryunoslav, not here."

His teeth nip at the fabric.

"I can not wait a week to taste you, Val."

"The cameras-"

"Are off because of the interrogation. Only I have the code to enable them for this room."

Calloused palms drag up the backs of your thighs, the stocking tugging slightly as it catches, until they pass the band where they wrap around your thighs, secured with a garter. You almost beg him to feel higher, to grab the fold of your ass, instead, you bite your lip between your teeth in thought.

"Then we must be quick, get under the desk."

You don't tell him how unusual it would be if you were found to sit in your husband's chair, but with lust swimming from your thighs to drown your mind, it's not important.

Tanaka is always rowdier after a kill, high off adrenaline, energy flowing in his veins that wants to devour everything in its path. He prefers to devour you. To savour your taste with his head between your supple thighs, to feel you come undone around his quick-witted tongue. With you balancing so precariously on the edge of the leather office chair, he can barely contain his onslaught of touch, desperate to hear you moan in the sound-proofed room. He's tucked so tightly between your knees, his broad yet lean shoulders spreading you so that he sees the dampened lace beneath your skirt.

It never takes much to arouse you. He likes to think it's only him that can pull forth your wetness from your folds like the moon coaxing the tides. He doesn't waste time, doesn't stop to watch the string of slick connecting the fabric to your cunt as his thumbs pull it to the side. He licks a long stripe up your slit and moans into the taste like a man starved. It's times like these when you wish he had hair for you to grab on to, so you settle on gripping the edge of the mahogany desk until your knuckles pale and forearms burn.

His tongue dances between your folds, lapping up each new wave of wetness that touches the shore of the muscle, only nudging the bundle of nerves at the top with a slight jostle.

"Don't tease me, Ryu, not in here," you breathe out at him between his licks, to which he chuckles, head turning to muffle the laughter against your inner thigh.

"Prosti," he apologises, the grey in his eyes glimmering with childish glee, "I can't help it sometimes."

But he doesn't give you a chance to reply before his lips attach once more to your throbbing skin, wrapping around your swollen clit to suck greedily. Finally, he hears you moan, the sound kissing his sensitive ears like cool ocean spray. It's not loud, more constricted, but it's for him, because of him.

You feel how he sucks you into him, swallowing your heat and lust and desire with his mouth, having it all flow back into your body to stir at the whirlpool between your legs and behind your eyelids. It's torrential, dizzying, you're dragged beneath the waves, chest heaving as if you're drowning,

but then it stops

and the sea dies down, leaving your battered body behind.

Tanaka pulls away, silently. His palms close your legs, knees knocking together, his thumbs teasing circles against the bone. You're aching from your denied orgasm, the pained moan in your throat cutting off as a knock sounds in the room.

"Come in," you clear your throat, repeating the command.

One of Daichi's body guard's strides into the room, a look of shock on his face at your seat before he masks it quickly. His long brown hair is tied up neatly into a bun, a slight stubble on his chin tells you he hasn't slept properly in a few days. You can feel the heat radiating from your cheeks, feel the static in your hair that you smooth down. Tanaka keeps tracing shapes into your thighs, keeping the fire in your gut from extinguishing.

"Yes?" you thank Saint Mary that your voice doesn't tremble, "what is it?"

"Mrs. Sawamurova," he nods a greeting, "The Boss says he will take you out for dinner tonight and has sent me to escort you back to the main estate in preparations."

"Of course, I look forward to it."

You kick away Tanaka's hands, standing at the same time to walk around the table and follow the guard you know as Alexei Asahi from your husband's office. It means leaving The Khazak under the desk, along with a piece of your dignity.

***

Dinner is the kind with clinking glasses and soft chatter. The lighting is dim, intimate, with a soft glow that bounces off the crystal and silverware. As usual, the two of you are seated in the middle of the restaurant, the surrounding tables strategically blocking the view of you and Daichi from all the windows and doors, as well as the bodies seated in them. You can never be too careful, even if your husband owns the restaurant -or the entire town. To your left, behind Daichi and closest to the door, sits Tanaka.

"You look beautiful tonight, darling," Daichi says, taking a bite of his steak.

You do. The black silk dress lays flat against your chest, the deep v tailored perfectly. The tie behind your neck falls softly to your waist. Against your skin is a gold pendant, a coin pressed with the Sawamarov crest. Sleeveless and backless, the dress shows your beautiful viper tattoo curling down your right arm as though protecting you. It’s jaw opens near your wrist to bite anyone you may touch. You hold your glass of wine, swirling it before you sip.

"Thank you, my love. You bought me this dress for our first date."

"And that engagement ring on our second."

You swallow down your guilt, thighs clenching together, the silk fabric teasingly softly against your still-ignited skin. You give him a pointed stare, leaning forward ever so slightly to whisper over the table.

"I wouldn't call that a second date. We never left each other after the first."

Daichi laughs heartily, waves for another bottle of wine, eyes shining with the memory of the very active week in a skiing lodge. He hopes he can recreate some of it tonight, knowing he's been neglecting you, ignoring your needs. He glances down at the subtle curve of the fabric around your slight breast, the hint of the peony tattoo peeking under the edge of your neckline, low on your sternum; it’s the only delicate thing about you.

Daichi watches as you excuse yourself to use the restroom, the way your hips sway beneath the silk as though you have a secret. He frowns when the door closes, checking his watch for the time and pouring a shot of vodka to swallow down. You do have a secret. The waiter takes away the plates, bringing a simple dessert to share with the wine, and when you sit back down with a happy sigh, The Bulldog tries to sniff it out. He taps the table with two fingers and the nearest bodyguards turn slightly away to give you both privacy.

“I was told you were seated at my desk.”

A bite of mousse passes between your red lips with a small smile, eyes penetrating his gaze and not faltering.

“Can a wife not sit in her husband’s chair?”

“Nyet, you know this. Why?”

“Calm down, my love.”

He fixes his cuff links, leaning back in his chair so that the gold chain around his neck glints in the light. His strong brow shadows his darkening eyes, lips pressing into a thin line, and, true to his nickname, it seems as though his muscles inflate. It makes you melt to see him hard, pectorals and biceps wanting to burst through the fabric of his Armani shirt. The spoon clinks against the plate and you reach across the table, viper stretching to grab his hand and bring it to your lips with a soft kiss, red lipstick on his jewelled knuckles. As much as you want to flicker your gaze to the man behind your husband, you hold firm.

“It’s embarrassing, but I’ll tell you. Come closer so I can whisper,” you usher him in, and Daichi grunts but follows your suggestion. He has no reason to doubt you, yet his gut is telling him you were doing more than just resting your heeled feet. He watches your pink tongue lick your bottom lip, teeth cracking between them with a coy smile.

“As you know, it has been quite some time since we’ve, how should I put this, made love.”

“I know.”

“Had I known we were going to dine tonight, fuck tonight, I would not have.”

“Your point, Gadyuka.”

Your whisper turns into a low hum, right hand squeezing his and your left hand toying with the coin pendant around your neck. Butterflies swirl in your gut, but you kill them swiftly with venom. He can sniff out any insecurity.

“I was masturbating.”

“What?”

“I was masturbating. Touching myself. In your chair, by your desk, thinking of you. I was almost finished but then Alexei had knocked on the door and stopped it.”

The look on Daichi’s face can only be described as speechless, which he is not often. His mouth opens, eyes stormy as he pictures your flushed face. He remembers that glassy look your eyes adopt when you're close, far away in bliss. Your delicate palm touches his clean-shaven cheek, drawing his attention back to the restaurant, to you.

“How about we go home and finish what I started, huh?”

Daichi didn’t need to be told twice. Standing fluidly, everyone around him follows his movement. Your fur coat is draped over your shoulders, thick and warm, a crisp white. His hand is on the small of your back, leading you out of the restaurant with the haste of a man collecting a prize. The air is cold, snow shovelled aside as you climb into the car to feel heated lips pressing to your neck instantly. You laugh, locking your wrists behind his neck to capture his mouth with your own. Men are so easily convinced.

Part 2 - Tanaka

The frame rattles as Tanaka slams the door closed behind him. He tracks melting sludge onto the thin, rust-coloured welcome mat, the tip of his nose red with more than the kiss from the windchill. The heater of the cabin is turned on, the warmth a welcome refuge from the thick snow outside as he shrugs off his coat.

Tanaka doesn’t hide his thoughts and feelings. He’s the kind of guy that wears them on his sleeve, bares it all out there for everyone to see. When he’s angry, you can see the tips of his ears burn. When he’s thrilled, that shark-tooth grin spreads so wide across his face, his eyes close. And when he’s murderous, nothing and no one can stand in his way.

“Cyka blyat!” he shouts, punching the wall of his residence, missing the mirror by mere centimetres, his already bruised knuckles stinging with his rage. A slew of curse words tumbles from his lips, both from searing pain and soaring anger. The eyes on the back of his hands stare at him, judging.

Seeing Valentina out at dinner, looking so delectable, so sinful, Ryunoslav felt ravenous for just a taste of her skin. It was bad enough that he never got to feel her convulse on his tongue earlier, he had to watch her flirt with her husband. He knows the deal, that nothing can ever really happen between the two of them outside of sex, and if they were both to get caught, it would be his end. He understands, yet he can’t help his rising natural anger. The buzzing in his pants pocket pulls him from his internal struggle, and he relaxes his hands, feeling the half-moon indents in his palms hiss in relief.

“Da?" a pause, "I’m on my way.”

Daichi wants to see him; did they finish their ‘love-making’ so quickly? Tanaka catches his reflection in the mirror, massaging the centre of his furrowed brows to try dissipate some of his frustrations before grabbing his thick coat and making the five-minute trek to the main estate. He’s frozen to the bone by the time he arrives at the large mahogany doors, but his anger keeps his blood warm. He needs to be careful, to calm down.

***

The Boss is waiting for Tanaka in his oversized office, the door open ajar, letting a soft yellow light stream into the hallway. This one is different from where the interrogation took place that afternoon, yet it is decorated almost identically. A shiver runs down Ryunoslav’s neck as he remembers Valentina’s sumptuous taste, the supple skin of her thighs brushing against his jaw and the way her lips sighed his name. Fuck, he takes a deep breath, pacifying his licentious thoughts before rapping on the door with his knuckles. Daichi’s deep voice tells him to enter.

He sits there, behind the desk, the white shirt he wore to dinner wrinkled, half unbuttoned to show a burly chest. A gold chain with a coin and two wedding bands glints from the curled chest hair.

“Vodka?” Daichi asks, doe brown eyes glancing up, already pouring both him and his head of security a shot of the clear liquid.

“Spasiba,” Tanaka’s voice is a grumble, deep in his chest as he tries to warm his body but cool his temper.

The Bulldog leans back. They toast, downing the drink with a casual swallow. As per usual, Tanaka automatically refills the next round for the both of them, but it remains untouched. Instead, Daichi opens a ledger, fingers curling up the pages as he flips through the numbers and accounts.

“Sergei has told me we were underpaid last month.”

“Mm, I will talk with Yuuri to find out who.”

“Make sure you show them the repercussions.”

“Always.”

Tanaka cracks his knuckles, excited to teach yet another lesson in punctuality. Daichi eyes his most trusted brother, the way that cocky smirk appears at the thought of fists colliding with skin, but there’s something else underneath.

“Khazak, you’re angry,” Daichi concludes, reaching across the table for the vodka, motioning Ryunoslav to sit down across from him. The shorn-haired man shrugs, slinking into the leather seat, removing his black beenie to run his hand through the trimmed hair. He can’t lie to the Boss, but he can’t tell him the truth either.

“I am… frustrated.”

The pair cheers, the glasses clinking before thudding onto the leather ingrained into the top of the desk.

“Why?”

"Ha! Please, I do not know, Boss.”

Daichi lets out a hum, shifting forward in his chair so that the wheels creak beneath his weight.

“I think I know.”

Tanaka stays silent, keeping his stare level and curious with the Bulldog’s.

“You need a woman!” Daichi barks out, smacking the desk with a flat palm, laughing deeply so that it echoes in the quiet room and probably through the manor. Tanaka can’t help but join in with the infectious laughter, the vodka soothing his nerves, relaxing the tension in his jaw.

“You’re right. It’s been too long,” since I fucked your wife.

They pour another shot, the buzz of the first two beginning to hum pleasantly through their bodies.

“Next week I go to Georgia to see the business there. While I’m gone, bring a whore to your bed. You have my permission.”

“Thank you, Boss.” Tanaka says, his cock twitching at the thought of Valentina in his residence. She’s never been there longer than a few minutes, and never without Daichi in the ten years Ryunoslav has been working for the Sawamurov family, and the two he’s been fucking her. He can't help but fantasize about it.

They catch up in light-hearted talk, about the state of Russia and the business, that they don’t see her peer around the corner of the heavy door, black silk nightgown wrapped loosely around her frame to show the lace of lingerie beneath.

“Daichi, are you coming to bed?” Tanaka hears her say, Valentina’s voice caressing his sensitive ears, but it’s not for him. He turns around, both men shocked into sobriety when they see her leaning against the now open door.

“Ah yes! Sorry, my love! We lost track of time.” Daichi says, pushing up from his seat. Tanaka swallows, watches as her gaze floats from her husband’s to his own. He can see the pale blue of new bruises around the column of her throat, where Daichi probably sucked into the skin. Tanaka can’t help his smirk. She always did like it rough, and it means he can leave his own over those later.

“Khazak,” she greets with a curt nod, fixing the dropped shoulder of the gown to make herself more modest. “Don’t keep him too late, okay?”

“Mrs. Sawamurova, as you wish.”

Daichi chuckles from behind the desk, walking around to clap Tanaka on the shoulder.

“I may be the Pakhan, but Gadyuka here always has the last say, huh? Good night, Ryunoslav. Don’t forget to talk to Yuuri. And don’t forget what I said you can do.”

“Da, spakoyne noche, Boss.”

With a two-finger wave, Daichi walks out of the room, his hand travelling to the small of Valentina’s back as he leads her back to the bedroom. Tanaka takes one final shot, pulling his hat low over his ears as he prepares to walk back to his house.

***

“He said what?” Nishinoya Yuuri exclaims, cackling inside Tanaka’s small living room. His shorter counterpart smacks the armrest of the chair, the sound against the leather cracking like a whip.

“I can entertain a whore this weekend.”

Yuuri can’t believe his ears, face red with laughter, the file of the business owner coming up with short change forgotten on his lap. His bleached bangs hang in his eyes and he pushes it up, wiping tears with a deep breath.

Together, Ryunoslav and Yuuri make up the Elite Group within the Bashkortoskaya, Daichi’s most trusted men. Each one runs their own Brigade: Nishinoya the Support Group and, by default, oversees the entire Workforce, while Tanaka is head of Security and keeps everything running smoothly.

The Khazak’s sharp jaw pulses, cheeks red to resemble a heart as it beats in humility. He clenches and unclenches his jaw.

“In the years I’ve known you, you’ve never had a prostitute.”

"I've never needed one," Tanaka shrugs, stealing the manila folder to flip through the details. Simple enough. His men were already bringing the tinted black SUVs around for them to make a ‘house call’ to Ukai Keishin. He shrugs on his thick coat, the kind that’s easy to clean, and black leather gloves onto his hands, slipping knuckle dusters into his pocket. Just in case. He doubts he’ll need them. He waves Yuuri a goodbye as he hears the tyres crunch over the sleet of snow.

“Remember to pick up condoms while you’re out!” He hears his brother call out to him as the door closes and ice invades each inhale.

Tanaka grumbles under his breath, fiddling with the direction of the hot air coming through the car’s vents. Just what he needs is word getting around that he would be fucking someone while the Boss is gone. These kinds of things never stay quiet, and he knows it will reach Valentina’s ears within the day. He shivers to think how she will lash out at him if he actually invites one of Daichi’s prostitutes back to his bed. The girls at those establishments can’t even hold a candle to her beauty or skill.

Prostitution is a lucrative business and one of the main sources of income, other than drug smuggling and the many (legal and illegal) casinos and tech companies owned by the Sawamurov’s. Ukai's particular business—and why The Boss is so invested in it—is a front for a prostitution call-centre. According to performance, they should've made a profit for the month past. Usually, Tanaka wouldn't make an appearance personally, delegating the task to his experienced team members, who might even give the order to the security brigades that they run. However, he is glad to get out of the estate grounds and think of something other than Val’s voluptuous lips and the swell of her breasts from beneath that black lingerie last night.

***

The Sawamurov's reach controlled all of Bashkortostan, a republic within Russia nestled between the picturesque Ural mountain range and the Volga river. Tanaka watches as the trees surrounding the estate give way to highway and grassland before the small town of Belebey comes into view. It's all Daichi's, and in turn, all Val’s.

The town is quiet, the late morning sky a dark grey with clouds that make the winter more formidable. Tanaka wouldn't have it any other way. They pull up to the slightly rundown storefront, graffiti against the wall with crude swear words act as a greeting. He snorts, watching as the glossy black SUV's reflect in the windows as though looking into a parallel world. Inside he can see movement, a tall man in a white apron walking around the counter to open the door. Confident.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Ukai shouts out, arms crossed over his chest to protect his fingers from the stinging cold. Tanaka doesn't answer, tucking his chin into his scarf as he observes the man. He's older, bleached blonde with honey eyes that seem more solid, hardened. On his forearms are scars, his flannel shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal a tattoo of a web with a downwards facing spider: recovered drug addict.

"We've come to collect," one of the lackeys says in his boss's place.

Ukai steps aside to let them in, sighing deeply, flicking a cigarette to the moist ground, and leading them to a back room where there's a round table with a few wooden chairs. Papers litter the room, boxes of unpacked stock are piled in a corner. The place is a shithole.

"Can I get you anything? Vodka, cigarette?"

"Sit, Ukai." Tanaka speaks, gesturing to the nearest chair, unbuttoning his coat to drop it onto the table, his beanie and scarf piling on top of it. "We're here for business."

Ukai collapses down, slouching casually as he stares at the leader of the men. Ryunoslav drags a chair in front of the debtor, spinning it on a single leg so that he leans against the backrest as he sits with his legs spread out on either side. A sliver of gold chain catches the fluorescent lighting under his simple suit shirt, matching the multiple piercings in Ukai's right ear.

"You did not pay the full amount of February."

"Correct."

"Why?"

"I couldn't."

The man's blunt lie is shocking to Tanaka, refreshing from the usual quivering imbeciles, and he feels the need to suppress a smile that threatens to reveal itself. Instead, he keeps his tone cynical.

"Was the month not profitable, Ukai? Men get lonely in February, their beds cold."

Ukai shrugs, smoothing out the wrinkles in his apron, eyeing the handsome shaved hair man with intrigue. Tanaka feels a ripple down his spine. "For the whores? Yes, it was profitable. But my business was not."

"So you used the money for the Bashkortoskaya to save your ass from bills?" Tanaka begins to laugh, his wide mouth swallowing the sky as his chin tilts up. He stares straight at the man once more, "you should've paid us first."

"Ah, but then I wouldn't have had the pleasure of your visit. I am touched an Avtoritet will come to see me personally. You are better looking than I thought you would be, younger."

Tanaka raises an eyebrow at the flirtatious comment, a very open individual. He sees some of his subordinates shift uncomfortably in his peripheral, unsure of how to proceed. He drums his fingers on the back of the chair, the beat steady like his heart.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, I'm not one of your kind."

"And what kind is that?"

"Gay."

Ukai chuckles, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his apron pocket, offering one to Ryunoslav who instead takes the full box, holding it up for someone to confiscate. He stands, walking to inspect the stacked boxes around the room. Ukai swallows; he knows not to push his luck too far.

"Are you going to kill me if I don't pay?"

"Hm, nyet, not yet. Are these fresh?" Tanaka holds up a dozen eggs, the green carton sickly. He doesn't wait for the reply, tearing it open and tossing one to the ground with a resounding crunch, the yolk bleeding into the tile grates.

"Listen, Ukai," splat, "you will pay the balance," splat, "by the end of this week," Tanaka walks closer with each drop of the egg until he's next to the grocery store owner. Ukai sits upright, a cool gaze on Tanaka's tattooed hands as they stroke the shell of the brown eggs. The crosses and circles are targets, his hands the weapons.

"Or your head, will look like these eggs." Tanaka drops the entire carton on the ground, the bright yellow spilling out and pooling beneath Tanaka's black boots. "Vy ponimayete?"

"Da, understood."

"Good. I hope I will not need to see you again."

On his way out of the store, Tanaka picks up a box of condoms from the aisle.

Part 3 - Valentina

Friday cannot come fast enough... so that you can throttle your lover.

The double-pane french doors to the balcony shine with frost, the sky beyond dark and unforgiving, much like the irritation boiling inside you. It’s the last night; Daichi leaves on the first flight to Georgia tomorrow morning to meet with the Vashadze, your father and owners of half the Casinos under your combined empire. Your marriage three years ago was the biggest news since the raid on the Uhaluba club in Prague, 1995. Together, your families control prositution, drug smuggling, money laundering, the list goes on. Behind the scenes, of course.

Up front, Daichi is a wealthy investor of tech: Facebook, Tesla, oil companies in the Middle East and Serbia, whereas your father is a top Politician and Minister in Georgia, maintaining his position with dirt he’s collected on those with darker tastes and kinks in the underworld.

“Supply snakes with a meal, and you’ll have them all by the fangs,” your father regularly told you over dinners since you were thirteen, when he began to show you the truth behind his wealth, once your mother passed away.

It’s how you got your nickname. It was the first thing you said to Daichi, before he took you out, before he became The Boss . You were eighteen when you laid eyes upon that hulking mass of muscle. He asked how you could be so beautiful, and you parroted your father’s words. He knew from that moment on that you were dangerous, poisonous, and he had to have you.

When you were twenty-one, you met Daichi again, this time in an underground gambling soiree. You were the host, of course. The felt green betting mats stood out in stark contrast against the white dress code and the dark wooden tables. You wore black. Translucent red dice swirled between your fingers expertly before you rolled snake eyes.

“Bad luck,” Daichi commented over your shoulder, spiced wood and tobacco tickling your nose. You sipped a vodka martini with a twist. There was always a twist with you.

“It’ll be fine, I own the club,” you shrugged, cashing out with the chips you owed and strolling back to the bar where another drink awaited you. Even now, you could remember Tanaka Ryunoslav hovering behind Daichi, drinking in the sight of your curves, the red of your lipstick and the wit of your tongue. A lot less subtle then than now.

If you closed your eyes, you could very easily conjure the tapping of his heels, the eager look in the Young Khazak’s eyes at being surrounded by some of the most powerful men in Eastern Europe. You could even taste the vodka on his tongue that you sucked down your throat in a supply room all those years ago.

Back then, that bout of casual sex meant nothing. You married Daichi four years later, when your paths crossed once more at twenty-five, the turf wars between neighbouring families becoming too much to bear for Eastern Europe. You were lucky Daichi was--is so exceedingly handsome. Interesting. Smart. Powerful. However, so is your father. And you never wanted to marry your father.

“Darling?” Daichi’s voice calls you out of your pacing when he walks into the room, the silk of your dressing gown swooping around your feet as you stand still. “Everything alright?”

“Da, sorry, you know I get nervous when you fly,” you lie quickly, easily, turning your back on him to close the curtain and shut out the irritation of outside, the faint golden glow of Tanaka’s cabin sealed away. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Mm, yes, I know. Relax a little. When I am back we have that gala. Is your dress finished?”

You give him a pointed glance, turning down the bedsheets and unravelling the delicate bow of the robe to climb under the covers with bare skin.

“Weeks ago, Daichi. You were at the final fitting.”

He nods as if he remembers, but you know his mind is elsewhere, much like your body would rather be.

“Are you coming to bed early tonight?”

For several days, weeks, months, Daichi has been sneaking into your bed too late in the evening. Or early in the morning. The business is doing fine, there’s no cause for him to spend some nights not even at home. Some part of you--a small, small part--misses his thick muscles wrapped around your body.

“Later, there is something I have to do first.”

You merely hum, settling yourself down and dimming the lamp beside the bed until the room bathes in a soft glow. With your eyes closed, you don’t see him leave, the door clicking shut. Instead, you picture red, your empty bed, and across the snow, a cocky smile letting a too thin, sallow-skinned blank face past their threshold. He will have to have a hooker, Daichi will ask him all about it. Motherfucker. You turn the light off.

***

The Bulldog kisses your forehead when he wakes, sleeping behind you for a total of an hour. You’d woken up slightly when he clambered into the bed, smelling freshly of his cologne from a recent shower, at three in the morning.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispers into your ear, not staying to hear your ‘be safe’ in response, still mumbling from a fitful night’s sleep.

However, you don’t drift off again, eyes suddenly open and staring into your nightstand where a cool glass of water rests. It’s still, silent and calm. You turn over to the right, seeing the empty space where Daichi’s body barely left a mark, his lamp still buzzing. It isn’t until you hear cars pull away in the driveway that you sit up, wiping the remnants of sleep delicately from your eyes to sigh. It’s going to be a long day.

Dumdumdum, three quick taps echo in the quiet, the door creaking open as a curious head peeks around the side. Ryunoslav smiles when he sees you perched in bed. His eyes drift from your face, down your neck and to your breasts, the skin pricking up under his sharp gaze. You could strike a match and it would erupt into flames.

“What are you doing here, Ryu?” you ask. It comes out more accusatory than you would’ve liked but he just grins, teeth ready to bite any jab you throw.

“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?”

For a raucous man, Tanaka moves stealthily across your floor, kicking off his boots before planting two large hands onto the edge of the mattress. You can feel it dip with his weight as he crawls, veiny forearms caging in your legs, trapping you. He sways side to side, spine rolling like a panther about to pounce. You kick his left hand out so he falls, crashing and rolling to the spot where Daichi laid with a laugh, peering up at you with fervent energy.

“His bed isn’t even cold yet.”

“Ha! He barely slept here, Val.”

“And you will?” Skepticism laces your words, the irritation of last night seeping into your thoughts once more. His smile finally drops.

“Nyet, of course not. You know that.” Tanaka twists around so that he’s cross-legged, facing you fully, eyes searching your own. “I’ll just fuck you.” You scoff.

His hands plant themselves on your thighs, the eyes tattooed on the back staring at the ceiling, observing the heavens. They travel gradually up to where the sheet lays scrunched around your waist, fingers pinching the edges.

“Give you more pleasure than he does before going back to my lonely bed. Without you.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’ll be lonely for much longer, Ryunoslav.”

Tanaka chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he pulls the duvet down to unveil you before him. His chest rises and falls so fluidly with his deep breaths, a movement so calm, yet he freezes when his eyes rake over your luscious figure.

“How the Boss does not have you under lock and key astounds me.”

Your hand slaps across his face, a fire burning from your palm down to your groin.

“I will not be someone’s pet.”

Lust overcomes Tanaka’s pupils, his lips curling up in ecstasy at your stern tone, his cheek pounding along with his heart.

“No, you will not.”

Then, his mouth captures yours.

Hot, hungry, the spring in his spine expands so that his chest presses against yours, jaws stretching up. Desperate hands clutch at your neck, the fold of your hips, anything to pull himself tight to your body, anchored to your skin and bed. It’s sinful, even whores refuse to do something so intimate. You feel that heavy tongue drag against your bottom lip, asking your permission to enter. You welcome it, savoring the taste of Ryu’s desire, his burning passion. His hands drift to tug at the firm muscle of your ass, hauling you to kneel over his lap, supporting and kneading it to a rhythm that you’ve come to know so well.

Your fingers clumsily unbutton his pants, slipping under the fabric to feel your undoing. Tanaka moans into your mouth, growing harder, fiercer in his touch with each stroke up the length of his cock. He wastes no time, patience not his strongest virtue. You detach from the kiss with a heavy sigh, forehead pressing to his as you melt over his fingers. Both your hands press into his shoulders, stabilising your vibrating body from how he rolls your clit between his fingers. He’s too clothed, not enough of his skin available for you to stroke and scratch and bite. You claw at the back of his long-sleeved shirt, he rips it off.

With the shirt discarded over his boots, Ryu’s warm hands wrap around your waist, tilting you back until you lay open for him. His pants come off next, flung haphazardly to the floor so that he kneels before you shamelessly, eyes raking down your naked body. By now, he’s committed every curve, every artwork on your skin to memory that he can draw you with his eyes closed. The peony tattoo at the base of your sternum a siren’s call for his mouth to taste. The heat of his body is a furnace, flames licking your skin as he kisses down your chest, inhaling your intoxicating scent.

“Why don’t I finish what I started, huh?” he parrots the words you whispered to Daichi a week ago. Your gut clenches, your cunt tightening to know he heard that. You almost want to beg him to devour you, but that’s not who you are. Your hand strokes over his shorn hair, his eyes closing as your nails rake against his scalp. Savagely, you squeeze his jaw, fingers pursing his lips, the viper tattooed near your wrist ready to strike.

“So snarky. I can think of more important uses for your tongue, Ryunoslav.”

He grins, the round of his cheeks tensing in your clutches before he turns his head to nibble at your thumb, sucking it down.

“As you wish, Valentina.”

Tanaka kisses down your stomach to the apex of your mound, squirming until he nestles between your outstretched legs and his arms wrap themselves under your thighs, an iron grip on your hips. You brace yourself to feel that vacuum, that eternally deep suction that clings onto your soul and merges it with his, but all you can feel are soft exhales. He stares up at you, an indiscernible look on his face.

“Ryu?” you come onto your elbows. The very sight of the man between your legs is enough to make you shiver. He plants a kiss to your thigh.

“You know I will do anything for us, for you.”

“I know.”

“Even fuck a whore once if it means I get to stay with you for just another more day.”

You grit your teeth, knowing it’s true, and although he shouldn’t be saying such intimate things—that you can never truly be together—it’s what you needed to hear. You remain silent, watching him as he lowers his mouth to your seeping skin, licking languidly to taste you on his entire tongue. It’s flat, wet, heavy, pressing into you so solidly you fall back down, eyes closing as you capsize. Tanaka demands whimpers, his name, with his touch. He’s insatiable, greedy to feel you come undone completely, this time with no interruption.

Two fingers test your waters, slipping between the waves of your folds while his tongue drags you under. You know his ocean-grey eyes never stop watching as you writhe under his ministrations. You can barely move, clenching around his skilled hand as though keeping him anchored in place. You want him, need him. The first pulse of your walls spurs him on, stirring the storm in your groin, until you can barely contain your moans for him. Your orgasm batters against the shores of your body, powerful waves washing over you and dissolving all your stress and irritation, leaving you gasping and heavy, weighted down and sluggish.

“Fuck, baby,” Tanaka swears against your skin, still pumping his fingers against sopping skin to feel how you contract around him. The stimulation almost has you in tears and you grab his wrist to pull him away, closer to your lips. You swallow down your tang, the kiss passionate yet lazy as he ruts against your tingling clit, hands wrapped around your head to almost cradle you against him.

“You were very loud,” he chides, but you know he loves it, the danger. “You are lucky no one is in the house tonight.”

“Do you want me to keep quiet, Ryu?” you moan into his mouth, biting his lip against a particularly rough thrust.

“Never,” he grins, sitting back so that he can observe your glassy look, you pout at the sudden chill. There’s a moment of protest, his body too far away, before your eyes roll back and you’re stretched out, overflowing with the feeling of him, your vision black.

Part 4 - Tanaka

Ryunoslav wishes he could lay behind Valentina eternally, watch as she wakes and stretches, but he knows he can’t. He unfurls his lithe chest from her back, and stands to dress before sneaking back to his cabin. The cold air nips at his cheeks, but it would take a snowstorm and him being naked to freeze over the warmth radiating from inside his chest. Under the cover of dark, even at 6:00 am, Tanaka makes it back without being seen, like he always does.

He winces as he shrugs off his coat and scarf, the scrapes on his back from her nails stinging beautifully. His thoughts drift: what she must think when she wakes up in the mornings to find the bed empty, either without him or Daichi, and whether he’ll ever see her under his own covers, laughing while sipping a coffee on a summer morning. Ryu shakes his head to absolve those thoughts, it’s dangerous to linger on dreams for too long.

The box of condoms on his dining table stand out like a sore thumb, and he shoves it into the closest drawer, the eyes on his hands giving him a mocking stare. ‘What would your mother say?’ it blinks at him, pulling his mouth into a scowl. Turning the kettle on, he pulls up Sergei’s number on his phone.

“Khazak, it’s early.” Sergei’s morning gruff is thick, coughing lightly as he clears his throat.

“Dobre utra, Sergei, sorry, I know.”

“What is it you need?” Tanaka can almost picture the cool gaze, the pinched brows beneath silver hair that the bookkeeper has on whenever speaking to the head of security.

“Ukai, has all been fixed?”

“Uka– Ryunoslav, could this not wait until a more reasonable hour? Yes, it’s resolved. The guy wired the remaining amount last night. God knows where he got it from but I don’t care.”

Tanaka opens his mouth to speak, but Sergei cuts him off.

“I swear, call me this early again and I’ll hang you from your ears.”

The Khazak laughs, wishing the old ‘friend’ a good day as he hangs up. That clears up most of Tanaka’s schedule, and he falls onto his bed, groaning when the whistle of the kettle rings loud in the room. It’s too similar to the alarm bells in his mind when he thinks about the call he has to make later.

***

Ryunoslav shivers, peeling off the used condom to tie a knot in it. It wasn’t too bad. With the prostitute's ass in the air, he could almost picture it was her. He watches as she pulls up stockings and a dress, her only layers beneath a thick coat and hat. The prostitute looks over her shoulder with her hand resting on the door, appreciating the view. Tanaka sits on the edge of the bed, naked and bored.

“This was fun. Call me anytime,” she purrs with a wink, pleasantly fucked, before leaving. He grumbles, falling backwards so that air whooshes past his ears as the mattress creaks under his body.

She’s going to kill me, he thinks, picturing Val’s face with the disapproving glare that always seems to rile him up. A part of him wonders if he went through with it purely to piss her off, make her mad with jealousy, just like he can be.

***

Tanaka must’ve dozed off because he wakes to the sound of his front door being pounded, the clock next to it showing quarter to midnight. He swears, scrambling to toss the condom he left on his thigh into the open basket bin and pull on the nearest pair of pants. He has just finished tying the drawstring when the door swings open and Valentina strides in, arms crossed in front of her chest, white flakes of snow on the Hermès scarf wrapped around her hair.

He’s frozen, a deer in headlights, silent at seeing her standing in his doorway, both beautiful and deadly. He watches as analytical eyes scan the single-roomed cabin, finally taking it all in. For some reason, he feels shy, a blush creeping up his neck. He has always wanted her in here, but now that she is, he feels like it’s not good enough.

Tanaka follows her gaze: sweeping from the small kitchen, to the two person table and chair, in the corner are the leather armrests and a coffee table. Directly by Val’s right is a mirror and coat hook, the wooden-heated walls sparsely decorated with a map of old USSR and new Russia, along with a single lily in a simple frame. He sees her stare past him, to the arch that separates his bedroom, analysing the unmade bed. Tendrils of cold sweep by him from the still-open door. She does not move a muscle.

Valentina opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it, walking to the kitchen counter where a half-finished bottle of vodka sits. Tanaka’s door shuts with a click, and when he turns, she has already pulled out a shot glass.

Has she been drinking? he thinks, rubbing the goosebumps up his arms, the callouses scraping some still-healing scabs. He gets his answer when she barely winces her swallow.

“Do you want to sit down?” Tanaka asks, approaching carefully, gesturing to the sofa; she’s a cornered viper. Val turnz, leaning against the marble top, coat still wrapped tightly around her body. Her lips purse, and he stills, knowing she’s either trying to put together a sentence or hold back uttering one. But Ryunoslav doesn’t know her to hold back often.

“Did you do it?”

He didn’t expect the question to flow from her lips so calmly, hushed and smooth like an expert interrogator; the way he would speak. There’s no point in lying.

“Da,” Tanaka steps closer, reaching past Val’s head for a second shot glass. She makes no effort to hand him the bottle. “It’s just sex.”

He almost recoils from the daggers in her stare, pupils shrinking into slits that can cut through him. I should not have said that, but if he lied, he wonders if she’d be just as furious. Valentina looks down and spots the discarded condom, sighing while twisting open the cap of the bottle to drink straight from the lip, past the point of using a glass.

“I thought of you.”

A faint flicker of relief, but then she laughs, curt and cold.

“I’m so flattered, Ryunoslav, thank you.”

He feels his heart tighten, forehead pounding, with more than guilt.

“Blyat, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?” he snorts, storm brewing in his eyes, fists clenching. His face is so close to hers, he can smell the alcohol on her breath. He can see her searching for answers within his own.

“I don’t know, but,” her eyes close, the small wrinkle between her brow dissolving with an inhale. The exhale has them open, blank, her lips in a neutral line. Somehow, this scares Ryunoslav even more. He feels his heart hammer beneath his ribs, either trying to escape or to jump into her palms. The bottle is no longer in them, but the belt of her coat, pulling it loose so that it unfurls from her chest. He see’s skin, a clavicle, ripe mounds of breasts. The flower tattoo peaks out from the shadow until it disappears and the top of underwear wraps around her waist. She’s not wearing the Family pendant. When the coat drops off her shoulders--the wool scrunching into a thick pile at her feet--he notices she is still wearing boots, but legs bare; she used the underground passage to get to his cabin.

“If you prefer to fuck a shlyukha, you just had to say so.” Valentina says, fingers trailing up the skin of her waist while keeping his gaze. Tanaka can’t respond, doesn’t want to, anything he says is fuel to her wildfire. “I can be a whore.”

She’s raging, the very air around her too thick for Tanaka to breathe easily, and when she takes a step forward, he imitates backward. He’s controlled by her until he collapses into his leather armchair and she towers over him, bare-breasted and deadly.

Valentina’s fingers tug at the knot of the scarf, slipping the silk through her fingers as she regards the man before her, twisting it into a tight coil until ready to spring, like her.

It’s those eyes, she realises. Stormy, grey, like a tumultuous ocean swallowing her body whole, ravaging and cleansing her all at once. She can’t stand to see them now. Tanaka doesn’t protest when she leans over him, unfurling the scarf to tie it around his head, blindfolding him. Ostensibly for control. She knows otherwise that his eyes will make her crumble down, dissolve into their depths.

Tanaka’s heart thumps, pressing against his ribcage furiously enough to shake his chest. Any argument cut off in his throat when he feels Valentina’s lips against it. His body begins to cover in a cold sweat, confused with the hurdling emotions inside: panic, guilt, anger, and underneath it all, arousal.

“Have you even showered yet,” she whispers against his skin, “or is this taste hers?” A hot tongue drags up the side of his neck until it touches the puff of his earlobe, teeth nipping. If Tanaka looks down past the tip of his nose, he can see her palms gripping the arms of the chair, the plush leather folding in. He can see the curve of her shoulder and the tail of the snake as she leans into him. And he can feel the warmth of her skin when she straddles him.

It’s not tight, her ass seated on the edge of his knees, but he feels heat anyway. It rolls off Valentina’s body in waves, washing over him so that he begins to pant. Nails rake up his chest, goosebumps pricking on his forearms which he keeps still, away from reaching out to wrap around her and bring their bodies together.

“Did she touch you like this?” Valentina’s hand wraps around his throat, the other drifting to the tent in Tanaka’s sweatpants. When she stops moving, he realises she expects a response.

“Nyet,” he grunts out, erection twitching beneath her palm, the vein in his neck swelling.

A brisk exhale fans over his face, then he smells the peppercorn and vanilla of her skin as she lifts from his knees. She must be close, the static between his lips and her stomach electric. He bites his tongue to stop from tasting her skin. When she falls, her hand had shifted his erection from the loose constraints of his pants, free and standing to attention. There’s fire and rain, and Tanaka peers down to make out the black of Valentina’s underwear clinging to her slick folds, nestled against his groin. It provides slight relief, knowing she is aroused like him.

She begins to roll her hips. On instinct, Tanaka shifts down into a slouch to bring her higher, to feel more friction. His fingers jump where they rest on the chair, fighting not to grab at her, palms sweating. For Valentina, this is easy. Men are so responsive, so easy to lead and dissuade, and fuck. They treat sex as though it is nothing.

It’s sex, Ryunoslav’s words echo in her hazy mind, her hands flying to his shoulders as though to bring her back to her actions. Focus on the movement, it tells her, and she grinds down onto him. She feels as he pants against her neck, her breasts moving to press against his chest so that he can feel all of her at once, reminded of what he missed. The jealousy in her heart pains her, knowing that it’s irrational to feel ownership over a man that is not truly her’s. But she feels it regardless. She wants him completely.

His neck is thick beneath her palm, veins beating steadily in time with the grinding of her hips. The line of her folds wrap around him, dragging up and down his length that when she looks down, she sees it weep. The tightening of his gut tells her even more and she grins almost wickedly.

“Does it feel good, Ryu?” she whispers against him, lips hovering teasingly above his own. Tanaka tries to close the gap. She’s near, yet so far away, unreachable in her anger.

“No, you don’t get to kiss me. Not when I’m your whore.”

He moans then, shamefully turned on by the hard edge of her voice and the soft skin wrapped around him, coaxing something out from within.

“Val,” he utters her name under his breath, the fog in his mind not clearing as it builds higher, tighter. She can feel the storm brewing. His shoulders tense, forearms hovering as though-

“Do you want to touch me?” she bites at his ear, one of his most sensitive features. It takes Tanaka everything to hold back, his hips thrusting up desperately.

“Yes. God, yes.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Valentina watches as the gold, browns and pinks of her scarf wrinkle with his frown.

“You never said I could.”

She falters for a moment, taken aback by the worship and strain in his voice. This is why she covered his eyes, she never knew she had to gag him as well. Some of the ice in her heart begins to melt, dripping down her chest like the sweat on Ryunoslav’s forehead.

“Touch me.”

His hands are on her instantly. With her back under his calloused palms, he can feel every movement of her waist, her hips. He strokes up, her body memerised so thoroughly he can paint a replica of her in his mind. With the eyes tattooed on the back of his hands, he sees her. It was the last push he needed, the rain clouds in his mind bursting as he spills a storm over his abdomen, finding clarity.

It’s wet, warm and cold simultaneously. He feels Valentina’s forehead fall to his shoulder, her spine shaking. There’s a sniff, the smallest of tears leaking into the dips of his muscled shoulders. With one hand, he presses her tightly, his ejaculation spreading messily between their bodies, the other rips the scarf from his eyes so he can drink in the sight of her, his nose nuzzled into her hair.

“Val...” he mumbles against her skin, fingers combing through the hair at her nape, lips finding contact with her neck, then temple. “Look at me, pazolvste.”

And when she does, the world stops. He tries to read the swirl of emotions in her eyes. Is it exhaustion? Arousal? Defeat? All three? Tanaka brushes sweaty strands from her neck, forehead, smoothing down the hair. Valentina glances at his lips, or her eyes drop, either way, with the next inhale, their lips meet.

Part 5 - Valentina

Tanaka tastes different. Tangy and bitter, the kind that makes you want to tear away, only to constantly come back for another sip, addicted. You’re sticky, the sweat from his chest and the spill of his seed spreading against your stomach, screaming at you to separate from him. Everything is telling you to stop.

But you can’t

And you never want to. His tongue swipes across the seam of your lips, and you happily oblige, too weary from the rollercoaster of emotions that had ripped through you to fight for dominance. Tanaka, however, doesn’t seem to mind, your tongues intertwining so seamlessly, you briefly wonder if you’ll ever separate them again.

He pulls apart to breathe, chest still heaving from his orgasm and your mind games. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, you realise what you’ve done, how full of blind rage and hurt you were. Tanaka registers the panic in your eyes, the way your mouth opens to say,

“I’m sorry.”

You’re suddenly smaller, eyes downcast to stare at his chest, tracing the outline of the Georgian cross tattooed over his heart, the eight point star on each shoulder beneath his collarbones, reminding you that you’re in a world of thieves. That you yourself are one, and you crossed a boundary tonight that you’ve never crossed before. In his residence. He lifts your chin with a steady finger, forcing you to stare into still, open waters.

“It’s okay.”

But it’s not, you’re not okay. Tanaka must’ve sensed the growing unease as you shift on his lap, knees still pressed tightly to his hips, his softened dick lazing against your groin.

“I would’ve stopped you if I didn’t want it,” his voice is a hushed whisper, washing over you.

“I should not have come here tonight.”

“I’m happy you did, Gadyuka.”

For some reason, you believe him, the tides in his eyes pulling you closer so that once again your lips melt into his and your heart drums in your throat. Ryunoslav unzips your boots, letting them drop unceremoniously to the floor. His hands find purchase beneath your rear, and he stands, lifting you so easily as he carries you through a small door and into the bathroom.

It smells like him: salty, humid, yet crisp, like cold mist when the seasons change. You reluctantly break apart when your feet touch the cool tile, and you look around while Ryu draws a bath. There’s no mirror over the sink--instead on the tiled wall opposite the shower--just a shelf with his electric razor, toothbrush and some creams. The thought that you’d like to shave his head flits across your mind, but you shake it out, turning to watch him fill a simple wooden bathtub with steaming water.

“Are you going to wash me like a child?” you ask, eyebrows raising to show your amusement. He chuckles, his eyes matching your teasing tone, the tension of before dissolving with the mist in the air.

“Nyet, unless you want me to,” he muses, eyes drifting across the splattered cotton against your skin. “You are dirty.”

You lick your teeth, taking in how he’s seated on the edge, sweatpants still haphazardly down his legs to show a hint of the tattoos and scars on the tops of his thighs, “so are you.”

He holds his arms out and you move to stand between his knees, warm hands trailing up your hamstrings, over the cups of your cheeks and peeling down your soiled black thong. You feel… calm, the rage and guilt subsiding to leave an empty stillness in its place, in your gut, where he rests his forehead and your fingers scrape his scalp.

You bathe first, Tanaka’s rough hands scraping away grime, before you switch and run your hands over his corded muscles. The moment is too intimate to speak, both of you barely even breathing as he wraps a towel around his waist and pulls a too long t-shirt over your head. It’s only when you’re out of the confines of the bathroom that he breaks the silence.

“You’ll have to destroy the shirt when you leave,” Ryu observes, tugging at the shoulder seam so that the neckline centers on your body instead of dropping over one shoulder.

“Do you want me to leave?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest, fingers drumming in a quick beat against your forearms.

“Never.”

Shrugging, you turn on your heel and stride to the messy bed, ignoring the way your stomach flips as it remembers who was the last woman to touch it--that it wasn’t you--and climb onto the mattress. For the first time, you see Tanaka completely taken by surprise. He’s close to asking you ‘why?’ but thinks against it, hurtling after you to pull you into his arms, against his chest.

This is unchartered waters, the bed a dinghy and in his room are endless possibilities. But that’s where it starts and ends. You drag your fingers lazily up his forearm, over a few scars, tracing the bouquet of lilies drawn in thick black lines that stand off his skin; prison tattoos seldom heal flat.

“What does this mean?” you stare up at him, curious as you’ve never had much time to talk with him before, to delve deeper past your lust for each other. Ryunoslav clears his throat.

“It’s for my home,” he mumbles, nose moving to your hair, his eyes clouding over as he watches your fingers. “And my mother.”

The way he explains the beauty of the wild lilies in his home village of Kazakhstan, the bouquet his mother would pluck and keep on their table, sends shivers down your spine. Why would he ever have run away? You learn he has a sister, Saeko, who left with him and fell into the life of the thieves before him, and instead, he went to prison.

In this little bubble, you feel inexplicably warm, cosy, like the world has fallen away. You tell him about your own mother, how her eyes were incredibly warm and the colour of amber, but she never smiled. About how you grew up in Georgia surrounded by powerful men and strived to be just as important one day. Ryunoslav smiled at that, kissing your wrist where the fangs of the snake bit into.

He tells you about the years he spent in and out of juvenile prison in Moscow, unfurling the duvet to explain that each cathedral dome tattooed upon his leg meant time served. He had four. The rose on his left bicep meant he turned 18 in prison.

“The Boss found me a month after,” he recalls, eyes far away, “I’m forever thankful. I was very sick from the tattoo and I would have died if he didn’t take me away.”

Daichi, a part of you whispers. With the thought of your husband, you tense up, shifting until you’re sitting with your hand pressed to Tanaka’s beating heart.

“Ryunoslav,” you call, looking past his head and into the grain of the wood. “What are we going to do?”

“Mm?”

Your eyes snap to his, a cold sweat tickling your spine. You’ve crossed lines tonight, and not by a little. You’ve run so far past it, you can’t even see it if you turn back.

“He’ll know.”

Tanaka straightens up too, attentive to your words but eyes calm with a lazy smile.

“He won’t.”

“He will. Ryunoslav, I can’t keep this a secret now.”

Beneath your palm, you can feel his heartbeat, slow, while your own pounds in your ears.

“You have to. He’ll kill us.”

You stay silent, mulling over the sincerity in Tanaka’s statement. He says it nonchalantly, like it’s the only fact that matters. You want to tell him that you love him. You don’t. Instead, you lay your head back to his chest to listen to that steady, strong drum beneath his ribs. After a few seconds, you inhale deeply.

“I think Daichi is having an affair.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Tanaka says instantly, arms wrapping so tightly around you, as if you’ll vanish if he can’t feel you.

“Ryu-”

“Valentina, please. God knows we never get to be alone like this.” That brash, harsh tone you’re used to finally edges it’s way back into his voice. It should scare you, instead you huddle closer to him while he continues. “Even if he’s having an affair, aren’t we doing the same? Let us just be in this moment.”

Tanaka tucks you beneath his chin, the heartbeat in his jaw syncing with yours against his chest. You murmur a ‘fine’, mind still reeling from the evening's events and the intoxication of his lips.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you know he didn’t at all. Ryunoslav shakes you awake, whispering that you have to go, that Daichi gets back in the late afternoon. When the coat is wrapped around you and your fingers hover over the door, you look at him as he frowns at you.

“We should not see each other for a few days,” he states. Although his voice is calm, his chest vibrates with nerves. You know it’s the last thing he wants. You agree anyway, with a slight nod of your head.

***

NEXT CHAPTER

Thank you for reading.

taglist, ask to be added

@dee-madwriter , @pleasantanathema , @lookslikeleese , @linestrider , @hisoknen , @mindninjax , @whats-her-quirk , @messwriting

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caxsthetic · 4 years ago

Text

Be Fine

Miya Osamu x F!Reader

Hurtful Truth: Some things would always haunt us, no matter how many times we tried to run away.

Pt. 1 ⇚ Part 2 ⇛ Pt. 3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *. GRAND MASTERLIST .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He never knew heartbreak.

For almost thirty years of his life, Miya Osamu never knew how it feels to have his heart shattered into a million little pieces.

Since he was sixteen, he had a lover that always took care of him. He had you, someone who devoted all of your life for him, even abandoning your own dream to make sure that you could always be there by his side in a matter of seconds.

There was no one as loyal as you, the woman who got a lot of people standing in line just to get some attention from. Osamu didn’t have to be worried that someday you would leave him, he didn’t have to ask who you were with for every few minutes. Because he knew damn well — that you would turn down everyone who showed you even a glimpse of interest.

So he kept coming back to the moment he knocked on your brother’s apartment all those months ago. He kept replaying how his hand touched the brunette’s cheek, how his lips captured the unfamiliar plump lips, how he got in bed with someone else that was not you.

What worse from that, was the fact he kept coming back to the same new routine.

He didn’t particularly know when his feelings for you started to vanish into the thin air. There was just no spark anymore when he kissed you, no fiery flame that he usually felt when he pushed you to the bed and devoured you for the rest of the night. Something that used to fulfil his mind and soul satisfaction, became just a physical necessity.

The sound of vegetables being cut was the only thing that rang on his eardrum as he got lost in his mind all over again. Even though he was not alone, he knew better not to make a conversation with his company. His twins, Miya Atsumu.

Ever since he broke it off with you, his twin never stopped pestering him and guilt-tripped him for every chance that he could get. Right now, he even could feel how the brown orbs that belonged to the setter currently sending daggers at the back of his head.

“Don’t you think you are rushing it?” Atsumu finally cut the silence. He actually never once wanted to intervene or poke his nose on his brother’s life. “Didn’t you just start to fuck Sunarin around ten months ago?” But this, this was something that he couldn’t let go as it was.

Because it involved you, you and your very much fragile heart.

Osamu knew too well about how much the setter cared for you. Sometimes he would even think how much better you would be if you fell in love with the blonde instead of him. Atsumu was the one with immense passions, the successful volleyball’s player that had the attention of the whole nation — even beyond.

Yet for all of those years that went by, he was the one who got your heart. And by any chance, he felt like he was winning, at least he was winning something in this life for having a woman that his twin once wanted to have too.

“It’s none of your business.”

He answered with such a curt voice, focusing on the meal that he prepared for his fiancé. Rintarou was away for a week, and he wanted to do something for the love of his life. Yeah, the love of his life. He kept telling himself that, about how if he didn’t really love the brunette he would never cheat on you anyway, so he was pretty sure that his feelings right now were real.

Osamu realised how his relationship with the EJP Raijin’s middle blocker would turn out. Too fast as they just want to reach the finish line, to secure a goal, a real win. Not even one thinking about how you felt as you can only zip your mouth while standing on the sideline.

He thought that the silence that ensued after his response was enough. That maybe today he could just think about his fiancé with peace. Without you that still managed to slip yourself inside his head, without his twin letting out an opinion about how stupid he was for wasting your life.

But when he heard the stool knocked to the ground behind him, he knew that his nightmare would never end.

“For fuck sake you just dumped (Y/n) four months ago and now you are going to wed her brother?!” Atsumu was seething, stomping on the hardwood floor of his twin’s new apartment with a hand carding his own hair in frustration. “You are disgusting.” The setter even spits to the ground, but Osamu didn’t mind it at all.

Because he deserved every insult and hatred that he got.

Atsumu scoffed and grabbed his car keys from the kitchen island when his twin didn’t turn his back to face him. The nausea that he felt when he was around the businessman was sickening, that at this point he wanted nothing but strangle the life off the body of his doppelganger.

It did not come though, another slander or any kind of physical abuse from the setter. The black-haired man just stirred the miso soup that he prepared, numbing his heart and soul, once again acting like someone didn’t want to kill him or something. He knew that Atsumu would surrender, he would get tired anyway when he didn’t receive a response.

When he heard the front door being slammed, that was when he could finally breathe. Osamu didn’t even realise that his hands were trembling, that his skin produced a cold sweat as he once again succumbed to the guilt that eating him alive for every morning that he woke up to.

He still remembered the look inside your eyes, how the warmth that usually there was gone in an instant when he confessed what he had done. He remembered how you took a step backwards every time he walked closer to you, the frightening look that he never thought would be seen from your orbs.

It was only a matter of time before his family and friends knew what he did to you, only a matter of seconds that the news popped on the internet of how the woman behind Onigiri Miya left their shared house — that had been filled with their for years.

His family gave him a look of disappointment, and his twin brother even now could only see him with disdain predominating the brown orbs. But even then, even after what he had done to you, there was no hatred that could be felt radiated from your body. Just utter sadness, and distress.

Possibly because you were just having your heart crumbled, possibly because you never thought that he would do such a thing to you. But just that. You still look at him with the same love that you showed for him since you were sixteen, not even the tiniest bit of loathe could be seen.

And he didn’t deserve that.

“Hey, Rinrin.” Rintarou looked up from his phone, turning his gaze towards you as you twirl your body around. “Penny for your thoughts?” You looked so beautiful with the wedding dress that your mother and he used on her wedding day.

You looked so ready, all grown up now as an engagement ring circled around your finger. He swallowed a huge lump, funny how his long time crush was the one who slid that sophisticated ring on his sister.

“You look good.” He cringed from his own compliment to you. You looked so radiant that he even thought twice whether you were really related to him or not.

The two of you were nothing alike. You were such an angel with all of the good intentions and positive vibes that you had. While him on the other hand — sometimes he wished for your relationship to end, sometimes he even wished that he never introduced you to his teammates back then in high school.

And he always felt so nasty, because you had never been anything but kind to him. “I mean—”

“Hehe, I know, Rin.” You chuckled a little and walked closer to his figure. “I know that you wanted to say more than that.” You always knew what was inside his mind that was always filled with thousand random things, a contrast to the words that slipped from his lips.

Always so good, too kind for this world. You never knew how poisonous his mind sometimes no matter how much he loved you. And he always felt so sick for even thinking about such things about your happiness.

You fiddled your fingers, making him raise one of his eyebrows. He knew that you felt nervous, that you were afraid of whatever that could happen in your life. Your mind was filled with thoughts, and he wondered what inside your head right now. He was not you, he couldn’t read his sibling’s mind.

“I want to say thank you, Rin.” You looked down, stroking the ring that adorned your finger. “Thank you for bringing me to your practice that day.” Then you looked up, teary-eyed fell on his face. “Thank you for bringing Samu to my life.”

See? An angel. So innocent, eyes glimmering with hope and love.

How could he even think about tearing those joy away from you? What kind of brother was he for wanting to be in your position? To be such a jealous person and wishing that he didn’t have a sister that could catch the eyes of his crush.

He promised, he promised to himself that he would let you be happy. That his feelings were nothing compared to your happiness. That someday he would find someone else that would be his last harbour. He pulled you close to his embrace, and he could feel how you were so warm, that just having you as a sister was already a blessing.

He would never hurt you, he promised that.

Yet two months from now, he broke it so easily as he slithered his hand under your fiancé’s shirt, capturing the lips that caught yours for years. So easily, he did all of that so easily. And he continued to do so, he continued the taboo rendezvous over and over again — as if you were never there, to begin with.

“Rin?” The middle blocker jolted when he heard the familiar voice calling out to him. “Rin, sweetheart?” Why it felt wrong, why it didn’t feel right as the nickname rolled down from the tongue of his love. “You looked pale, are you alright?”

Osamu put down the glass of champagne to the table, ignoring all the blare of music that filled the entire club. He was now worried about how the brunette seemed to be sick. Rintarou didn’t answer, his green eyes were blank as it stared at the bubble on his glass.

“I am not, not really.”

Tonight was their bachelor party, they were supposed to have so much fun together with a bunch of friends. Man and woman, they were all joining the entertaining night. With both of their money combined, the couple reserved a famous club downtown until morning.

Everything went so good as everyone laughed and danced, some congratulate them, saying that they were happy for them.

But were they really happy for them? Or was it all just an act because it was the proper thing to do?

The black-haired man really wanted to part his lips and asked. He wanted to know what could possibly make his fiancé look so gloomy at a party, the party that was held for them. Yet deep down, he knew. He didn’t want to believe it but somehow at the back of his head, he could see it.

“Have you heard anything from (Y/n), Samu?” The nickname rolled so smoothly from Rintarou, the nickname that Osamu allowed only for his twin brother and his lover. Used to be you, the other person that could call him like that used to be Suna (F/n). Not — not Rintarou, not your brother.

It was as if the entire club was being put on hold. They stare at each other, with a look that they couldn’t quite fathom, both didn’t know what was inside each other’s mind. Letting out a sigh, Osamu drew his phone from his pocket, unlocking the screen lock and scrolling through the messages that he had left for you.

All was left ignored.

“The last time she answered my message was three days ago,” Osamu announced, he closed the app and opened it up again, wishing that maybe it was just his phone lagged or his internet connection being a shit. But there was still nothing, no new message even though his phone was in its prime condition.

“What was it all about?”

“About this party.” He swallowed a huge lump, biting his bottom’s lip to prevent himself from cracking. “She said she would be there for the two of us. Saying that she would always be there.” His grey orbs never left the small screen, reading through the passage that you sent.

Rintarou groaned and gulped down the champagne as if it was mineral water. He didn’t care about the dizzy feeling that he would get, later on, he didn’t care about that at this point. Slamming the glass to the table, he leaned his back on the soft cushion, staring blankly at the glittering ceiling.

It was the same, the last time he heard from you was around three days ago as he asked about whether you would be there to join the party that was being held two nights before the wedding day. You said the same thing, about how you would be here, how he didn’t have to worry about anything, that you were not going anywhere.

But it had been three hours and yet the gigantic door of the club still closed without your existence graced this place.

“Osamu.” Now the black-haired man was the one who jolted. “Michinari hit his limit now, I need to help him get back to his place.” The voice that belonged to his old captain brought him back to reality. “Is it alright to go home early?”

A little smile was there on Kita’s face as both of his hands were propping to help the now wasted apothecary. Akagi said that he would have work tomorrow, and yet he was the one who got so drunk, making the dual coloured haired man snicker at the fact.

“Oh, yes. Of course, it’s alright Kita-san.” Osamu immediately stood up, followed by Rintarou as they bowed to the man that they had immense respect to. “Please take care, we couldn’t wait to see you on the wedding day.” He said it so smoothly as if it was something that he practised in front of the mirror for hours.

“Alright then. We will take our leave.” Kita bowed a little, turning his back after that and focused on the man in his care. But before he could take another step forward, Akagi yanked his attention back to the couple.

“Ngh, please take care of (Y/n)-chan.” His voice was a slurred, yet everyone could get his point across. “She had been asking me for more sleeping pills, I think she had trouble sleeping.” The ex-libero said it so effortlessly as if it didn’t make the two men in front of him feel like being poured with cold water.

The couple looked at each other, nodding and smiled at the wasted man.

“We will, Akagi-san. I am going to check up on her tomorrow.”

Satisfied with the answer, their upperclassmen finally turned away completely. The businessman still had a soft smile on his face, waving his hand to the two fleeting figures. And when they finally walked past the door, he could finally let out a breath that he didn’t even realise he held it in.

“I will check her tomorrow,” Rintarou muttered under his breath. “You had been there the last time, now it’s my turn.” He missed you, he felt like he missed something in his life every time he had an official match and couldn’t see you on the bleachers.

You were always pushing him forward, always the first person who came when he needed company, the first person that helped him pick up all of his pieces and made it intact once again every time he was down.

So maybe he would be the one who helped you up now. Maybe it was time for him to have your back.

Yet at the same time, he felt like it was not his place anyway.

Since he was the one — who shattered your life into pieces.

»»————-　♔　————-««

The morning light peeking through the curtain. It stung his vision as it was the first thing that he saw. Was it morning? The sun was too bright to consider that right now was still early. Suna groaned, sitting up straight on the bed since he remembered that he needed to go to your house today.

His eyes darted to his side, eyebrows raised as he realised that he was alone. He still needed to get used to this house, the trace of you could still be felt on every corner of the walls. Swallowing a huge lump, he immediately got out from the bed, once again disgusted with himself as he realised that he slept on the bed where you slept for years.

He never thought about it before, when he first got lost on the same bed with the black-haired man. For the first six months of his lust-filled night, your existence was nothing to him. He knocked, being led to the bed, whimpering and groaning as the dainty fingers that usually shaped onigiri — shaping him into whatever that his lover wanted him to be.

Did you really want to see him? What if you wanted some space? Osamu once told him that both of them could not pressure you. They needed to give you time. After all, you already allowed them to be together, you were alright with it as you pushed the two of them to be together once again. You already forgave — no, wait.

You never said anything about forgiving them.

Rintarou groaned frustratedly as he jumped under the shower. His nails dug the hard surface of the tiles as the shame and guilt started to tear his sanity little by little. He shook his head, wanting to believe that you were happy for them. You let them together, to be in love with each other, at least they got your blessing. That was enough.

The brunette just decided to do a quick shower, grabbing a random shirt and boxer from the drawer. He needed to do something, he needed Osamu. They needed to talk, he would go insane if it would be going around like this. It felt too much; the scent, the aura, everything in this house just screamed you.

He hurriedly walked downstairs, his heart beating so fast all of a sudden as if he was running away from a serial killer. Rintarou needed to talk things out, either to his fiancé, or his lovely sister. Before the wedding, before he changed his last name to Miya, he needed one more reassurance.

But his heart immediately felt at ease when he saw the back of his lover. Osamu hummed a song while cooking. Perhaps lunch — or breakfast for him — he flipped the pan effortlessly. And with just a sight of his old-time crush since high school, Rintarou was blinded once again.

His mind was clouded with needs, with peace. This was what he always imagined, to see someone he adored so much cooking for him. The sight was worth thousands of dollars; with arms flexing, broad back moved around here and there, Rintarou took some steps closer to gather more warmth.

He slipped his arms around Osamu, eyes fluttering close as he was now recharging his mind and body. His fiancé just chuckled and turned off the stove, untangled himself before turning his body to face the sleepy man.

“Can’t believe you really sleep for hours.” Snickering, his hand carding the brown strands gently. “I cook some European cuisine today, do you want to eat—” But he stopped the second he saw the forlorn look inside the green orbs. And he understood the reason behind it.

Osamu couldn’t believe himself this morning as he woke up and reached out his hand to the side. He interlaced his hand with the one person besides him. Instead of squeezing it, he pulled his hand so fast, as if the feelings were foreign. That was not you, the size and the skin were different.

It was as if he came back to a year prior, where he wanted no one else but your presence. Maybe it was just alcohol that made him feel as if he never cheated on you as if he never had his tongue inside your brother’s lips. You were haunting him, even though you said you let him go already, it still tasted so bitter every time he swallowed down his saliva.

“Maybe it will calm you down, maybe not. But (Y/n) called me this morning.” Osamu spoke up, the information made the brunette’s pupil dilated. “I missed it, and when I called she didn’t answer. But she left me a message, she’s fine, Rintarou.” And right now, he didn’t know anymore was he trying to comfort his fiancé, or himself.

“And the message…?” The middle blocker pulled himself away, a little bit fidgety under the gaze that he couldn’t quite fathom. “She’s going to our wedding tomorrow, right? Or what was it all about? Define ‘fine’, Samu. My sister’s messages, how she typed her message? Is she really saying that she’s okay?”

He was always like this when he became too agitated, or too nervous. Osamu patted his shoulder gently before cupping his cheek, wiping the tears that wanted to spill from the corner of his orbs. “I needed to see her, I had to see her, Samu. I—”

“She’s away, Rin.” But those words shut him up. “She said she’s sorry that she couldn’t attend the wedding tomorrow. Maybe she needed space, we have to respect her choice.”

No, there was more to it. You were someone who always prioritizes others than yourself. It was just too drastic, to know that you suddenly told one of them that you were not going to be there. Something was off, Rintarou could feel it on every fibre inside his body.

“Hey, don’t think too much about it.” The long fingers that belonged to his lover, tilting his chin so his orbs met with the greyish one. “She’s fine, Rin. She needed more time and started to prioritise herself, it’s a good thing.”

He really wanted to retort, to voice out the sickening feelings that were swirling inside his stomach right now. Yet the gaze that he received told him to just zip it in, that he just had to focus on each other as tomorrow maybe when they seal their love, you would come around and they would be at ease.

So Rintarou just kept his mouth shut, believing the words that rolled down from his lover’s tongue. His eyes fluttering close before once again capturing the lips that now belonged to him.

Miya Osamu was all his, Miya Osamu wasn’t yours anymore — and he needed to get lost one more time, feeling the heat that he finally tasted after ten years just pining and grumbling. He wanted to be selfish, forgetting the breakfast that his fiancé prepared before.

He had to feel some kind of distraction, one thing to focus on until tomorrow at the time their future would be secured by the vow.

Because he needed to shake his own mind which forced him to keep coming back to you.

Tagged Lovelies:

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allegra-writes · 4 years ago

Text

“Teeth”

Peter Parker x Anti-hero!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, chocking kink, rough sex.

Part XI of the "Mercy" series

SERIES MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

"Something in the way you look into my eyes... I don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive"

Teeth - 5SOS

Peter was going to be sick.

He hadn't felt sick in years, ever since the spider bite, but he was sure his stomach was about to turn any second now.

It was all in front of his eyes, the darkest, most confidential of S.H.I.E.L.D's files. Project Lazarus. Nick Fury’s unethical, insane scheme to get the original six back together, using the kree blood running through Captain Marvel's veins to reanimate the fallen ones. And you had been the ultimate guinea pig, the final test.

And Peter had been the one to authorize it.

The name on the files was your father's, but Bucky had only consented after Peter…

He ran, barely making it to the ensuite on time to empty the contents of his stomach into the sink. He let the water flow to wash the foul liquid away.

That wasn't even the worst. Oh no, that was barely the top of the iceberg. The most horrifying part, the part that was going to give him nightmares for weeks, was that protocol. The T.A.H.I.T.I. protocol, a machine wired directly to your brain, with your skull splitted open, erasing everything Fury considered you didn't need. There were even fucking reports about how much more docile and happier you were after forgetting your mother's death, and your subsequent murderous rampage.

And at least half of it was bullshit. They had told you about Natasha the very same day you had woken up, asking for your mommy in russian, breaking their hearts in a thousand pieces once they understood what was going on.

He sprayed some cold water on his face, trying to regain his composure. As bad as he was feeling, it was probably nothing compared to what you were feeling. He had to get it together, for you. He rinsed his mouth and dried his face with a towel, stepping back into his room.

But you were nowhere to be found.

His heart fell to his stomach. He scrambled to put on a pair of sweats, cursing the valuable seconds he was wasting, before running at breakneck speed through hallways and flights of stairs until he reached your floor. By the time he barged into your room, he was out of breath.

“No” It came out as a whisper, a barely audible gasp at finding his worst suspicions confirmed.

There you were, fully dressed, a backpack open on your bed with a few clothes thrown haphazardly inside as you raided your bedroom for weapons.

“No” He repeated, more firmly, when you passed by him. He was met with more silence, as you took your small Glock 42 and checked the magazine. You wouldn't even look at him. You couldn't. You knew that if you as much as met those warm coffee eyes, bright with tears, you wouldn't be able to bring yourself to do it, you wouldn't be able to leave him.

And you had to. Peter didn't know, you were certain, he didn't mean to do so, but he was playing right into the role director Fury intended for him to play: A distraction and an anchor, something to stay for, to keep you loyal to the avengers.

Just like Hydra had used your father to keep your mother in line once, a long time ago. She had told you that story, told you about your dad's face, frozen inside a cryogenic pod. And she had taught you, with tears in her eyes, the motto you had lived your whole life by, up until now: ‘Your first and most important loyalty, must always be to yourself’

You counted your bullets, and tucked the gun into the thigh holster under your skirt. It was time to honor that law.

Peter stepped in front of you, halting your advances,

“Y/n, stop, talk to me, please!” He reached for your hand, but you avoided his touch. You knew what would happen if he touched you.

“It’s over, Peter” Your voice washed over him like a bucket of cold water, chilling him to the bone, “I’m leaving”

The words knocked all the air out of his chest, like a physical blow. He knew your first reaction would be to fly, your mother had raised you your whole life to make self preservation your first instinct. He had feared you would leave him behind.

But somehow, Peter had never pictured you would want to leave him.

He could feel his eyes burn, smell the salt of his own tears. He choked on the question that wanted to escape his throat, it was useless questioning why: He was still pretty much a stranger to you, all of them were. You weren't one to trust easily in strangers, and you had just been proven right. But comprehending didn't make it any less painful.

“Take me with you” He was conscious of the futility of his request as he said the words but he had to try. He had to.

You stopped your packing, meeting his eyes. But he found nothing in yours. No warmth. No trust. Nothing but the cold fire of your barely contained rage, algid and terrible. Peter had seen that look before, back in a barn on a stormy night. He regretted, for what was probably the thousandth time, not running away with you then, instead of asking you to stay with him.

“I was there” He tried again, “the night you tried to kill Clint”

“I know” You interrupted him, “I just read the file”

“I asked you to stay that night. You wanted to run and instead of asking you to let me go with you, I asked you to stay. I’m not making that mistake again. Let me go with you”

Unknowingly, Peter had just confirmed your worst suspicions. He had been the key piece in Fury's chess game from the very beginning, sending him after you over and over again despite his failures, he had set the bait. And you had fallen straight into his trap, forgetting all your training, giving up your own freedom… for a boy.

You weren’t making the same mistake twice either.

“Goodbye, Peter.”

He watched as in slow motion how you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, realizing then that the only way to stop you from leaving was to physically stop you. Desperate, he let his instinct take over in one last attempt to keep you there.

He tackled you, your body hitting the floor hard, all the air knocked out of your lungs at once. Your wrists hurt where his hands pinned them to the floor as he straddled you, a feeling of deja vu washing over him as he looked down at your furious face, but you weren't the same girl he had webbed down to the faded hardwood of that dingy apartment almost a year ago. Not anymore. Six months of training with the winter soldier, the handler of widows himself, had made you even deadlier than you already were.

You tangled your ankle around one of his own, bucking your hips up, pushing him out of balance as you rolled him over, landing on top of him, hand firm around his throat.

“You think you can stop me?” There was venom, and contempt, in your words, his spider sense flaring up. But tried as he may, he couldn't move, couldn't even look away. He was a fly, trapped and defenseless, in your web. He had always been. How foolish and conceited of him, calling himself Spider-man, when there, laying underneath you, he finally understood what a real predator was.

“You think you can get on top of me? Think you can dominate me, boy?” You felt Peter's gulp under your palm. It was tempting, so tempting…

So you squeezed, just a little, watching his pupils blow wide with adrenaline, equal parts crisp trepidation and desire. Peter’s head was spinning, and it wasn't just from lack of oxygen. He didn't know the exact moment you went from fighting him to claw at his clothes, but you were, and he was aiding you, ripping yet another one of your panties, another casualty in the warfare of your relationship, guiding your hips down as you braced yourself, one hand on the floor, the other one still around his neck. Unlike him, who was hard from the moment he felt your hands on his skin, you weren't ready, nowhere near wet enough, but you didn't care: The slight burn grounded you, made everything sharper. This wasn't about placer anyway, this was a punishment. For Peter, for making you feel the things he made you feel; and for you, for allowing them to grow and fester in your heart.

He seemed to like it, though, hips bucking to meet yours, breathless sounds leaving his lips as you fucked yourself on his cock.

“You like this, don't you?” You marveled, “Like it rough, boy?”

It wasn't your old ‘baby boy’, the one that belied your tenderness as you did the most depraved things to him. But it was close enough to get his heart racing.

“Pathetic” You decided, as you felt his pulse pick up under your hand. He whimpered, tears pricking at his eyes, and at last, you let go of his neck, placing both hands flat on his muscular chest for leverage. It wasn’t long before you were breathless too, as taking his cock became easier and easier with every downward stroke.

“Shit... I’ll give it to you, spidey… your dick feels amazing…” You gasped, little frown of concentration on your face, lips parted, unable to contain your little moans. How could he ever let you go, when you were the most exquisite thing Peter had witnessed in his whole life?

“Too much for you, little spider?” He could do nothing but sob as you teased him, cruelly, tightening your muscles around him “...Or not enough?”

You leaned forward, tracing your tongue over his open lips, but quickly withdrawing when he tried to capture yours in a kiss. You changed your pace, no longer bouncing but rocking on top of him, grinding your clit against his pelvis, enjoying the electricity that the friction created on your little pearl of nerves.

Meanwhile, Peter was a mess underneath you, tears now flowing freely, whimpering, and shaking, fisting the fabric of your skirt so hard that you heard it rip. But still not daring to complain.

“You're such a good boy, aren't you? Could do anything I want with you… use you anyway I wanted to…”

You felt him twitch inside you at your words, another whine escaping his chest.

“I could ruin you, ride you so hard… get you so close… and stop right before you come”

He shook his head frantically, desperate, but still, he kept silent.

“You don't want that? But you'd take it anyway, wouldn't you?”

He closed his eyes, unable to meet yours, ashamed. That was all the answer you needed,

“You would. Because you are mine… my pretty toy… to use… to fuck…” You picked up your pace, bouncing up and down his cock, and he couldn't contain himself anymore,

“Yes!” He cried, “I’m yours! All yours!”

“My slutty boy” You praised, legs burning with the strain and exhaustion of the night, but stopping was not an option. You were close, drunk on the power of having such a strong superhuman submitting to you, such a gorgeous man turned into a needy, desperate puddle between your legs.

“Please” He begged, pitifully.

“What do you need, little boy?”

His fingers closed around your wrist, guiding your hand until it was back around his neck, and you understood. You could have mocked him again, humiliated him farther, make him beg for it. But something inside his coffee eyes stopped you. It wasn't trust, no. You could practically smell the fear, the sharp tang of epinephrine coming off his pores, every hair on his body still standing on end, proof of his spider sense still on high alert…

No. It was deeper than that. It was surrender. He knew you could as easily give him what he wanted, as turn on him. Never, not even back it that farm, had been more evident to him that the hand he loved to hold was a weapon.

But he couldn't help never wanting to let go.

“Я тебя люблю” He croaked, throat dry and sore from your manhandling, but still clear enough to make your hips falter.

“What did you just say?” You breathed, stunned.

“Я тебя люблю” He repeated, more clearly, hands sliding up your thighs, till he had handfuls of your ass, “I love you…”

“Shut up” You hissed.

“I won't. I love you” Peter felt as your nails dug on his chest, until he had five bloody crescent marks to match the ones on his back, “I love you…”

You squeezed his neck harder, until he was really struggling for air, black spots dancing in his vision.

“I love you” It was nothing but a gasp.

You made a frustrated noise, but there was no denying the way your walls fluttered around him. And there was no stopping your hips, working him ferociously, fucking yourself on his cock without mercy. You were falling already, falling apart for him.

“Come with me” It was a command. It was a request. It was an invitation.

And Peter knew you weren't just talking about his release.

To be continued...

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #Mercy series #mercy

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96dys · 4 years ago

Text

hydrangea ; johnny seo

money makes the world turn. there was so much of it, and yet so few people ever saw it. maybe if it weren’t for the money, johnny might have acted differently. maybe his family’s badgering wouldn’t have weighed on him as much as it did. maybe he wouldn’t have taken you, because finding a wife this way wouldn’t have mattered. he didn’t like the circumstance, but he couldn’t keep himself from liking you—the dirt-poor girl who worried more about helping others than feeding herself.

ceo au

taglist: @aaaaalex05

masterlist

01 | silver spoon

you were warm. the first thing you noticed upon willing your eyelids apart was that you were engulfed by a pleasant warmth, similar to that of which your mother's hugs used to provide. it was soft, so soft against your skin. you grabbed at it, willing the warmth closer. it was so unfamiliar, yet you welcomed it anyway. even if it was a mirage, you'd come to your senses with the pleasant memory of what could've been. it took a few seconds for your vision to become clear, but you were still unable to see anything. everything in your line of sight was a bright white shade. sitting up took twice as long. your body felt like it was packed full of rocks and each of your limbs radiated a dull ache, much like the light pounding in your head. when you were finally sat upright, your face scrunched up as confusion fully consumed you. you certainly hadn't died; whether you thought this was positive or negative had yet to be decided yet. regardless, you were surprised to find yourself in a large bedroom, dressed in a silk nightgown, and covered by the softest of blankets. you smelled so nice, like the pretty roses planted behind the church. this prompted you to slowly raise a hand from beneath the covers. you were shocked to see that it was clean, even down to your nail beds. the taste of mint lingered on your tongue. seeing all of this, you were no longer so sure that you hadn't passed. the room was nothing short of opulent, at least by the standard you had. the bed was big enough to easily fit three people, yet it didn't take up any more than half of the room. you were sat right in front of a closed door across the room, but you also noticed that the door to an en-suite bathroom had been left open a few feet away. there was a third door to your left, so many feet away. one of the mystery doors had to be a way out, but you weren't sure you had the energy to explore just yet. there was a window to your right, bordered by flowing pink curtains. they were the slightest bit transparent, offering a view of two birds nesting on top of a thick tree branch. turning to your left once more, you noticed that there was a vanity near the door, like the ones you read about in princess fairytales when you were younger. it was pink, like the curtains, and littered with more makeup products than you could count. while your body wanted nothing more than rest, you willed your legs over the side of the bed. as tired as you were, you'd taken notice of something worth moving for. just a few feet away, a silver box stuck out of the wall. there was a grated square covering most of its front, a little black button positioned right below it. if anyone asked you would deny it, but you were a kid at heart. you had to push the button; you just couldn't help yourself. you slowly walked over to the wall, keeping your left hand on the bed for support. it still felt as though your legs were filled to the brim with wet sand, though moving seemed to lessen the discomfort just a little. finally close enough to reach the box, you grabbed the fluffy white pillow and tossed aside in order to sit in its place at the head of the bed. a slow hand reached out until your index finger came into contact with the button. much to your dismay, nothing happened. "that was stupid," you muttered to yourself. truthfully, you were annoyed about having wasted so much effort on something that didn't even work. now you had no option but to sit there in silence, as you were certain you wouldn't wake up if you laid back down. inspecting the room a second time, you kicked your feet to keep them moving. you found that the more you moved, the less they hurt. you wracked your brain trying to remember what had happened before you arrived in this strange place, but it felt as though the memories had been washed away. the last thing you could recall was wishing the pastor a good night before you left the church at sundown. this was probably the biggest annoyance, as it only added more mystery to your situation. you thought that maybe if you were able to remember how you got there, you would have some kind of a clue as to why you were there. you knew that once the grogginess wore away you would feel so much more, but for now shock managed to soften every other emotion. the stunned state you were in made it nearly impossible to react the way you felt you should. part of you wanted to run toward whichever door your feet wanted to carry you to. part of you wanted to try to climb out the window. there was even a tiny part of you that contemplated drowning yourself in the toilet bowl. yet all you could do was sit there and kick your legs back and forth, attempting to catch each thought as it sped through your mind. it was the not knowing that caused your head to fill with so many ideas and scenarios. as much as you wanted to enjoy this new setting, you couldn't. you didn't choose to come here; you don't belong here. it was the kind of room you always dreamt of as a young girl, but it wasn't yours. it wasn't yours and you had no idea what was to happen while you were there. suddenly the door swung open. you froze, not knowing what to do as a man entered your room. he was tall—easily just as tall as your father had been, if not a few inches more. he wore a white button up shirt that highlighted his toned arms and a simple pair of black slacks. jet black hair fell across his forehead, which hadn't been styled at all. as he came closer, your heart started to beat again. taking a closer look at his face, you realized that this was a boy, not a man. despite his figure, he couldn't have been more than fifteen. his plump lips even curled into that signature smile you'd seen so many young boys give before, the shy smile that only girls received. "sorry you had to wait so long, i was on the other side of the house working on something when i was told that you were awake," he said cheerily, like this was something he'd done before. although he refused to let his smile falter, you were around kids enough to know that he was panicking inside. you could see it in his eyes, in the way his fingers nervously pulled at the right side of his pants. you were given the impression that he was instructed to greet you, and that he wasn't especially fond of doing so. he closed the door behind himself and took a few more steps forward, stopping at the vanity. he visibly relaxed a lot more once the door was closed. it made sense then—he was afraid someone was listening in to make sure he was following instructions correctly. "i'm jisung and for the time being i'm kind of... don't ever call me your maid, but i'm kind of your maid," he said. he spoke very fast, so much so that he had to stop himself here and there to keep from tripping over his tongue. this time though it didn't appear to be a nervous habit. his tone was much more relaxed, which told you that he just naturally spoke faster than his brain could form sentences. "what's going on?" you asked calmly. part of your brain felt like a larger reaction was in order, but there wasn't a fiber of your being that knew what kind, only what for. regardless, you saw no sense in blowing up at a teenage boy, so instead you resigned to whatever state of calmness you were able to go to. he bit down on his lower lip, contemplating his response. "i don't really know enough to give you the answer i think you deserve since i'm not important enough to be kept in the loop beyond whatever gossip i hear, but i'll tell you what i can," he rambled. he then placed both hands on the vanity chair and spun it toward you. "come sit down first and then we'll talk. i'm supposed to be getting you ready." you raised an eyebrow skeptically, but stood nonetheless. as much as you wanted to object, you had the feeling that causing problems wouldn't go over well for you in a place like this. you would keep your guard up, but you didn't want to make any more waves than you absolutely had to. "ready for what?" having slowly made your way across the hardwood floor, you sat down in front of him. he then began pulling open drawers and rummaging through everything, clearly searching for a very specific item. "i'm getting there," he mindlessly responded, too preoccupied to give you his full attention. it wasn't until he pulled out a black hairbrush that he was ready to talk. he set it down on the vanity and spun you around to face the mirror. at an instant he was back to his mile-a-minute speaking. "i really hate saying it like this because it kind of icks me, but you were chosen for marriage. it's not super uncommon for people to the taken off the streets and brought here for some reason, but i think you're the first i've seen that has to become a wife. i don't really know why he decided to snatch someone off the streets when he could easily find someone that, you know, wants to marry him, but i guess it has something to do with whatever deadline was coming up." you said nothing, trying to wrap your head around what you'd been told. as he pulled the elastic from the end of your messy braid and began to unravel it, his words replayed in your mind once more. in a nutshell, you were being forced to throw away your previous life in order to start a new one with some stranger. it was laughable. of all the reasons you could've been abducted, this one was so... stupid. your head fell a bit. you sighed, wondering what it was about you that put you in such a position. of anyone he could've chosen, why did it have to be you? why were you the one that had to hallucinate all kinds of gods and monsters, only to end up in the last place you wanted to be? as much as your life sucked sometimes, you would've much rather been back home boiling water to drink than sitting in that chair. at least at home you were familiar with the dangers you had to face. "i know you're probably not in the mood to make friends," he began, running the brush through your hair. you didn't respond, only looked ahead at your reflection. for the first time in years, you looked well rested. how could that be? after everything you had gone through, how was it that you looked so... at peace? "but we're the same," he continued. it sounded like he was talking more to himself than to you, like it was just some mindless rambling. "i'm like you. i didn't choose to come here, and i'm probably never going to leave. i've been here for years." that got your attention. you lifted your head in surprise, causing him to gently reposition it. you didn't know if you were meant to feel sorrow or ease at the fact that you weren't the first person to come here this way. "my parents died when i was six. i was too young to really know what happened—no one would tell me—but everyone has their theories, you know? about death, anyway. to this day i'm still not sure, but i think it was the water. when my parents got sick, they were so weak. they would send me to the next town over with what little bit of money they had stashed away to buy bottles of clean water. they wouldn't drink any of it, but they insisted i did," he babbled. his hands felt nice in your hair now, delicately weaving your hair into a neat braid down your back. you could see him in the mirror, looking down at you. you weren't sure what emotion was displayed upon his face. as he tied an elastic around the end of the braid, he resumed, "they were gone within a week. i was all alone. you know how it is; people die and no one cares. no one came looking for me, but i was found a couple of days later. he doesn't work here directly, but there's a man that works in collections that's associated with the corporation. i think he was there to clear my home of everything my family had left behind, and he saw me there, too. i don't know if he wanted to or if it was part of the job, but i was taken here. no need for drugs; i was too young to know any better, so i believed him when he said he was bringing me to a safe place. i've never left the premises. they just trained me to look after people like you. do your hair, makeup, laundry—things like that. i don't like to call myself a maid, but... anyway, you're my first." he spun you around then, forcing you to face him. you had already taken notice of his height, but you could really see how tall he was now, towering over you. maybe you were shocked because you spent all of your time around children, or maybe it was because you'd never seen a young teenager nearing six feet before. not where you're from, anyway; all growth seemed stunted by the lack of nutrients children typically got from whatever they were forced to call a meal. as he used slender fingers to gently pull pieces of hair from the braid, you bit your lip. then, you spoke for the very first time since he began your makeover. "why? what do they get from a scared six year old?" the left corner of his mouth rose, like he was pondering over what to say. you noticed that he always tried to be very careful about the way he spoke to you. he crouched down so that his face was level with yours. at first, you thought it was so that he could talk with you directly, but then you watched him grab some things from the vanity. you weren't very familiar with makeup, but he now held in his hand what you thought to be eyeshadow and a brush to apply it with. you were right. as he opened the little plastic rectangle and dipped the brush inside one of the colors, you let your eyelids flutter closed and he finally began to speak. "seotech is one of the largest companies in the world. any piece of technology you've ever used probably came from one of their factories. even poor people need technology, right? i didn't have more than two shirts and one pair of pants, but my family had a little flip phone in case of emergencies. they make too much money and they know it," he mumbled. his brows were furrowed either in anger or concentration; you couldn't be sure which of the two it was. "and they know that people like you and me are so easy, you know? we're so low on the food chain, we get pulled off the streets and there's no one there to miss us. the people that do don't really care, anyway. they know how we live. they get free labor wherever they need it and we get the things we never had back home—three meals a day, a shower that works, a real bed to sleep on... they know us. they know we'll take whatever we can get, and they get to keep lining their pockets." you felt a quiet unease whispering in your stomach. it was the same frustration you were overcome with when your family fell ill. money; it was always about money. you were losing your life for something you never had any of. you might not have had many things to your name back home, but it was your life and you didn't understand why you should have to it up in order to help some stranger make money when he likely has more than he'll ever spend in his lifetime. where was his money when you needed it? where was he the summer you had nothing to eat but whatever food scraps you could find in the community garbage pile. where was his precious money then? and although you were so angry that it always boiled down to something financial, you knew jisung was right and you hated it. you hated that there was a part of you that was so thankful you woke up in a large bed, enveloped in the softest blankets you'd ever felt in your life. you hated that the idea of eating more than once a day—and real food at that—excited you. you were so angry at the man that forced you to come here, but you couldn't hate him and that only hurt your head even more. no matter what he did to get you there, nothing could change the fact that your quality of life drastically improved the moment you walked through the front door. you might even live to see thirty now; as much as you wanted to, you couldn't hate him for that. jisung took your lack of response as a sign to keep talking. "i've met johnny once or twice. he's really busy with work and stuff, so he isn't around often, but he's a pretty nice guy. you don't have to like him, but i think you might at some point in time. because of my situation, i didn't like his father, but..." it was at that point that you began to tune out the young boy's mindless rambling. the only thing you found useful was his comment about someone named johnny; context told you that this is the man that brought you here. beyond that, you didn't care much about what jisung was saying. it was as though he couldn't stand the silence, like he had to fill every little second with sound. that was likely why he continued to speak about everything and nothing until he was finished with your makeup. finally he placed his tools back atop the vanity and straightened himself out. you watched him stretch his back for a moment before spinning you back around. you weren't sure how to feel about the girl staring back at you in the mirror. she was you, and yet she wasn't at the same time. you'd never seen yourself in a healthy state, but you imagined you would look like this. the dark circles under your eyes had been concealed, your eyelids were brushed with a very natural looking tan shade, and even your lips were made to look a little pinker, a little livelier. the long pieces of hair framing your face only served to pull the look together. the voice in the back of your head knew that it was just an attempt to better cover your hollow cheeks, but you chose to ignore this fact. "all done!" he exclaimed quietly, visibly proud of his work. he stared at you expectantly, and so you smiled. you weren't especially in the mood to talk, but you had to admit that he did do a very good job of making you appear more put together. seeing your nonverbal response only made him smile as well. you were thankful he got the message. while you weren't very happy to be there, you didn't want to take your negativity out on him. your eyes followed him around the room. he stopped at the door across from your bed for just a moment before turning the knob and walking inside. from what you could see, it was a closet full of beautiful clothing. and you were proven to be correct, as he quickly returned with a few items in hand. he laid everything out on the bed and turned to you. "uh... obviously i'm not going to dress you. that would be really weird, plus i'm sure you can do it yourself anyway. if you have any problems though, just press that button and say you're having a lady problem. they'll send a girl to help you," the boy babbled. you saw that he was pointing to the box again, the one that made the static sound. now you understood that it was some kind of communication device, like a radio or a phone. as you nodded, he continued. "i'm gonna step out for a few minutes to call johnny and let him know you're almost ready. as soon as you're ready i can take you to him." he started to walk toward your bedroom door, but you called after him. when he made eye contact, you felt the need to look down. "do you know what's going to happen with me and johnny?" calling the man by name felt very weird. the man you had envisioned was burley and intimidating, but hearing his name shattered that image entirely. johnny sounded very... familiar, sort of like a noisy little boy in your study group. it wasn't the name someone scary looking would have, and if it was, you felt that he would probably go by something else. jisung nodded. "there's a wedding at the end of the week. i heard through the grapevine that it was supposed to be sooner, but he chose you without telling everyone or something stupid like that, so now we all have to run around like chickens with our heads chopped off trying to put everything together last minute. all i know for sure is that i have to find you a dress as soon as possible." then, he shrugged and walked out, like he knew you weren't going to respond. you only sighed. there was a full ache in your stomach. the idea of getting married really didn't sit right with you, not because you were opposed to the idea of being with someone forever, but because you haven't even seen your forever person yet. but you knew that there was no sense wasting even more time over feelings that weren't going anyway anytime soon, so you slowly rose to your feet. walking felt much better now; you were able to make it to the bed without any issues. truthfully, you were blown away by the clothing laying in front of you. just putting everything on felt wrong, even the cotton panties. you made your way over to the mirror, hoping you would have enough time to gawk at yourself before jisung comes back. to say that you were stunned would be an understatement. the pale yellow dress hugged your abdomen perfectly, the flowing skirt falling just above your knee. the puffed up sleeves were long enough to be noticeable, though not so big as to look childish. the black flats on your feet contrasted the outfit greatly, but you remembered hearing somewhere that black goes with everything. no matter how many times and whatever which way you turned, you couldn't see yourself standing in the mirror. it wasn't right; it wasn't normal. seeing yourself in something so nice—something so expensive—felt very weird. you hadn't once in your life owned an outfit that hadn't been worn numerous times by the previous owner, let alone something so pretty. you looked... like you belong here. you made a mental note to ask jisung how he knew what your sizes were. given that you're extremely underweight and shoe sizes are impossible to guess, you were astonished at how nicely everything fit around your body. standing in front of the door now, you briefly hesitated before slowly pulling it open. you poked your head out into the hallway, hoping to see jisung. he stood a few feet away with his back against the wall, waiting for you to finish up. he immediately perked up once he saw you, waving you over. you pulled the door closed behind yourself and quietly obliged his unspoken request. you trailed behind him a bit as he walked you through the huge house, mostly in an attempt to avoid anymore stories. you found that he spoke a lot less when he was unable to see you face to face. instead, he only gave directions where he saw fit. we're gonna go down these stairs. there's a really weird turn here. watch your step, that stair has a really bad crack in it. being in a place so large made your head spin. no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't count how many rooms you'd been led past. you had yet to see a wall that lacked some kind of extravagant art piece. each one was different from the last, but still there all the same. you even saw numerous people, all of which were dressed just like jisung. some smiled and waved at the boy, others gave some other kind of cheerful greeting. when you reached what he claimed to be the final door, you felt like your legs were going to fall right off of your body. it wasn't often that you went out of your way to walk for such a long time, since your body always seemed to object. in that moment, it felt like this was the worst it had ever been. you weren't winded, but the pain in your legs alone was enough to make you want to quit. now you were very close to objecting. the boy guides you through the doorway and you instantly came to the realization that there was so much more walking to be done. ahead of you was the most beautiful garden, delicate hydrangeas leading up to large hedges that formed what looked like a maze. your assumption was proven to be correct; as you followed him down the stone path and into the entrance, you were immediately met with many twists and turns. however, the sights seemed to distract you from the ache in your calves. the path you took was very boring, but each opening you passed gave you a look at something new and exciting. they all opened up to a large room of sorts, all full of dark green grass and an array of flowers. some even had tall fruit trees growing, which you'd never seen in person before. though you knew it took far longer to reach your destination, it felt like only a few minutes had past. and as soon as you arrived, jisung scurried off. you didn't really blame him. standing there now, all alone with a man that could've only been johnny, you wished it had taken even longer. the area you were in now was very large. there was a bench a little ways away, but everything else was open space. there were so many different flowers, a number of trees, and even a little pond in the corner. you had to admit it was nice. this part of the garden was just as beautiful as any other, and you assumed it would be very peaceful if you were visiting alone. but you weren't. the last thing you wanted was to walk toward the man, but you knew there wasn't another option. you could feel his eyes locked on something in your direction as you slowly worked your way toward the bench he sat upon. in truth, you were hoping it wasn't you. you kept your gaze on the green grass beneath your feet, not yet ready to fully take in his appearance. you wanted to know what he looked like, but you also didn't want to give him any attention. you reached the bench, making sure to keep a few inches between your bodies as you sat down on his right. very very reluctantly, you turned to look at him. he was dressed nicely—almost a little too nicely. he wore a grey suit with a burgundy button up beneath his jacket. the look was finished off with shiny black shoes, the kind that made you wonder how they were worn without acquiring a single scuff. he looked like someone who had just come home from work, which very well may have been true. though he was sitting down, you could tell by looking at his long legs that he was very tall. looking at his face only confirmed it, given that you had to look up a little in order to get a good look. dark brown hair fell messily across his forehead, though it looked like it had previously been styled away from his face entirely. his pink lips settled into a slight frown, though he didn't seem entirely unhappy. more lost on thought, if anything. dark brown eyes stared off at something behind you for a minute before he shifted his body. now that he was facing forward, you felt comfortable enough to do the same. "i heard from jisung that you haven't been very talkative," he began, skipping introductions that clearly weren't needed. he couldn't bring himself to look at you, not yet. though he was very excited to be in your presence, he wasn't very proud of the way he had been required to get you there. "that's understandable. you don't have to talk, but i want to. you can just listen; that'll be enough." from his peripheral vision, he could barely make out the nod you gave. it was so small, so fleeting, he thought it might've been hard to catch if he were looking at you dead on. while it wasn't much, it was a response nonetheless. given what his family had done to you, he liked seeing you responsive in any capacity. he wanted you to be comfortable in his home, even if you weren't comfortable with him. "i know it probably doesn't mean much, but i really am sorry. i only got to decide which woman i would marry, i wasn't really given any options regarding how i would become engaged." he turned his head to look at you, hoping you would notice the sincerity in his eyes, but you refused to look at him. he sighed to himself and continued, "my father passed recently, a couple of months ago. he had cancer, not that it's very relevant... anyway, i had been putting it off for as long as possible—finding a woman to marry—but other relatives had begun to write constantly. dozens of letters and even a handful of phone calls. people were talking, and they weren't saying anything positive. when i took over my fathers business—the family business—i was expected to marry immediately. it was what my father had done, as well as my grandfather, and even all of my uncles, though they're not as important when it comes to both money and business alike. it was tradition to marry the moment you cross over into adulthood. it's different for everyone, but it's always the first defining moment in a mans life. for me, it was inheriting the company. and funnily enough, my family doesn't see that the wealthy are fit to marry. isn't that odd, the rich refusing to marry amongst themselves? my uncle always said that it's because there are so few of us now, you can never really know who might be distantly related; no one wanted to risk it i guess. so instead they opted for the poor, and they would take whoever they liked most. i don't like and i didn't want to, i can promise you that, but i was told that if i didn't do it myself, they would take numerous girls in order to make me pick." you bit down on your lower lip. admittedly, it was funny in the most ironic way. the divide between the upper and lower class had grown so great that people like johnny seemed like a myth—never seen or heard, but always talked about. the poor were so looked down upon that the rich refused to associate beyond recruiting workers for their respective businesses. even then, they sent other workers to do the job for them. you found it humorous that people like you were never good enough to keep well fed, to keep warm during the winter, or even to talk to, but your women are the only ones they see fit to marry. then, you looked at him. "out of everyone, why me?" johnny looked away for a moment before meeting your eye. he searched for any sign of sadness, contentment, happiness—any emotion at all—but he saw none. your eyes were so beautiful, yet so empty. he wanted to blame it on your character, though he knew in his heart that wasn't the case. he knew it was a result of what he had done, and it made his heart drop a little in his chest. he let out another sigh when you turned once more, opting to look at the trees in front of you instead. "i was on my way to a lunch party when i was driven through your town four days ago now. i'd never been taken that way before, probably because i'd never met with these associates face to face. anyway, i noticed you... outside of the church. you had a tattered cloth in your hand and i guess some kind of a wash bucket on the ground beside you. i don't know really; i was only able to look for a few seconds. but i saw you, and i saw the children. you were washing the dirt from their faces before they went inside, almost like you were bathing them." he smiled softly to himself, looking straight ahead. the trees danced gently in the wind, the sight easing his mind. there was a certain fondness in his voice when he spoke, like he was recounting some story of an old friend. he didn't know you, but in those few moments, it had felt like he did. he saw something in you, though he wasn't entirely sure what that was. even now, he isn't sure why he feels so comfortable in your presence. "you don't see that often anymore," he added softly. "after the war, things changed so much. you don't typically see people helping one another anymore, not that i don't understand why. people are so focused on keeping food on the table and a roof over their head that no one has any free time to volunteer. but you did. you didn't have to help those children, but you chose to. i don't know... there was just something about that." he was right. you didn't have to be at the church, and even though you were never paid with money, it was something you loved to do. the few families that owned books would allow you to borrow whichever ones you had yet to read in exchange for dedicating your time to their children, but you would do it even if there wasn't a single thing you got out of it. you loved to read and you hated that there weren't enough people with the knowledge to do so themselves. there were a large number of adults that were schooled to the fullest extent, but after the war education just wasn't a priority. so you made it your priority. you didn't know anything about science and you could only do the smallest bit of math that didn't deal with money, but you could read. your younger brother was exceptionally smart for someone his age. all children learned the alphabet one way or another, but from that he taught himself to read using your parents old books and magazines. by the age of seven he was able to read full sentences; by nine he could read books. and despite being two years younger, he taught you too. at first you thought he was messing with you. some of the things he was saying just didn't make sense. why do we have the letter k if it makes the same sound as c? shouldn't that make it redundant? you would always ask a similar string of questions each learning session, but he would just laugh and tell you to trust him. sometimes it was hard to believe your dorky younger brother wasn't just pulling your leg for his own amusement. you didn't get it at the time, but it would all make sense when you began to read sentences and noticed everything matching up with things you saw everyday in real life. even so, letter combinations were nearly your breaking point. at the age of eleven, you were on the verge of tears as he tried to explain why 'th' makes the sound it does. it didn't make sense to you and that made you feel so stupid. then, he said something that stuck with you. "hey, you're just not looking at it the right way," he'd said, his beaming smile shining up at you. he picked the book up off of the floor and leaned against the wall, propping it up on his knees. he pointed to the word 'church'—more specifically the first two letters. "i'll use a different example: 'ch'. think of c and h like brother and sister, like you and me. when they're not together, they make their own sounds, right? like how i forage for cool plants and you draw pictures. that's us when we're not together, but when we hang out, we read. it's something new we do. like the 'ch' sound. c and h are hanging out, so they've gotta do something together. they make a new sound. it's like that for t and h too." that was the first time everything began to fall into place. it was an analogy you still used to help young children learn to read simple words, partly because it was so easy to understand and partly because it felt like you were honoring your brother. he wasn't around to do any more teaching himself, but you knew he was smiling down on you. he spent so much time with his head in a book, you could feel in your heart that he would be proud of your actions. you couldn't fight the bright smile that made its way to your face. he always did that to you. you've had so much time to grieve him after his passing at just thirteen years old, all you feel is peace when he comes to mind. he did so much good in the world and he enabled you to do the same. even in death he was a beckon of light in such a dark world. it made your heart swell. "i like to read," you muttered, mostly to yourself. "i teach them how to read." johnny turned his head slowly to look at you, but his eyes were much faster. he didn't want to startle you, but he was so eager to take a look at you. it was the first time he heard your voice; his face completely lit up at the sound. he wasn't sure you were going to speak again, so he wanted to cherish this moment. "i read a lot when i'm not working," he cheerfully admitted. "my library is huge; we probably have any book you could ever want to read. if we don't, i can make sure it gets to you. we can meet there tomorrow and i'll show it to you." "tomorrow?" you asked skeptically. "tomorrow," he confirmed. "i'm never going to make you do anything you don't want to when we see each other—you just say the word and we'll do something else—but we're going to see each other. i get caught up at work pretty often, but i'll make at least an hour for you everyday." you thought about responding, but you didn't get the chance. instead, your stomach emitted a noisy grumble. your facial features contorted in an odd mix of embarrassment and disgust; you were really hoping he hadn't heard that. given your luck though, of course he had. he quickly turned to look at you. you couldn't decipher the look on his face. there was a distinct annoyance in his eyes despite the panicked look on his face, which was what threw you off. "have you eaten yet?" you shook your head. truthfully, you were starving. maybe the reason you hadn't noticed was because you had so many more important things on your mind, or maybe it was because you were so used to feeling hungry that you only ever truly felt it when your body couldn't handle any more. he cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. his eyes briefly snapped shut, and for the most fleeting moment, he looked like he had been caught committing a crime; like he knew he messed up. then it made a little more sense. you were getting the impression that he was annoyed with himself over the matter. and he was. "i told them to make sure you ate," he muttered to himself. then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a rectangle the size of his large hand. you most imagined it was a cellphone, though it didn't look like any you'd seen in person. if you ever made up the money, the only phone available would be a tiny flip phone, like the one jisung mentioned earlier. curious about the device, you couldn't keep yourself from leaning in a little. you wanted to see how it worked, if nothing else. staring at the screen almost made your head hurt, it was so bright. there was so much to take note of, too. from the bright colors to the funny icons on his keyboard, you weren't sure where to begin. the time at the top told you that it was just a little past noon. you made sure to keep that in mind, as you weren't sure where you would be able to locate a clock when you go back inside. then you saw that he was typing a message. he was quick to hit send and put his phone away, but you had seen enough to understand what he'd said. he was asking a person named yuta to bring breakfast foods out to a table in garden. "interested?" he asked, the corners of his lips pulling upward in the tiniest smirk. "sorry," you mumbled. just as quickly as he had hit send, you turned away. "don't be," he laughed lightly. "it is pretty cool. well... i think so anyway. sometimes my friends make fun of me because i could easily afford to design a newer model just for myself and this one is a little outdated, but i like it. we don't make phones in red anymore for whatever reason and i'm too lazy to issue a new set of requirements." you bit down on your lip in order to keep from saying something mean. it would be a little much to say that he ruined the moment, but you felt that was exactly what he did. his phone was cool until he started polluting the conversation with his problems. you were certain that even he had real issues that deserve to be addressed, though this wasn't one of them. it would be so nice to have so much money that your main concern is deciding which fancy new phone you wanted to purchase. so you simply asked what it does. "it does everything, honestly. kind of like a computer, in a way. you can talk to people, text people, and search for things on the internet. it takes pictures, records sound, and um... oh! you can play games too." honestly, johnny was excited to answer your question, even if he didn't know where to begin. he stumbled over his words a bit, trying to put together a response that was straight to the point. he wasn't sure how much you knew about technology given your upbringing, so he didn't want to overwhelm or confuse you. his business phone was so much more advanced, he'd be hesitant to even show it to you. "is that what you do?" you questioned, looking at his blurry figure through your peripheral vision. "you make phones?" "all kinds of tech," he answered. "phones and computers are really popular these days, but my company makes everything that sells. even had a guy special order a touch screen fridge once. it was weird, but he paid double just so i could find someone who'd be able to figure it out. we're the only company that produces technology though, so it wasn't like he had anywhere else to look. you know how it is." "no, i don't." you understood how the market worked, but not in the way he was implying. it was no secret that monopolies were still in play; if something was for sale, you could only get it from one set company and no one else. however, it wasn't like there was ever a point in your life where you were ever able to make such a purchase. you were unable to put yourself in that mans shoes, unable to understand what it would be like to have to search for someone to entertain such a stupid request, let alone be able to pay double for it. he didn't speak after that. it was the right choice to make, he decided, because he was beginning to realize how different your worlds were. he had forgotten that you weren't raised the way he was, which meant it probably sounded like he was speaking another language entirely. he could only hope that language wasn't arrogance. after a few quiet minutes trying to spot the squirrels as they darted up the tall trees, you heard something in off in the distance. it was a shrill clanking sound, the kind your battered water pot always made when you put the lid back on. having given your left a good look without finding anything, you turned to your right. a man was turning the corner, pushing a cart topped with various plates and bowls through the stone pathway. this had to be yuta. he was pretty, you thought. his chestnut hair was quite long compared to johnny's. it was nowhere near as long as yours, but from what you could tell, he'd pulled the majority of it into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. an attempt had been made to push the remainder past his ears, and still his overgrown bangs slipped out and softened the edges of his face. "there's your food," johnny informed you. he rose to his feet and extended his hand, only to watch as you stood without even acknowledging the gesture. a breathe of air escaped his parted lips. seeing as you didn't care to talk anymore, he made his way through the garden. he looked over his shoulder every now and again to make sure he hadn't lost you. while the table wasn't very far away, reaching it required taking a couple of odd turns. when you did though, you took a moment to take in your new surroundings. aside from the small entrance, this area was surrounded by large hedges on all sides. it wasn't very big either—just big enough to comfortably house a white square table that stood out amongst all of the greenery. the stone pathway he lead you down stopped at the table, which sat atop a large plot of smooth, shiny stone in the middle of the grass. there was a chair for every side of the table, so you sat down in the one closest to you. johnny sat down on your right. as he did so, the clanking got louder and louder, until the cart came to a slow stop behind you. you understood why yuta didn't want to move the cart off of the stone path, yet it felt very weird for him to set the table from such a distance. actually, it felt weird to have someone set the table for you at all. it made it impossible for you to look up from your lap. you didn't want to risk having to look at him at all. even so, you listened as he made numerous trips, only raising your gaze when you heard him push the noisy cart in the other direction. when you did, your eyes widened until they were as big as the plate in front of you. at least a dozen little plates and bowls full cluttered the table, as well as an empty glass and the pitcher of water that accompanied it. you'd never seen so much food and you were positive you'd never seen many of the things he'd brought. there were some you remembered seeing at least a couple of times back home, like scrambled eggs and little rolls of bread, and there were some you were sure you'd read about, like what you deduced were sliced strawberries. everything else remained a mystery for the time being. "i've arranged for you to have three meals brought to your room at a set time everyday, but if you get hungry in between or want something different, just press the button on the wall and ask," johnny informed you. using long arms, he reached across the table to grab the water pitcher. he poured you a glass and mumbled to himself, his voice so sad. "hopefully you gain some weight." you found yourself lost in thought as he continued to place various food items on your plate. though it was something you always tried your hardest not to think about, he was right. if you had to guess, you would say you were maybe ten pounds away from being able to see your ribs. it was a sad fact, but it was the normalcy when you grew up. in your nineteen years, you'd only seen a few people that looked completely healthy; johnny and jisung made up half of that list. as he finished up, you chose to further the conversation—not because you truly wanted to, but as a way to thank him for what he was doing. you were certain he wasn't worthy of a true apology, though he didn't have to feed you, let alone serve you himself. "the radio?" you questioned, reaching for your water. you took a sip, listening to his laughter. brows furrowed, you set down the glass and looked at him. his shiny white teeth were on full display, brown eyes nearly forced shut by his amusement. "i can get you a radio if you want," he responded after a few moments, gradually becoming more calm with each word. "what we have in your room is called an intercom. it allows you to talk back and forth with staff members if there's ever anything you need. it's older technology, but we still manufacture them because they've proven to be useful—even now." he felt bad for laughing so loudly, but he hadn't been able to help himself. it wasn't that he was amused by your lack of knowledge, it was that he wasn't prepared for such a large cultural gap between the two of you. even now, watching you grip your fork wrong, he thought about how different your life must've been. after a minute, he couldn't stand to let you struggle any longer. with a gentle touch, he pulled the utensil from your grasp, only to reposition and return it to you. he used his own fingers to push up against your own until they curled around the silver once more. then, he pulled away. embarrassment blossomed across your face. there was only one utensil in your home, which was a large wooden spoon, but now you realized you'd been holding it incorrectly this entire time. it was something you stumbled upon in the garbage not too long ago; couple with the fact that you hardly ever had anything to cook, you never had much reason to learn to do so properly. still, this didn't make the current situation any less humiliating. johnny wasn't someone you were worried about impressing and still you felt like crawling into a hole and hiding away for a long time. you didn't want to look stupid, even in front of someone you found so irrelevant. because you weren't stupid. despite whatever he might be thinking, you knew things. they were very different from the things he knew, but very valid nonetheless. you had no clue how technology worked beyond what little bit you'd read in those ancient books, but he wouldn't last more than three days in your neighborhood. your knowledge was just as valid as his, yet it didn't make you feel any better about yourself. looking down at your plate, you briefly wondered what had been placed on it. the thought faded out fairly quickly though, interrupted by the ache in your stomach. very slowly, you allowed yourself to scoop some of the eggs onto your fork. the irony in eating so many new things was that you weren't able to taste any of them. though you paced yourself well, you were so focused on the increasing feeling of fullness that everything else faded to grey. you paid no attention to the man on your right, even as he locked his eyes on you. the both of you settled into a comfortable silence. you'd always imagined yourself eating mountains of food if you were ever given the chance, so you were surprised when you came to the realization that you weren't able to finish more than just half of what he'd given you. a sigh escaped your lips. you looked over at him, almost apologetically. you weren't sure if you were upset that you couldn't eat more, or if the issue was that you didn't want to disrespect the man that went out of his way to feed you. "sorry." he smiled softly. "i'm just happy you ate something." he then grabbed the tiny white cup to his left. there was a dull clanking sound that rang in your ear as he set it down in front of you. curious, you looked down to see that it was filled with a multitude of pills, both small and large. there had to be at least ten of them, maybe twenty. each was a vibrant color; there were only two little white tablets sitting amongst the rest. you only shook your head. even if he had only placed one little pill in front of you, your instincts would've caused you to feel the same way. you didn't want to be drugged again; you wouldn't let him. you.would rather have him force them down your throat one by one than willingly let him put you to sleep again. looking up, you glanced in his direction before pushing the cup away from yourself. "they're just vitamins," he calmly tried to reassure you. he picked it up again, only to set it back down in front of you. there was a bit of hesitancy present as he gradually pulled his hand away. he so desperately wanted to reach for yours, but he didn't want to make you any more uncomfortable than you already appeared. he softened his tone even more and added, "i don't want to make you feel bad about the way that you look—i think you're so beautiful—but you're not healthy. i spoke with my doctor the night you got here; i told him about the shape you're in and he recommended that you take these everyday. you need to." he was very convincing, but you knew better. you reached into the cup and pulled out one of the white tablets, using two fingers to hold it in front of his face. "you take this one, i'll take the rest," you firmly stated. then, you reached under the table to grab his left arm. he made no attempt to stop you as you turned it over and planted the pill on his open palm. leaning back in your seat, you waited for some kind of a response. johnny only sighed. he understood why you were as skeptical as you were, though he wasn't fond of it. there was no one to blame but himself—and he was well aware of this—though that wasn't enough to keep him from wishing you would trust him a little more. but he wasn't going to push you, and he wasn't going to give you any reason to suspect he could've been lying. without a word, he placed it into his mouth and quickly took a large sip of water from your glass. he proceeded to open his mouth and wiggle his tongue around so you could see that he hadn't managed to trick you somehow. "thank you." although there were so many vitamins for you to take, it didn't take long before they were all gone. sharing a cup with him wasn't something that would cause you to worry, but you wondered why he felt the same way. drinking after someone with pearly white teeth and smelled so nice was nothing compared to some of the people you've shared a glass with back home, but you didn't think he would be able to say the same about someone like you. despite the upcoming wedding, it was still a surprise that he didn't find you as disgusting as you felt sometimes. a loud beeping sound broke through the silence. again, as he checked his fancy watch, you couldn't help but lean over to try to have a look. it wasn't a phone, though it looked like it did a lot of the same things as the one you'd seen earlier. it had the same touch screen, as well as the same bright colors. there was a message on the screen. it was far away to read, but you were able to make out another one of those weird picture icons alongside the text. he swore loudly. you snapped your head up, hoping he wasn't angry that you were snooping a second time. he ran a hand through his dark hair, his eyes shut tight. when he opened them again, he let out a heavy sigh. before you knew it, he was on his feet looking down at you. "we have to go. i promise i really wanted to spend more time with you, but i guess my second is unable to supervise without something going wrong," he spoke through gritted teeth. like before, he extended his hand toward you. given how irritated he seemed already, you didn't decline this time. you silently placed your hand in his and him to help you up. having noticed that you continued to look at the mess you left behind, he grumbled, "don't worry about it. i'll send someone to clean everything up when i get the chance." one thing you realized was that the less you spoke, the more others felt compelled to. johnny spent the fifteen minute walk back to the house venting about the issue at his lab. apparently his second in command, ten, had texted to let him know that one of the new cameras combusted during the testing phase and injured one of their engineers. not only that, but he was very passionate in claiming that this wouldn't have even happened if ten simply followed protocol. you were told in great detail why the camera wasn't ready to be tested and how ten knew this. this came just before a heated rant about how he was proving to be a poor supervisor, as he was repeatedly trying to cut corners in order to push products out faster. it was quite the earful. you tried to take in the scenery like you had earlier in the day, but this time you were unable to. the beautiful flowers and sculptures were all a blur as he spoke. in truth, you were interested in what he had to say. you couldn't deny that it was entertaining. not only that, but it opened your mind to a plethora of scenarios about what would occur when johnny arrived at the lab. he seemed too angry to be as kind as he was each time you were disrespectful toward him. as bad as it was, thinking about someone in a situation far worse than your own was comforting in a way. he finally halted his story once you reached the back door. when he went to turn the doorknob, you noticed he was gripping it hard enough to turn his knuckles a pale white shade. "i don't want you to feel like you have to be locked up in your room all the time, so i'm going to walk you to the common room," he told you. it was evident that he was trying his hardest to soften his tone for you, to which you gave a small smile as a sign of your gratitude. it really did mean a lot that he didn't want to take his anger out on you. "i doubt you know a lot about how a tv works, but whoever we pass on the way there gets to be the one to show you how it works. you can find a movie to watch."

it didn't take you very long to decide that the tv was extremely strange, and yet you really liked whatever it was you were watching. the story was built around a zombie apocalypse in what looked to be america several lifetimes ago. you weren't sure of the name, since one of the workers put it on for you, but you would make sure to ask at some point. your flats were somewhere on the floor in front of you, your feet pulled up onto the couch. a soft pillow rested below your head, a light blanket draped over your body. the feeling of tiredness returning so soon after the couple of days you spent asleep didn't make sense. you spent a few minutes pondering over it as zombies were slaughtered on the large screen in front of you, only to come to the conclusion that it had to be the amount of food you ate. your sleepy mind drifted to a magazine clipping your brother had found so many years ago about how large quantities of food can sometimes make a person feel drowsy. this had to be the reason. you tried to fight it, but the large couch felt so nice beneath you, the blanket so soft against your exposed skin. unable to hold them open anymore, you finally let your eyes flutter shut. you hoped there would be a way to finish the movie whenever you woke.

author’s note: just because i feel like there’s at least going to be one person to comment on it, i just want to clarify that i know jisung is not fifteen in real life (:

#hydrangea ;#nct #nct johnny #johnny seo #nct jisung #park jisung #nct ten #nct stories #nct scenarios #nct series #nct au #nct angst #nct dream #nct imagines #ceo au #nct 127

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years ago

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Secret Love Part 18 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: Just need to reiterate that this man lives in my head rent free 24/7. I finished part 22 and I’m thinking that I have roughly 3 more parts to write. We’re definitely on the back half of this series now and I’m actually kind of sad because I love these two (hopefully you love them just as much).

Warnings: angst, cursing, cockwarming, smut (this one is really filthy…fair warning), oral sex, maybe a bit of breeding kink.

Word Count: 3,583

~~~~~~

You hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop until it went clattering to the floor. It could be worse...you tried to remind yourself. But that didn’t stop the ache in your chest or the tears that kept filling your eyes every time you thought you’d pulled yourself together.

Sleeping in Cale’s arms Friday night was everything you needed and more. You’d gotten up Saturday morning and made breakfast together before you’d rushed off to work, a day filled with client meetings and house tours ahead of you. You’d parted with a kiss and an ‘I love you’, promises of talking later following you.

With such a busy day, it wasn’t until Sunday afternoon that you finally had a spare minute to call your parents like you had promised Laura you would.

“Hey mom.” You greeted, settling onto your couch, your legs tucked up underneath you. “Is dad around?”

It took your mom a minute to fetch your dad but once they were both on the line you took a deep breath.

“So I have some news for you.” You stated, your tone bright hoping to signal that this was all good news. “Cale and I are together.”

Silence stretched on for an uncomfortably long time before your dad’s voice spoke up.

“That’s great dear. I have to head out for an evening round of golf but I’m happy for you.” The sound of footsteps and the door came through the phone as your mom took it off of the speaker.

“How long?” Your mom inquired, her voice seeming hesitant.

“Officially almost two months...but we realized there was something here back in March. I never thought that it would ever be a possibility. But everything about it is so right. I love him mom and he loves me. We just fit together...I’ve never felt a connection with anyone else the way I do with him.”

“Oh hunny…” Your mom mumbled, causing your back to stiffen.

“You don’t sound happy for me.” You whispered, shocked.

“I am happy for you...you know we love Cale...just maybe you should slow down before things get too serious.”

“This is serious mom.” You insisted.

“I just...I don’t want you to get hurt. Cale’s a good kid but there’s a significant age difference between the two of you. Plus he’s only there for the summer. What happens when he leaves?” Hearing your mom refer to Cale as a kid made the hair on the back of your neck bristle.

“He’s not a kid mom. Neither of us are kids anymore. I know there’s an age gap but we’ve talked about anything and everything important related to that and it’s not an issue. We’re on the same page.” Before you could continue your mom cut you off.

“Honey...the boy is a young NHL star. He’s not ready to be thinking about settling down. You may think you’re on the same page but I don’t think you realize what you’d be giving up for him.”

“You’re wrong.” You mumbled, your throat starting to tighten up. “I don’t know what happens when he leaves but we’ll figure it out when the time comes. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because I know how much you’ve always cared about Cale and I just don’t want you to find out down the road that this was all a waste of time because the two of you want different things. I don’t want you to let your good judgment be clouded by lust. You’re a smart woman...don’t give up the life you’ve worked so hard to build for a summer fling.”

Sobs wracked your body as you ended the call without another word. How could your mother say those things? It was like she didn’t know Cale at all...didn’t know you at all. She was wrong...you knew she was wrong. You and Cale were perfect for each other. This wasn’t some fantasy that would never manifest…this was real. The way Cale looked at you was real. His ‘I love you’s’ were real. And distance or time...that wouldn’t change anything.

You sobbed on your couch for almost an hour before finally pulling yourself together. Your mother’s support or lack thereof was not going to define your relationship or your life. Determined not to let this consume you, you threw yourself into all of the cleaning that you had been putting off. There was laundry to be done, dishes to be washed, floors to be swept, mopped, vacuumed.

And then when you finished all of those tasks, it was time to make yourself something to eat, before cleaning up those dishes as well. Of course, all of these tasks took twice as long when tears kept constantly springing up forcing you to put yourself together all over again.

After dinner you pulled the final load of laundry out to fold. As your fingers wrapped around the fabric of Cale’s stolen t-shirt you sunk to the floor of your laundry room. How could she think that you wouldn’t receive in return ten times the worth of anything you had to give up to be with Cale? Gary had joked the other night that you were out of Cale’s league but it was absolutely 100% the other way around.

Carrying the t-shirt back to your bedroom, you stripped out of your clothes, letting the soft fabric of the shirt wrap around you instead. Deciding it was late enough to go to bed, you locked up the house before crawling under the sheets, a scent that was so distinctly Cale wafting from the spare pillow as you pulled it against your chest.

Tossing and turning, unable to sleep, you watched as the clock eventually reached 1:30am. Reaching blindly for your phone which you hadn’t bothered to look at all day, you first acknowledged that there wasn’t a single message from your mother after the abrupt end to your call. There were however multiple messages from Cale.

Hey sweetheart, just checking in to see how your day is going. (Received 2:02pm)

Tell dad it’s unfair for him to kick my ass on the golf course every single time. (Received 5:27pm)

Haven’t heard from you today. You’re probably just enjoying your day off, you deserve it. (Received 8:16pm)

Something is wrong, I can feel it. I’m here if you want to talk and you know all you have to do is ask and I’ll come right over. I love you. If you want to handle it by yourself that’s okay too, just know you don’t have to. (Received 10:42pm)

It wasn’t unlike Cale to send multiple messages through the day, just to let you know he was thinking about you. Normally they just made you smile, but this time they caused another fresh set of tears to form in your eyes, wetting your pillow.

Without even fully realizing it, you were pressing on his contact information and then the phone was ringing. The second ring had barely started when you heard Cale’s voice come through the line. He must have heard you crying because suddenly you heard the rustle of fabric.

“Give me fifteen. I’ll be there.” His sleepy voice insisted and then the call dropped.

True to his word, almost fifteen minutes later on the nose you heard a key clicking in the lock of the front door. The sound of the door opening, closing, and being locked again followed before footsteps padded across the hardwood floors. When the bed finally dipped behind you, Cale’s warm body pressing firmly against your back, you let out a shaky breath in relief.

“I can’t sleep.” You whispered as Cale’s fingers flexed gently around your hip.

“Wanna talk about what’s wrong?” Cale prodded lightly, his warm breath fanning against the back of your neck as he spoke. And though you knew you should talk about it, you didn’t really know what there was to say. It sucked beyond belief that your mother wasn’t supportive but that only changed your relationship with her, not your relationship with Cale.

This was good, you knew this was good. Cale coming over in the middle of the night because you needed him was just further proof.

“No...I just...need you.” You rambled.

“I’m right here sweet girl.” Cale affirmed. Though you could feel the heat of his body along your back, his hand draping over your middle, it wasn’t enough and you couldn’t explain it.

“Closer.” You whispered. Within just a moment, Cale had turned you around, tugged you even closer, and tangled your legs together. Being pressed chest to chest was a little bit better, but it still wasn’t close enough to patch the holes of worry, doubt, and anger your mother had created. It would have to be good enough though, and you buried yourself into his body as much as you possibly could.

“Y/N…” Cale breathed a few minutes later, his thumb lifting your chin so that he could kiss you. “You’re still shaking sweetheart. Please...what can I do?” He begged softly. “How can I quiet whatever voices in your head are making you feel this way?”

“I don’t know.” You mumbled. “This...this will just have to be enough. This is already so much.” Still, your heart was pounding and echoes of your mother’s voice still lingered in your head.

“Do you still want me closer?” Cale questioned, his hands sliding up along your side under the t-shirt. A weak nod was all it took for Cale to slide you out of your clothes, his own quickly following, forming a pile on the floor as he pulled you back against him.

The skin to skin contact was better, you felt some of the weight come off of your chest. And though it might not be the most restful sleep, for the first time tonight you felt like you might actually be able to drift off.

“How could she call this lust...a summer fling…” Your words were practically unintelligible as you mumbled into Cale’s bare chest, but apparently they were enough for him to piece things together because you heard him curse softly. His fingers slid up to cup the back of your head, tilting your face up to his. At the same time, his other hand brushed away the tears from your cheeks, his eyes full of despair and frustration as he looked at you.

He seemed to acknowledge that this wasn’t something he could fix, that he needed to fix, but you could see how much he hated it all the same. Despite the late hour, the wheels in his head were spinning, searching for something that he could do to take away the pain you were feeling.

“Can we try something?” He asked quietly. Shrugging, you nodded, no idea what he had in mind. He shifted you back from his body just an inch as his hand dropped from your cheek to slip between your legs. “Just relax my sweet girl...I know you trust me. This isn’t sex...not really.” He explained, urging your body to give in just a little. Despite not being in the mood, your body grew pliant under his fingers.

“Cale…” You whimpered, confusion making your anxiety increase slightly.

“Shh love…” He soothed. “You’ve heard of cockwarming haven’t you? I’m just gonna rest inside you, give you the closeness you need.”

“Oh.” You gasped, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“You okay with that?” He inquired, his fingers moving from your core to shift your body in line with his. “Just want to give you what you need.”

“Please.” You agreed, your fingers flexing against his bicep. Cale was still soft as he slid inside you, the rest of his body shifting to wrap around you now that you were joined together. This was absolutely as close as you could get to him and it was everything you didn’t know you needed.

“Good? Bad? In between?” Cale asked, his lips pressing against your forehead lightly.

“Good...so good.” You breathed, your body relaxing against him. “Thank you.”

Little by little, every worry and negative emotion slipped from your mind until you finally fell asleep tucked against Cale’s chest with him resting deep inside of you.

____

As the fog of sleep started to disappear, you groaned feeling worse than you usually did when you were hungover. Warm fingers brushing against your temple caused you to slowly blink your eyes open. The morning light revealed Cale’s bright blue eyes staring down at you and you let out a choked gasp as you felt him twitch inside of you.

Holy shit…

Cale was inside of you.

Every memory of last night flooded over you quickly at first before slowing down as you remembered how patient Cale had been, willing to try anything to help you sleep. Now, hours later, your bodies were locked in the same position. The only difference was where Cale had been soft inside of you last night, now he was hard, stretching and pressing against your vaginal walls.

“Sleep okay?” Cale’s deep gravely morning voice questioned.

“I slept...that alone is impressive.” You replied honestly. “Can’t believe you’re still inside me.” You admitted, voice awestruck.

“Didn’t want to wake you by pulling out.” Cale explained. “But I need to now...so I can take care of this.”

“How about you stay just a little longer…” You hinted. “Take care of your problem together. After all...your dick seems quite happy where he’s at.” A low grunt slipped from Cale’s throat in response to your words.

“My girl wants fucked huh?” Cale stated. “I think we can make the time for that this morning.”

The first few drags of his cock were rough, your body’s lubrication drying up overnight and the new lubrication from waking up to him inside of you this morning not having the chance to replace it until about the fourth stroke.

Once your body adjusted though, you realized that having him inside of you all night had made you incredibly sensitive. Each piston of his hips drew a moan from your throat and your nails dug into his shoulders, clinging to him and the pleasure he provided. Spending hours joined together had apparently made Cale sensitive as well because suddenly you felt the sticky heat of his cum spurting inside of you as he came, a gasp of your name spilling from his lips. He went soft quickly, groaning as he came down from his climax.

“That was embarrassingly fast.” Cale cursed, his lips pressing against your shoulder.

“It’s fine Cale...I understand.” You assured him, fingers playing with his hair. This was the first time he’d cum before you and while your body was still worked up, you were okay with it after last night.

“It’s not fine.” Cale stated adamantly. “I can’t leave my girl hanging.”

“Cale...I swear it’s okay.” You pressed, feeling him slip out of you, his cum leaking out of your used pussy. Before you could slip out of bed to clean up, Cale’s hands were grabbing your waist, rolling you onto your back as his body sunk beneath the sheets. Feeling his lips against your thigh, you whimpered softly, hands reaching down to expose his head from the blankets.

“Cale...your cum…” The flick of his tongue through your folds, collecting both your juices and his own semen stopped you in your tracks, your head falling back against the pillows.

“We taste good together.” He mused, a smirk on his face as he spoke before diving back into your core like a man starved.

“You cannot just say that.” You whined loudly, your hips jerking as he sucked your clit between his lips. “Fuck Cale…”

Feeling more of his semen start to drip out of you made you whimper and Cale quickly read the noise for what it was, dipping lower between your thighs where he lapped it out of you slowly. What he was doing was so dirty that even with his barely-there touches you were a shaking mess in the sheets.

“You gonna cum for me sweet girl?” Cale mumbled pulling back for air. “Gonna cum for me...give me the rest of my seed so I can fuck a fresh load into you?” One swipe of Cale’s tongue through your folds had you screaming as you fell apart, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over your body. You honestly weren’t sure whether that was one long orgasm or multiple short ones but by the time you came down, the gentle flicks of Cale’s tongue as he worked to clean you up were too much and you shoved his head away.

“I don’t know what you like more. Me cumming inside you or me eating my cum out of you.” Cale teased, crawling up the bed over you. Kissing him was dirty as hell but you couldn’t resist, eager to find out what your mixed fluids taste like. It really wasn’t that bad and you ran your fingers down his back, resting them just above his ass.

“As hot as that was...I’m still quite partial to you filling me up.” You breathed. “I’ll take as many loads as you can give me.”

“Fuck.” Cale mumbled, growing hard against your stomach once more.

“You got another one for me?” You murmured, reaching between your bodies to stroke his length gently. “Because you ate all of it out of me and now I feel empty. I need more.”

“Yeah sweetheart...I’ll give you more.” Cale grunted, pressing back inside of you. His thrusts were quick, the need between the two of you too strong for slow sex. Neither one of you was going to last all that long this round, your vaginal walls already starting to flutter around his length.

“God baby...your sweet pussy really wants my seed doesn’t it? Fluttering around me ready to milk every single drop possible from me.”

“Need it.” You whine, your body aching to feel that sticky heat again.

“Yeah sweetheart...I know you do.” Cale groaned. “Your body is so needy for it. One of these days I’m just going to keep you in bed, fucking you full over and over again, not letting a single drop slip out of you. You’d like that wouldn’t you? To be so full of me. Your hips tipped up to keep it all inside.”

Cale’s words had you feeling like you were about to explode and your vaginal walls fluttered around him again as his hips stuttered.

“You ready for it sweet girl? Ready to milk me dry?” Your nails dug crescent marks into his lower back as you clung to him, your chest heaving beneath him as your orgasm hovered just below the surface waiting for him to give you everything you needed.

“Yeah you’re ready.” Cale hissed. “My girl is so ready. Here it comes.” Cale’s orgasm was long and hard and rope after rope of semen spilled inside of you. The feeling of it tipped you off of the cliff and you clamped down around him ensuring that he did indeed give you every drop. Where your first orgasm had been like a tsunami, this one was magma bubbling up and rolling slowly down the hill before cooling.

You hadn’t even noticed Cale pull out, but when your eyes fluttered open he was standing at the edge of the bed just watching you.

“You don’t even know how sexy you look all blissed out.” He grinned. “And I know you like keeping my cum inside but you should probably go use the bathroom.” He declared reaching out a hand to help you up, his semen dripping down your thighs as you walked the three feet to your bathroom.

Having cleaned up, you found Cale sitting in his pajamas on the side of the bed. Stepping into his open arms you smiled down at him feeling his arms wrap around your waist.

“Thank you.” You murmured, pecking his lips. “For coming over last night. For the cockwarming. For this morning.”

“Are we good?” Cale asked, letting out a deep exhale of breath.

“We were never not good.” You assured him. “My mother’s reservations don’t change anything. She obviously doesn’t know either of us as well as she thinks she does and I’m not going to let her unfounded concerns get in the way of something that I know is good and right.” Ruffling up his hair a little bit, you shook your head. “I love you Cale. I’ve waited a long time to find something this good. So I’m all in.”

“You have to get to work don’t you?” Cale breathed. Glancing at the clock beside the bed you nodded.

“Yeah I do. But not until you know that everything is okay. That I want more nights sleeping next to you. Nights sleeping with you inside me. Mornings where we bring each other pleasure over and over again. I want it all with you and I’m sure my mom will come around eventually. She’s gonna have to because I’m not letting you go.”

“Not letting you go either.” Cale agreed. “Why don’t you go get ready for work and I’ll make breakfast.”

“Perfect.” You grinned placing a lingering kiss to his lips.

The other shoe may have dropped, but the floor was solid so there wasn’t even a scratch left behind.

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl smut #cale makar nws #nws #lemon #cavalanche #038

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duuhrayliegh · 4 years ago

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watch your six - part two

pairing: eventual bucky x reader

warnings: some violence, trigger warning of sedation (it isn’t in there for a long time and the description of it isn’t super good BUT it’s still there), mentions of kidnapping, i think that’s it.

word count: just a bit over 3k

a/n: okay! here’s part two, i’m experimenting with the longer parts, so let me know what y’all think of it. bucky does make an appearance soon, i swear y’all :) just be patience with me babes. also, i know this isn’t like the typical fan fic because it isn’t in the second person but we’re powering through together. i hope y’all enjoy babes <3

p.s.: if y’all want to be added to a tag list for this series, shoot me a message and we’ll get it worked out

series m.list

ray’s m.list

*****************

I shot up from my bed, eyes wild and frantic searching for anything to ground me to my current surroundings. It was just a dream, just a dream. It was just a dream. Except it didn’t feel like a dream. Everything was too detailed, too crisp for it to have really been just a dream. I swung my legs off my bed and grabbed a hold of the fluffy white comforter. Groaning, I pushed my feet to touch the cold hardwood of my apartment. I made my way towards my kitchen and my coffee maker. I popped a breakfast blend K-cup into the slot and dumped a mug full of water into the side of the machine. Pressing the button, I turned while listening to the coffee machine force the water through the coffee grounds and filter and into my cup.

Looking out into my living room, I eyed my couch. It was intact with no bullet holes riddling the cushions. It was still the pristine white that I’ve spent many nights curled on watching movies. The dark stained wood coffee table in front of it brought memories of long study sessions with books and loose papers strewn across it. A faint smile graced my lips as I was reminiscing. The black coffee maker spit the last of the dark substance into my mug, so I reached into my cabinets and pulled out the essentials. I’ve never been one for pure black coffee, tastes like tar in my opinion. The aftertaste isn’t something that I want to deal with for as long as it’ll last.

I dumped two spoonfuls of sugar into the cup and then poured a dash of liquid creamer in along with it. Stirring the now light brown liquid, I raised the mug to my mouth and took a much needed sip. Sighing as I swallowed, I walked around to the couch in the living. Plopping down, I kicked my feet to rest on top of the coffee table. Leaning back against the cushions, I tried to process what my dream was about.

It was just too real to be a dream, right? It was awfully specific to be a dream. Squinting my eyes, I nodded my head and set my mug on the table. Reaching for my laptop and opening the first browser I could, I searched ‘dream analysis.’ Maybe they’ll have something that can give me an answer as to why it was so clear. Scrolling down the first website, my eyes scanning the bolded letters. Nine Common Dreams and What They Could Mean, oh perfect. Flying, being naked in public, teeth falling out, cheating, none of these are like my dream. I shook my head and swiped out of the website and back to the search engine.

It was late in the morning and the sun was rising to its peak when I finally gave up. It’s obvious what happened though, I’ve gone mental. Absolutely insane, just plain certifiable. No, no, that’s not what it is. My coffee now gone cold, I placed my closed laptop on the coffee table next to the discarded coffee mug. I stood and my head started throbbing. Deciding I would have a better outlook on things without a pounding head, I took a shower. The water was a pleasant, scalding temperature. Leaving the bathroom with my hair in a towel and another wrapped around my body, I changed into a simple pair of ripped mom jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Hanging my towels on the rack in the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and then turned out the light as I left.

Today was my one day off of work this week and I was going to savor it. Slipping on a pair of ratty sneakers and grabbing my purse from the hook next to the door, I left my cozy apartment. I locked the door and shoved my keys all the way to the bottom of my purse. I left my building with the intention of trying to shake off the nightmare that I had. To do so, I went into the coffee shop at the end of the block. I pushed the doors open and was greeted with a warm and inviting atmosphere. Dark floors gave way to twinkling lights illuminating the charcoal gray walls. Behind the counter, I make eye contact with the barista and receive a tight-lipped smile from him. “Hi, welcome to Beniot’s Beans. What can I get started for you today?”

I glanced at the chalkboard menu and ran my eyes over it quickly. I already knew what I wanted, but I needed to prepare myself to say it out loud. “Hello, can I get a medium caramel iced coffee to go, please?” I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet as he scribbled my order onto the clear plastic cup. He told me my total as I looted in my wallet for my bills. After placing the money in the register, he explained that they would call my order when it was ready. I nodded and walked off to find somewhere to sit that was out of the way. After situating myself on one of the comfortable armchairs, I pulled my phone out in an effort to discourage human interaction. After retrieving my order from the counter, I sat back down in the armchair, trying to decide what to do next. The hour was just rolling over to being almost lunchtime, which made me realize that I hadn’t eaten anything yet. Shrugging my purse back onto my shoulder and shoving my phone into it, I left the store throwing a small wave to the barista behind the counter.

Sighing contentedly, I made the trek back to my apartment while steadily drinking the iced coffee. Some people say coffee shouldn’t be cold, and then there’s people who have sense. Giggling to myself, I took in my surroundings. Brick buildings lined the small two-way road. The donut shop on the opposite side of the street had two cop cruisers sitting in front of it. The contrasting black and white paint with black lettering outlined in yellow was intimidating. There was no reason for it to be, but there was just an aura of discomfort encapsulating the cars. By this time, I had stopped, slurping on my almost empty iced coffee. Breaking out of my trance with a ring of a bell, four officers exited the donut shop. Two of the officers held off-white cardboard boxes, they were all laughing at something. I tilted my head and scrunched my brows, guess the stereotype about cops is true, they love their donuts. Sensing a stare, one of the officers looked around for the source. Eventually, our gazes locked and he winked. Uh, ew. Making a face, I shook my head and went about my way back to my apartment.

Despite that experience, it was nice to be able to have no specific agenda, just relaxing and going with the flow. My inner monologue stopped when I got to my kitchen and started deciding what to prepare for lunch. Finally landing on a box of macaroni and cheese to satisfy my hunger, I set to work. The pot of water now on the stove, I tossed my empty plastic cup from the coffee shop into the garbage bin. I went around to my living room and grabbed my coffee mug from earlier and placed it in the sink, after rinsing it out. I’ll wash that and the stuff I use for lunch after I finish eating. I dumped the box of uncooked noodles into the now boiling water. Soon, the macaroni was ready to be eaten, so I poured the cheesy noodles into a bowl. Hoisting myself onto the granite countertop, I began to inhale the food. Wow, okay I was hungrier than I thought. It didn’t take long to finish off the noodles. As I was washing the dirty dishes, the intercom system of the apartment went off. Weird, I wasn’t expecting anyone. “Who is it?” I inquired into the speaker box. “Hi, I’m looking for the inhabitant of this flat.”

My brows furrowing, I asked again, “Who is this?”

“Ma’am, please don’t waste my time or yours. Is this the woman who lives in this apartment, yes or no?” They sounded exhausted. “I need to speak with the woman who lives here.” I was shocked, this didn’t seem right. Alright, I’m a woman living alone in an apartment building. Some stranger comes to my building, asking to speak to me, so what do I do?

“Uh, yeah they’re not here. You’ll have to come back later.” The lie was easy. Safety first and all, right? There was no reply after waiting a few minutes, so I went back to doing my dishes. After drying and putting them away, I kicked my shoes off and settled into my couch with a fluffy blue throw. Flicking the TV on, I picked the home improvement channel. I stretched out on the couch while wondering how realtor Bessie May was going to find this couple the perfect home. Snuggling further into the pillows, I was able to drift off into a dreamless slumber.

*********************************

It was loud banging that eventually roused me. Untangling myself from the fluff that wrapped around my legs, I toppled onto the floor. “I’m coming, hold your horses!” I shouted at the door. Who the hell? I swear if it’s my crazy neighbor again. “Marge! If this is you, we are going to have a problem!” I huffed my way to the door and yanked it open to reveal a group of men in what looked like dark tactical gear. Confusion overtook my facial features. I took a step back and tightened my grip on my door knob.

“Um… hi? Can I help you?” I questioned the group at large.

“Ma’am, we’re looking for the permanent resident of this apartment.” The man to my left said. He was short and stocky, he was also the only man wearing a dark gray suit. “Are you the permanent resident of this unit?” He continued while trying to see over my shoulders and into the living room.

“No, they’re not here right now.” I repeated the lie from earlier. I had an inkling this had to do with that, what else could it be?

“Well, do you know when she’ll be back?” He pressed, still stealing glances into my abode.

“No, she didn’t say. You’ll have to come back later. Goodbye.” I stated while closing the door. I was almost home free until a combat boot clad foot was stuck into the door frame.

“You see ma’am, this really isn’t the time to be lying to me.” The suited man explained. I took a deep breath and continued trying to close the door.

“Well, I’ve already told you all I know. The person who owns this place isn’t here right now.” The door was stopped yet again by the same foot.

“Ma’am, you need to invite us inside. We have things to discuss.” Suits ordered.

My brows raised, “Or what?” I scoffed, “Look you need to leave before I call the police. Good day to you gentlemen.” Another attempt to close the door was once again defeated, but this time the door swung in. Allowing entrance into my apartment. My eyes widened and I rushed away from the door, putting as much distance between the group of men and myself.

“What the hell are you doing! I’m calling the police.” I reached for my phone that was laying on the coffee table. It was snatched away from me by a man in tactical gear. His hair was cropped and dark, he slipped my phone into one of the many pockets of his vest. I raised my eyebrows at the man, and began demanding my phone from him.

“Listen ma’am, we’re going to need you to come with us.” Suits insisted. My gaze darted to him, if looks could kill man. “We’re allowing you the privilege of getting a bag of your necessities.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my ever rising nerves. I brought the heels of my palms to my eyes, trying to clear the fogginess of sleep to process what Suits was saying. “We don’t have all day. Get your stuff now.” I shook my head and started refusing.

“Yeah, that won’t be happening. I’m asking you one last time to leave my apartment before I start screaming.” I crossed my arms over my chest in a protective stance. They’ve got five seconds before I raise hell. Suits made a face that looked like he was disappointed.

“Grab her.” The man who took my phone advanced at me. His whole hand covered my upper arm, lifting it and beginning to drag me to the door. I started kicking out, clawing, trying to make contact with anything that I could hurt. Damage, don’t stop fighting. Don’t give in. Whipping my upper body around, I managed to scratch the man's cheek. He cried out in pain and his grip loosened for just a moment. Long enough for me to wrench my arm away from him and run towards the front door. My path was interrupted by a wall of a man. Towering over me, he wrapped both of his arms around my torso. Effectively stopping all of my movement while he turned me in his grasp to face Suits once again.

“Help! Someone help me! Help me!” This was a quiet enough building, shouts like that would surely gain someone’s attention, right? “Help! Someone help me, please!” I was screaming my throat sore. Not stopping until there was a large hand placed over my mouth. Even then, there were muffled cries that could be heard throughout my otherwise silent apartment unit. Stifled sobs were leaving my lungs in heaves. Suits approached me and shook his head,

“It really didn’t have to be like this but, of course.” He turned to one of his goons and nodded his head towards me. I began screaming again as the final goon stepped forward. His hair was slicked back and I could smell the hair gel that he must have just dipped his head into. Hair Gel reached into his pocket and brought out a small white case.

He unzipped the case and gestured to the mass of a man behind me. My head was moved to expose my neck, I struggled against Mass while Hair Gel approached. Screaming and thrashing trying to disrupt what I thought was about to happen. Hair Gel assembled a syringe, outfitting it with a blue capped needle. Hair Gel extracted a clear liquid into the syringe, he got closer to my jolting body, glaring at Mass.

“Hold her still, you buffoon.” He grunted at Mass. The grip around me began cutting off my circulation to the lower half of my body. Not deterring me in any way, I still made it as hard as I could for Hair Gel. There was a pinch on the side of my neck, and then a warm feeling passed through my body. Mass’s hand was still covering my mouth and his arms around my torso, if it weren’t for that I probably would’ve fallen straight to the ground. Oh hell man, what am I going to do now?

My body went limp in Mass’s hold, and my mind was starting to become fuzzy. Looking around at the three men in front of me, I worried what was going to happen. I’ve seen Taken. I know what happens to girls who travel alone. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen to people like me. Suits sighed yet again, looking disinterested in the whole affair. Suits looked to the man who I scratched and shook his head at him.

“You seriously let her get her hands on you?” Suits mocked, “That’s pathetic, Gomez.”

“Pathetic? She was clawing me, man!” The man, Gomez, defended.

“It doesn’t matter, you idiot. You still aren’t supposed to let it happen.” Suits berated Gomez and then waved him off, “Go get the stuff. And don’t mess it up this time, ya got that?” Gomez rolled his eyes at Suits, but nodded anyway. He left the room towards my bedroom. My eyelids started drooping, I willed them to stay open a bit longer.

“How long’s it gonna take that stuff to kick in?” Suits asked Hair Gel.

“Oh, it starts working immediately.” Hair Gel finished replacing everything in his white case, turning to me, he continued, “The body reacts to the compound right away, inducing temporary paralysis. It’s really quite remarkable to watch it in action.”

Suits glanced at Hair Gel, “You mean to tell me it doesn’t make them unconscious? What the hell did I bring you along for?”

“Of course it makes the victim unconscious, what do you think I’m stupid or something? It just takes a couple of minutes for the enzyme to break down for the brain.” Hair Gel tilted his head while looking at me. He gave me a once over and if I had any kind of control over my body, there would’ve been an unmistakable shiver that passed through my body. Gomez emerged with a duffle in tow and dumped the closed bag on the couch.

“Don’t forget the laptop, Gomez.” Suits reminded him while his attention was on the kitchen of my apartment. “Alright, let’s go.” With the effort it takes to lift a feather, Mass carried me bridal style out of my unit. My eyelids were becoming even more heavy and I screamed and shouted in my head, but my mouth just wouldn’t move. The four men made their way out, passing my crazy neighbor Marge.

“Can I help you boys with something?” Marge’s door was open, and she leaned up against the frame, watching this scene go down.

“Nothing to be worried about ma’am. This is official government business.” Suits reported, simply shrugging off Marge.

“Government business?” Marge shrieked, and a glimmer of hope flashed in my head. Marge won’t fall for your bullshit Suits. She’s going to save me. “I always knew there was something off about that one.” What the hell, Marge?

“Like I said ma’am, nothing to worry about. Now if you would, just go back inside. We’re done here.” Suits advised. Marge, who was none the wiser, bounced her shoulders and turned back into her own unit. She could be heard through the door explaining to her guests that her next door neighbor was always strange and never really sat right with her.

“Doesn’t surprise me they’re taking her away. I always knew something was off about that girl. I told you so.” Marge howled with laughter after her statement. My last hope dashed by my crazy neighbor’s complete ignorance and lack of acknowledgement for her surroundings. Mass began his descent of the stairs with a steady pace. The constant rocking back and forth of his body weight served to lull my eyelids the rest of the way closed.

#bucky x reader #eventual bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #sebastian stan #bucky fanfic #female reader insert #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes

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slasherholic · 5 years ago

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synopsis: Your pleasant Christmas dinner at the sorority house is ruined when Billy, ever the horny little shit, decides to make a call.

Concerning the Man in the Attic | Billy Lenz x Reader | NSFW

(Author’s note: this is a -slight- AU where Billy hasn’t actually begun his murder spree yet. All the sorority sisters are still alive and thriving.)

“A slice of ham for you, dear?”

You shake off your daze and blink up at Mrs. Mac from your already full-to-bursting plate. She holds a slender knife to her steaming Christmas ham and looks down at you with an expectant smile, a rosy glow pinkening her plump cheeks, jolliness shining like candlelight in her wrinkled eyes. You can smell the alcohol on her from where you sit.

“Oh, no, that’s alright.” You put on your cheeriest face. “Thank you though Mrs. Mac—maybe a bit later. I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

You don’t miss the way the portly woman’s grin falters. She exhales through her nose.

“Later, then.” Says Mrs. Mac, her smile just a bit more shallow than it had been before, and moves on down the table to ask the same question to Jess. You drop your eyes back to the glob of mashed potatoes crowded on your plate and think, Nicely done. Now you’re on her shit-list.

Except you probably would have made it on Mrs. Mac’s shit-list regardless, because unless you want to puke it right back up all over that stupid Christmas ham, your food is already as good as wasted; your appetite is well and truly gone, and it isn’t coming back.

All because you can’t stop thinking about the calls.

Today the moaner phoned not once, but twice.

Jess and Phyllis, and Barb especially, her wine glass filled nearly to spilling in her hand, already seem to have forgotten the ordeal. Jess sweeps her dark hair out of her eyes and prods at her asparagus with her fork. Phyllis cups her mug in her slender hands and takes dainty sips. And Barb, sprawled out across the couch with her feet propped on the armrest, knocks back another tall glass of Sauvignon Blanc. She’d popped open her first bottle at 4:00 and has showed no signs of slowing down since.

Whatever thoughts might be preoccupying your sister’s minds you’re confident that they do not concern the man behind those awful calls. The other residents of the house consider the moaner akin to a barking dog—as long as he remains a disembodied ruckus in the neighbor’s yard, why should they fear being bitten? And so they forget him as quickly as the line goes dead.

But not you. Forgetting is off the table for you. Because the reality of the situation—and it is so painfully clear—the reality of the situation is that the dog was never in the neighbor’s yard.

All this time it has been curled up somewhere nice and cozy in yours, and has pissed all over Mrs. Mac’s petunias for good measure, and nobody seems to be batting an eye at the stench. Nobody but you.

But you’ve grown used to covering your nose with your sleeve and pretending you can’t smell it, either.

After the first obscene phone call back at the start of December you could never shake the feeling that something in the house had changed, had soured, had become just not right. There was the case of the missing food from the cabinets; and at night, no shortage of strange creaking and grinding sounds from the attic above; and yes, it was a big old house, but you can’t say you’ve ever heard a rusty pipe squeal like a suckling pig before.

And so you suspect the worst; that the truth behind the moaner is far more sinister than your sisters, than Mrs. Mac, than anyone seems to realize.

And yet, you wouldn’t dare to bring it up. You wouldn’t dare.

That pervert living in the house somewhere? What a joke. You had no hard evidence to show for it, just a gut-wrenching feeling. The claim would sound paranoid at best.

So here you are, resigned to gritting your teeth; and covering your nose; and bearing the stink.

You tune out most of the chatter as Christmas dinner carries on. Barb chatters to Phyllis—Phyllis lends an ear, sipping lazily from her cocoa with a snide smile plastered across her face. Barb chatters to Jess—Jess doesn’t bite. There’s something eating at her, you think. Mrs. Mac interjects occasionally with chatter of her own.

When the phone rings, the chatter stops. So does your heart.

Your eyes race to where the receiver rests on its stand in the adjoining living room.

“Rrrring. Rrrring.”

The shrill note carries through the cavernous hallways of Mrs. Mac’s grand old house. Once, twice, three times.

Barb is on the scene in seconds. She springs upright from her place on the couch, wobbling dangerously when her feet hit the floor—only to regain her precarious balance with the very next step. You chew your lip as she lifts the receiver and presses it to her cheek.

An ear-to-ear grin sprawls across her face. She sticks the phone out for all to hear.

“Tasty cunt.” Comes the garbled voice over the phone. “I can smell it, I can smell your ripe wet cunt.”

The room must drop by ten degrees because you start to shiver. It’s him again; the moaner.

“Maybe you’re smelling your own breath, pal.” Barb quips.

��Oh Barb, just hang up.” Pleads Jess, worry written across her pale face.

“I’m gonna eat it—ooh, I’m gonna come and eat it, I’ll stick my face in it, let me smell it, let me eat your dripping pussy, I know how wet you are…”

The phone crackles with manic snickering.

“I watched you stick your fingers up your cunt… I watched you rub and rub and ruin your pretty pinky panties…”

Your heart drops. Your face burns. You cross your legs beneath the table. You have a pair of panties which might fit that bill. Panties which—perhaps not-so-coincidentally—have been missing for three days.

The man on the phone squeals like a hungry pig. The squeals peter into grunting, shallow and hasty, and Barb, covering her hand with her mouth, has never looked so amused.

When the line goes dead the living room erupts with hooting laughter.

“The poor guy didn’t even last twenty seconds that time!” Barb barks. She plants the phone back on its stand and slumps onto the couch, her chest heaving.

“No rest for the wicked I guess.” Phyllis suggests. “Not even on Christmas.”

The chatter resumes; you try your absolute hardest to focus on your mashed potatoes and on your green beans and not, for the love of god, on what the moaner is doing with your underwear.

You volunteer to clean up after dinner. Luckily, Mrs. Mac had been too many drinks in to remember that you hadn’t touched a single bite of her hard work (No no, don’t worry yourself, I’ve got it, dinner was splendid, you’ve outdone yourself, really, you deserve a lie down. Merry Christmas to you too Mrs. Mac) and the woman had given you a dull smile, and toddled off to bed.

You scrub at the dried cranberry sauce caked on a plate and try your hardest not to think about the man in the attic. You know you should go to the police. That’s what any rational person would do, right? You can picture the conversation now;

Yes hello officer, there’s a strange man in our house and nobody knows he’s there except me. How do I know? Well it’s simple, you see, I know because he watched me finger-fuck myself and then stole my panties and then called over dinner to gloat about it.

You furrow your brow and scrub harder.

Yeah; fat chance.

If you’re going to do this you need to be certain. You need irrefutable evidence that there is, in fact, some creep squatting in your house. You need to wait for him to slip up—to make a mistake—to show himself.

You huff and drop the sponge into the sink, bending to load the plate into the washer.

“Hugnhh—”

The abrupt sound is a grunt; almost animalistic. It comes from somewhere behind you.

You straighten up like a springboard and turn on your heel, planting your hands on the kitchen sink, your frantic eyes sweeping the room.

The grunting stops as abruptly as it began—but you weren’t imagining it. You couldn’t have been. No way in hell.

All the hairs on your arms stand on end as you peer out into the dining room. It is silent; silent and still. You hold your breath. You eyeball Mrs. Mac’s beautiful lace cloth; it is draped across the dining room table, nearly touching the floor.

Your grip on the kitchen sink turns your knuckles white.

There’s something underneath the table, screams a voice inside your head.

“Claude?” You whisper to nobody but yourself.

It must be Claude—Claude is on the prowl, and he’s licking at some table scraps. That must be it.

“Come out of there, you silly fat cat.” Your voice wavers that time. As you let go of the sink you approach the table as if it were a living thing, about to rear up on its hind legs and charge you down like an angry bull.

It’s just the cat. Just that stupid fat cat. In a second I’ll feel like a total idiot.

You tell yourself these things as you sink to your knees on the cold wooden floor and grab a fistful of tablecloth. The cloth is silky and cold in your fingers. Your heart pounds as you lift it, peering into the unknown beneath.

For a moment, you forget how to scream.

A dark silhouette is hunched over like a gargoyle beneath the table.

It is a man, you realize; a man with wild hair and wild eyes. His pants are unzipped. Pearly teeth flash as he gawks at you, a horrible grin sprawling across his face. He pumps a piece of fabric furiously back and forth around his member.

“Pretty—mphh—pinky—ungh—panties…” The voice is instantly recognizable.

You drop the tablecloth and scramble backwards.

The man lunges from beneath the table like a rabid animal. Cold hands scrabble for a grip on your wrists; his momentum topples you. Your back meets the hardwood floor. He pins you with his weight.

You whip your head back and forth as fingers grapple at your jaw and pull on your nose and wrench your mouth wide open. The pink fabric is stuffed in, muffling your scream before it can leave your throat.

The man clamps a cold, slender hand over your mouth. The grin he wears is manic. Your pulse thuds as hard and as fast as a runaway train in your neck, and as he leans in close you turn your head away from him. The wool of his turtleneck is scratchy against your clavicle. He reeks of mold and dust and cat food.

“Shhh-shush-shush-shushhh…”

His mouth is inches from your own, sour breath hot against your cheek.

It’s him. The man from the attic.

The tears come streaming down your face. You think you might die from the shock of it all alone, if the moaner doesn’t kill you first.

“Noisy. Noisy little pig. Trying to run away; trying to run away and tell on Billy.” He strokes your hair like a young girl fawning over a coveted doll.

“You’re not gonna tell, though.” The sound of his snickering is even worse in person. “No-no-no-no. You won’t do it. You won’t.”

You recoil when his cold fingers graze your cheek, your whine stifled by the gag; your own panties. The taste of Billy’s seed on the fabric is salty and bitter. He’s been using them.

“Greedy greedy little piggy~” Billy’s garble is a sing-songy whisper.

“You think about Billy, you like Billy’s calls, you want to know how Billy tastes, you want his fat cock in your pretty lips so you can suck it, suck it, suck it-suck it-suck it.”

“Nnng-unnh—” You whine at him. A pang of anger flares in your belly.

No. No, no, no. That is just plain wrong. Those calls were vulgar. They were disgusting. Obscene; the very definition of the word. You were most certainly not rubbing one out to the thought of this vile man—to the thought of Billy—with all his classless promises of what he would do to your sisters, if given the chance, and of what he might do to you, in particular…

Above you, Billy snorts.

“Liar. You lying bitch-pig. You’re wet; you’re dripping. I can smell your ripe wet pussy.”

Suddenly those cold, roving fingers are dipping down below your waistline, burrowing beneath your pants. A finger hooks into your cunt up to the knuckle. You writhe, bucking your hips like a mare in heat and trying desperately to throw him off, but Billy’s weight is more than enough to keep you pinned.

Billy looks downright giddy; like he’s about to blow his load then and there. He flashes his lop-sided grin at you and his finger retreats from your warmth, only to be shoved hand-deep into your mouth. You taste your body’s own excitement.

“Soaking! Soaking wet! Nasty pig, filthy pig!” Billy squeals.

I don’t want it, you think, as Billy shifts his weight on top of you, facing your undeniably dripping cunt, planting his knees on either side of your head. His unzipped member dangles inches from your face. You kick your legs, but he is quick with the zipper of your jeans, and shucks them down your thighs with ease, offering your panties the same rough treatment. You squeak into your gag when he gropes starving handfuls of your ass, squeezing and kneading, as if enamoured with your curves; mesmerized.

It’s like he’s never touched a woman before. You suspect you’re not far from the truth.

You can do nothing but watch as Billy’s head dips down between your legs, dark hair tickling the flesh of your thighs. You whine; and that hot, wet, filthy tongue licks a long, sloppy stripe down your bare cunt—from your clit to your ass.

Billy mewls.

“Nasty, nasty nasty nasty—”

His erection bobs in your face, strained and swollen. You suppose you could spit out the gag at this point if you were determined enough. You could scream for Mrs. Mac and Barb and Jess and surely the neighbors would hear, too, and this pervert, this fucking creep, would be thrown back into whatever institution he crawled out of.

But then, the warmth of Billy’s mouth returns to suck and suck and suck at your clit.

You heave a muffled moan and thrash beneath him, no longer trying to dismount him—just because you can’t take it.

You tremble when Billy’s hot tongue probes at your opening. It is a full-body tremble, a horrible shiver, and you feel that you are both burning up and freezing to death at the same time, a terrible hot-cold sensation. His tongue delves in as far as it can reach; he laps you up greedily. He grunts and moans and squeals all the while, and his member drags across your cheek, and you are not surprised when he plants his elbow on your chest and takes himself in his fist, pumping his cock furiously; back and forth, back and forth.

Billy grunts like an animal when he comes. Hot ropes of his seed spurt out on to your face, coating your lips and your cheeks and your nose.

“You won’t tell them…” Comes Billy’s pitchy whine. It is almost desperate. “You want more of Billy, so much more, so much more…”

You shudder, because you think he’s right.

#Billy Lenz #billy lenz x reader #black christmas #Slashers #slasher imagines #horror #writing #fanfiction #reader insert

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gamerwoo · 5 years ago

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Wonwoo: Atlas

Characters: Wonwoo x female reader

Genre/warnings: mafia au, angst, little bits of fluff here and there but it just adds to the angst tbh, alcohol, smoking, Woo being depresso

Word count: 2,632

Summary: Atlas shrugged his shoulders, said he'd drop that boulder. Call me in the morning when I'm sober, find me in the corner in a coma.

a/n: this was inspired by the song atlas by keshi (and if u like sad boy vibes i highly recommend his music!!!). things in italics are flashbacks (also i didn’t even listen to atlas for half of this i just listened to call me kevin play the sims lmao) ALSO im doing 2 other keshi songs (probably for mingyu and hongseok but idk) and while this technically is a mini series using keshi songs, they won’t be a continuation of this fic. they’re going to be their own lil things. ok that’s it goodbye

2 soon | the reaper

Limping down the street, the streetlamps being the only source of lighting, Wonwoo’s mind couldn’t help but wander. There were no cars going by at this time of night, not even a cool breeze to listen to the shaking leaves in the trees. The street was dead silent other than his heavy footsteps as he tried to make it home on his own. He was sure God or whatever higher power out there was out to get him lately since on top of everything else, his car had broken down and he was left to walk the rest of the way after calling Mingyu to make sure someone would get the car.

Had anyone been walking around this time of night, they’d probably call the police seeing Wonwoo awkwardly walking down the street with his hurt leg. Despite the nice suit, it was unbuttoned, slightly torn, and stained with splatters of blood. His white shirt underneath was half undone and splattered with blood as well, his tie was hanging loosely around his neck, his hair was disheveled, his right eye was beginning to bruise, and the left corner of his lip was caked with dried blood. There was a trail of dried blood going from his nose to his top lip as well, and his tired expression only added to his awful appearance.

“Oh my god, Wonwoo!” you gasped when you spotted him from the window, Joshua and Minghao rushing out behind you.

It was one of the first times he’d come home beaten up. You didn’t know about his line of work when you’d first started dating, but when it began to become more serious, he had to break and tell you. Finding out your boyfriend was in the mafia worried you for obvious reasons, to a point where for a while, two of the men he worked with had to stay at the house with you to make sure you didn’t go off trying anything stupid. But you did often pace the kitchen, checking out the window that faced the street to see when his car pulled in. And one night, you saw him be helped out of the car by Seungcheol because Wonwoo was so beaten up.

“It’s okay, baby,” he reassured you as you rushed to him.

“Careful, careful,” Seungcheol warned, not wanting you to throw yourself into him or anything. Jeonghan had just stitched up his gunshot wound, but Wonwoo made him swear not to tell you that much.

“What happened?” you asked, looking him over. He looked about as messy as his clothes, and that was saying something since he was missing his jacket he left the house with, and his shirt was barely hanging onto his body by thin threads. You moved to Wonwoo’s other side, putting his arm around your shoulders. “I’ve got him.”

Seungcheol carefully leaned your boyfriend’s weight onto you, letting you practically carry the poor man inside. Wonwoo managed to smirk at how worried you were. He knew it just meant you cared, and that meant the world to him.

“You’re so cute,” he chuckled, which then turned into coughing that only worsened your anxiety about his injuries. “Let the boys handle it, okay? I’ll be fine.”

You scoffed, “Not a chance.”

Wonwoo pulled a carton of cigarettes from his pocket, taking a cigarette and a lighter out from the pack. He put it between his lips and lit the end before taking a long drag and letting the smoke waft out from his mouth. His eyes locked on the driveway of his house as he recalled how many times you’d dragged him inside, sat him down on the couch or leaned him up against the sink in the kitchen and patched him up. He smiled fondly, remembering all the times you’d scolded him for so long until you were just repeating yourself, only to sigh and say, “You know I love you, right?”.

But now, he walked up the driveway alone. Despite his limping, there was nobody to carry him home. He had to push himself up the steps, pausing on each one to brace himself for the next. He walked into the house, expecting the echo of his footsteps that he was used to even during your relationship, but not used to the emptiness he felt in the house. At least when his shoes would hit the hardwood as he walked to the bathroom to clean himself up, he knew you were upstairs. But now, he knew he was the only one in the house, and that was a new feeling. A new but vaguely familiar feeling of being alone. He was alone before you, but he was so accustomed to your presence that he forgot what it was like to not have anybody there when he came home.

“Wonwoo--”

“Go back upstairs,” Wonwoo huffed, trying to get to the basement while Junhui and Mingyu helped him.

This time it was worse. You were used to him coming home later, so you no longer wasted an hour or two pacing by the kitchen window, but instead waited until you heard the heavy sound of his boots against the hardwood in the hallway, going toward either the kitchen or the bathroom. He wasn’t always hurt, but this time, he was in worse shape than he’d let you know. That was why there were more men with him.

“But--”

“_____,” he growled, his eyes glancing up at the stairway you were now frozen on. He’d used this voice before -- only a handful of times to show he was serious and didn’t want to fight you on whatever it was -- but it always made you freeze completely where you were. “Go.”

Mingyu and Jun continued to help him to the basement, Seungcheol and Soonyoung following behind them. You waited until you heard the basement door close before dropping your head and going back up the stairs to your room.

Glancing away from the staircase, Wonwoo continued down the hall to the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle of bourbon he left unfinished on the counter before going for the basement door. He threw it open, not bothering to close it behind him because there wasn’t a point to anymore. He was lucky he managed to get down the stairs without falling down them before he went over to his little corner where his desk was. They’d used the basement for plenty of things before, but it was mostly where he kept his ‘business things’. That’s why you weren’t to go down there -- not that that didn’t stop you from checking on Wonwoo from time to time when he had locked himself away down there.

Wonwoo flopped down in his chair, opening the bottle and taking a swig. He stared across the room, trying to grasp the reality that he was alone in the house. He wasn’t sure when it would finally sink in, but it hadn’t yet. It had been a month and he still had himself thinking he could hear your footsteps as you tried to sneak downstairs to check on him, or the shower running with your soft singing drifting from under the door. But the harsh truth was that you were gone an he was just imagining these things.

At first when he got home, you were the first thing he would check on. He wanted to know about your day, what you did, how you were feeling. He was grateful when you had dinner made for him -- even if it was cold by the time he got home -- and loved relaxing on the couch or in bed with you when he got home. But he slowly started seeing you less and less. He didn’t see you most days at all, so you looked forward to the nights. But more often, he started politely turning down dinner to go the basement -- that eventually turned into straight-up ignoring it to go do more work at his desk. Instead of checking up with you, he started going straight to the bathroom to clean himself up before silently grabbing a small snack and retreating to the basement until you were already fast asleep and he was crawling into bed for 2-3 hours of sleep. It got to a point where you barely saw Wonwoo at all.

And as Wonwoo took another drink right after letting out more cigarette smoke, he knew it was all his fault. He got too caught up in his job. He loved you, but he didn’t realize he wasn’t showing it like he should’ve. He made you feel unloved and forgotten and overlooked. It wasn’t a 50/50 situation, it was 100% his fault that you left him.

He put out his cigarette in his ash tray and eyed the bottle before he put his feet up on his desk and took a longer drink this time.

“Wonwoo,” he heard your voice in his ear, trying to shake him awake after another late night. But he had the day off today, and you were excited to spend every moment with him that you could. “Wonwoo, wake up!”

A smack to his cheek had his eyes shooting open as he let out a gasp.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo,” Mingyu breathed, sitting back as he realized the older man was awake, “I thought you were fucking dead. How much did you drink?”

Considering the slap Mingyu gave him didn’t hurt as bad as the metaphorical slap that his awful reality gave him, clearly not enough.

“None of your business,” Wonwoo slurred as he struggled to keep his eyes open, definitely hung over from drinking until he passed out -- again.

“You need to stop doing this,” the younger boy sighed, giving Wonwoo a stern look, “not even just because Seungcheol’s fed up with it, but because it’s not healthy.”

“What does it matter?” he grumbled, refusing to get up. Instead, his hand searched the floor for his bottle of alcohol.

“Will you stop with that shit? Come on, Wonwoo, _____ leaving doesn’t mean the end of the world!”

“Have you ever been in love?”

When Mingyu was silent, Wonwoo scoffed, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Well it was still your own fault she left you,” Mingyu stated, rolling Wonwoo onto his back with his shoe. “You said it yourself, so you can’t say it’s not true. You neglected her and now you’re throwing yourself a pity party when you did it to yourself.”

“Get out of my house,” Wonwoo groaned, deciding to cover his ears instead of search for the bottle of bourbon.

“You’ve been pulling this shit every fucking day for a month,” Mingyu spat, ignoring how obviously annoyed Wonwoo was getting. Everyone was annoyed with Wonwoo’s behavior so this was only fair. “Someone always has to waste their time and come here to make sure you didn’t drink yourself dead.”

“Then stop checking!” Wonwoo shouted, finally peeling his eyes open to glare up at Mingyu. “Go the fuck away!”

“Leave me the fuck alone!”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. You stood in front of his desk, your own angry expression dissipating and being replaced with hurt instead. The two of you had been arguing because he’d been so distant, and while you understood that the basement was where he got more work done, you didn’t see the need for him to continue working when he was away ‘working’ all day. But his anger bubbled over and now he’d crossed the line.

“Wait, _____--”

You just shook your head at him, eyes filling with tears as you rushed to go back upstairs. Wonwoo called for you to come back, but you just ignored him, slamming the basement door closed. Wonwoo groaned and sat down in his chair, rubbing over his face with his hands.

That was definitely the biggest push for you to leave.

And now here he was, in the same room his life started falling apart. Why couldn’t he wake up to you like he thought he was? Better yet, why couldn’t he wake up and have everything just start over? He wanted to go back to when things were good and he wanted to keep them that way. But life didn’t work that way. It couldn’t just reset, it just kept going.

But Mingyu had to be a nuisance and interrupt Wonwoo’s dreams where everything was actually going well and he was happy.

Mingyu sighed, taking a seat in Wonwoo’s desk chair. He rested his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair. Why did Seungcheol have to send him to check up on Wonwoo? Why not Seungkwan or Seokmin? Somebody who had people they loved and could relate to Wonwoo? No offense, but Mingyu didn’t give two shits about Wonwoo’s broken heart.

“Look,” Mingyu said a bit softer, trying to be more level-headed about this, “I get you’re upset and you’ve never had to deal with heartbreak so you don’t know how to cope. But with this kind of...lifestyle, you should really need to come to terms with the fact that nothing will ever really go the way you planned it to.”

“That isn’t good advice,” Wonwoo sighed, not even trying to sit up. His eyes had even closed again, so Mingyu knew the older man didn’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. “Just go.”

Mingyu stood, rolling his eyes and fixing his suit jacket, “Seungcheol’s going to be pissed, y’know.”

“Good for him.”

“Whatever,” Mingyu sighed. “I’ll send Seungkwan tonight to make sure you haven’t slipped into a coma or something.”

Wonwoo only hummed in response, waiting until he heard the Mingyu’s footsteps go up the stairs before closing the basement door. Then he finally pushed himself up off the floor, stumbling the whole time. But it was only to retrieve the bottle of bourbon with only a little left at the bottom. So he took the bottle, wobbled his way up the stairs to the kitchen to get another, and then carried on to the living room, finishing off the first bottle.

“Well, well, well,” you grinned seeing Wonwoo emerge from the basement. He was still in his ‘work’ clothes, but everything was undone to make it a little more comfortable for him since he was at home, “look who decided to show up.”

“What’re you watching?” he mused as he wandered into the living room and glanced at the TV. “Wheel of Fortune?”

You shrugged, “It’s 2am.”

“Eh, it’s not the worst show,” Wonwoo sighed as he let himself drop back onto the couch beside you. He normally would’ve scolded you for staying awake so late, but it was a Friday night so he couldn’t give any excuses as to why you needed to be in bed. Besides, he wanted to hang out with you for a bit before he was way too exhausted. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, shifting so you were leaning into your boyfriend’s side.

You kept your eyes on the TV, playing along like you had been before. You still continued to say your answers out loud despite Wonwoo sitting right there, but he merely chuckled. He thought it was kind of cute.

You were so immersed in the show that you didn’t even feel his gaze on you for the last five minutes.

“_____.”

“Hmm?”

You turned your head to look at him, seeing him smiling at you with so much fondness.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Wonwoo opened the second bottle as he stared at the TV, his reflection in the black screen reminding him that he was alone -- not just on the couch, but completely, utterly alone.

He put the bottle to his lips.

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years ago

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Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 15

Catch up on Chapter 14 here

You’re kicking yourself for taking these last months for granted, for thinking that that was what it meant to miss a busy Van. Pining and pouting over a Van that you basically saw once a week? That wasn’t so exhausted from back-to-back shows that he made time to call, or at least respond to your texts? Who spent enough time in one place that you could actually go visit him on tour?

You’re missing your best friend like crazy.

Word count: ~3.3k

A/N: I can’t believe there’s only two chapters left after this! Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who’s taken the time to read this, and endless thank you’s to everyone who has reached out with feedback ❤️

Chapter Fifteen September 2019

Fall in California doesn’t look the same as it does in Michigan, but you wish it did. Although you’re glad winters here only involve mild weeks in the fifties and sixties, you do miss the atmosphere of gray, rainy September days, leaves shriveling up and falling off of the trees, and changing out your wardrobe into something cozier. Sure, the pumpkin spice trend is still active, but pumpkin spice lattes don’t taste the same with eighty degree temperatures and the shining sun.

Maybe you’re homesick because you’re desperate for your surroundings to match your insides.

Van wasn’t kidding about the band’s workload this month. You’re kicking yourself for taking these last months for granted, for thinking that that was what it meant to miss a busy Van. Pining and pouting over a Van that you basically saw once a week? That wasn’t so exhausted from back-to-back shows that he made time to call, or at least respond to your texts? Who spent enough time in one place that you could actually go visit him on tour?

You had been so naive. So, so, fucking naive. And September was absolute torture to prove it. And it would feel much, much better to slog through this month on rainy sidewalks crusted with damp leaves, a crisp breeze trying to sneak through the seams of your coat.

But instead the world just spins on, leaving you behind. September is a new beginning for many people, who gladly chatter about it everywhere they go. UCLA students are starting to return to the area, bouncing around in their backpacks with iced coffees, and at work your co-workers are returning from their eventful summers refreshed and ready to end the year with a bang. There are back-to-school sales on everything, from spin classes to puppies in a petstore window, and the happier everyone is about the new season the more alone you feel.

Because that’s a great way to sum up how you feel, really: alone. It was the fucking worst. You’d never been someone who had a problem being alone! You’d purposely decided to live alone; you had practically skipped for joy down the sidewalks when you’d broken up with your last boyfriend. You had a nice friend group with the other girls at work, and of course you had Mary, so what else could an independent woman like you need? Certainly not a boyfriend or a girlfriend to make you feel fulfilled. Things wouldn’t even be different if Van was your boyfriend, you try to convince yourself. He’d still be busy. You’d still be rooted in L.A.. You’d still be just as depressed as you are right now.

You don’t believe that one bit.

Got that reservation, Van texts you one night after a rare phone call. You’d asked him to try and get Mary and Theo a table for their anniversary, and apparently he’d pulled through. You beam to yourself as he sends another text with the reservation information, and then decide to give Mary a call.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Is Mary’s greeting. “Has Van kidnapped you?”

You don’t have the heart to tell her it’s the opposite, actually. You’re so trapped in your lonely self-pity you don’t really have the energy or desire to socialize with others right now. In your heart right now, it’s Van or bust.

“Maybe,” You joke, although you feel like you don’t sound very convincing. “Speaking of Van, he might happen to have a reservation next week that he can’t make…” You grin as your voice trails off, “And maybe he accidentally made the reservation under your name?”

Mary audibly gasps down the line. “He got us a table?” She squeals, but you can hear she’s trying to hold back her excitement until she knows for sure.

“I might have called in a favor from him,” You laugh as you listen to Mary’s excitement at your confirmation.

“He is an absolute angel,” She gushes. “You need to marry him, like, now.”

You’re sure that this time your laugh definitely sounds hollow. You’ve never admitted your love for Van, even though Mary questions you about it regularly and never seems convinced with your denials. While you usually tell her everything, your feelings for Van have always felt like a giant bruise, something best not exposed. You don’t think you could stand the teasing, or Mary’s typical meddling. And right now, considering your heart is one oozing wound, you’re thankful for your own secret-keeping.

“I just wanted to let you know,” You start to wind down the conversation. Your phone has pinged with another text from Van, and you don’t want to waste this opportunity to catch up with him. “I’ll screenshot the reservation stuff and text you.”

“Tell Van I said thank you! We said thank you. Like, seriously. He’s amazing.”

You two say goodbye and you relay the message to Van over text, before responding to the message he’d just sent. Sam Fender’s album was out tomorrow, and there would be a huge bash at his Hollywood house the following weekend, which the band wouldn’t be in the States to attend. Van was clearly bummed about the whole thing, and you were too. You wonder if Sam and his friends remembered you from the party, or if you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You wish there was a way for you to reach out to him and congratulate him.

Get your cheque yet? Van asks when the conversation about Sam has run its course.

Right. The insurance check. Yup, you respond, frowning to yourself in dismay. A whole $5,000. Yippee.

You couldn’t believe that’s all you’d received from the insurance debacle. You’d purchased the car for $12,000 from a dealer, worked your ass to pay it off over the years, and now the insurance company had awarded you less than half of the cost of the car to somehow give you the means to buy a new one. And it’d be almost impossible to find something in good shape for that price that was also an automatic, because you grew up in Michigan, where people were not obsessed with driving stick shifts.

Least you’ve got the rover.

Right. The Range Rover. The one scrap of Van you could cling to during this awful time.

The next time you have to pass that stupid petshop with their stupidly cute puppies in the window on your walk back to the office after lunch, you decide to send a pic to Van: Yes or no to me getting a puppy.

Which one?

Holy fuck, he responded in less than twelve hours. It’s your lucky day.

I’m thinking that little fuzzy gray one.

I’d be supremely jealous. He’s cute and I love dogs.

Van is a terrible influence. You’re ashamed to admit you stall in front of the window for longer than necessary, looking at the little gray puppy with the pointed ears bounce around in the playpen before forcing yourself to move along. A puppy would probably be good for you, honestly, but that’s not a decision you should make on impulse.

Miss you, says another text from Van. Then another: Might be in town on Tuesday? Fingers crossed the flights work out.

Unfortunately, they do not.

The flights do, however, work out for Thursday. That’s a fact you only discover after coming home from work and heading into your bedroom to change, only to trip over two rolling suitcases and realize there’s a Van-sized lump sleeping in your bed.

“What’re you doing?” Van mumbles, peeking his head out from under the blankets as you swear up a storm.

“What are you doing?” You shout, your toes throbbing. You’d accidentally kicked one of his rolling suitcases across the bedroom hardwood, and your toes were aching from the impact. On its way across the bedroom that suitcase had bumped the other, causing it to fall like a domino. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

A slow grin spreads over Van’s face. “I wanted to surprise you!”

“By making my room an obstacle course?” You huff, lifting the fallen suitcase upright and rolling both of them out of the way into a corner.

Van’s sleepy state inhibits him from arguing, and he tucks his head back under the comforter.

“God, you scared the shit out of me,” You continue, your adrenaline still pumping from the fright and the pain. “I regret making you a key. I want it back.”

“Shut up,” Comes Van’s muffled voice.

“You shut up,” You bite back, but as the throbbing in your toes die down your irritation is replaced with the realization that this is reality, that Van is actually in your fucking bed at this moment. “I missed you,” You announce suddenly, your voice a lot softer.

Van peeks his head out again. His hair is a ruffled, oily mess as he beams at you. “I missed you more.”

“Bet you didn’t. Bet you forgot about me while you were doing cool band stuff.”

“Oh, did I? Wonder who I was texting Sam about, then.”

At this your jaw drops. “You did what?”

“I told him I was sorry I was leaving town tomorrow, and you said congratulations. And he asked how you were. Bond and him wanna do a celebratory pub night down in Newcastle.”

“No fair!” You pout, stomping your foot like a child. “You’re gonna celebrate without me?”

“Get your passport!” Van cries, throwing one of his arms up in exasperation before flopping back down on the bed. “Come with us!”

Getting your passport is a pain you’re reluctant to go through. You sigh. Maybe you’d try during the holidays back in Michigan, where the lines at the post office weren’t practically out the door everyday. Even if things with Van are over by then, Mary’s been trying to talk you into an overseas vacation for a while.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” You decide to narrow in on that fact, pushing passport thoughts aside.

“Tomorrow night,” Van confirms. “Drop me off after work?”

“Of course.” If you only had him for these twenty-four hours, you were gonna milk every second you had.

Van is completely wiped from touring, and spends his entire time at your place in the same sweats. He gets out of bed the next morning to shower and have a cup of coffee with you, but other than that he’s glued to the mattress, getting some much-needed rest.

But even when he’s tired, Van is fun to be around. When you’re exhausted from work it means that your job has sapped every last bit of joy from you, leaving you without any desire to be creative, go out with friends, or try to be in a good mood. With Van, it’s like he would keep going if his body allowed him. He talks about tour fondly, still expresses excitement about starting on the new album, and still manages to pluck at your guitar from his nesting spot in bed. He’s the same Van; the only difference is the constant yawning and the way the lines around his eyes are more defined. Oh, and the lack of energy for any fooling around.

That last part doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re on your way home from the airport. You were so content just to have him around that you totally forgot how much you’d been using your vibrator lately.

But even with how content you were for that blissful twenty-four hours, as soon as you’ve stepped in the door to your empty house the aching in your heart returns. In your time apart all the little details about Van had gone fuzzy in your mind; his scent on your pillow, how it takes a cup of coffee in the morning for his voice to stop cracking. But remembering them makes everything sting with a vengeance, and you’re left feeling shittier than you have all month.

There’s been a nagging feeling creeping around the edges of your brain like a fog, and as much as you’ve been trying to deny it, it’s hard tonight. It’s just that everything with Van has started to hurt, and you’re not sure it’s ever going to go away. His schedule over the summer was flexible, but even after this intense bout of touring he’d be busy with recording. And then the band would be vigorously promoting and touring that album, and so on, forever, because Van would never stop making music, you were sure of that.

The tears well up in your eyes even thinking about not having him around. Despite your crushing adoration for him, he really is your best friend, and the idea of losing his friendship makes your heart clench in agony, the tears spilling over. But it’s not really a fair friendship when only one of you is crying about it, is it? Van doesn’t have to hurt like this, because his heart isn’t invested in you like yours is in him.

You allow yourself an indulgent self-pity cry as you make your bed, rumpled from Van’s napping, and climb in. You figure if you’re going to have a pity party for yourself you might as well do it right, and switch your pillow out for his so you can smell the smoke he leaves everywhere he goes. You know that as happy as you are when he’s around, there’s no way you can keep crying over someone when leaving is as much of their job as sending emails is to yours.

That’s why when Van pops in for another impromptu visit the following Tuesday, you’re not as happy to see him as you usually would be. It’s the same way that the idea of next morning’s hangover can ruin a night out, except with Van there’s no magical way to handicap your brain from thinking about the future.

The sex comes close, though. As soon as you two get to your place after picking him up he tosses his backpack aside before cornering you against the front door.

“I fucking missed you,” He practically growls in your ear, and holy fuck it’s been so long. You two rush for the bedroom, peeling off clothes as you go. Van is too impatient to worry about unbuttoning his shirt and simply peels it over his head, while you unclasp your own bra to avoid the delay. Before you know it you’re on your back, the blankets falling away from Van’s shoulders as he thrusts into you with all he’s got, your headboard banging against the wall so loudly you almost worry about damaging it. When you come it’s intensely satisfying, and you pull Van’s hair ridiculously hard to prove it. In retaliation he bites down on your shoulder as he comes, the same as he did the first time you ever slept with him.

The whole world feels right for that magical half hour, and then as you both lay on your backs trying to process what’s happened it all starts to shift again.

“When are you leaving, again?” You ask the ceiling, your voice stiff.

“Thursday morning,” He croaks. “Gotta get to Salt Lake City.”

You start to roll yourself up, heading for the bathroom. “Right.”

You feel Van’s body tense under the sheets next to you. “You alright?”

“Yup,” You tell him, emerging from the bed. You’re not convincing in the slightest, and Van can clearly tell. You don’t give him time to question you before leaving the bedroom.

“What’d I do?” You startle when you hear Van’s footsteps following behind you to the bathroom.

“Nothing.” You almost laugh at how ridiculous you sound.

Van hasn’t even bothered to throw boxers on, leaning in the bathroom doorway with his softening dick on display. He sighs. “Wanna step out for a smoke?”

You’re actually craving the fuck out of a cigarette, but you’d rather just go to bed and have this night be over with. Maybe tomorrow you’d be more able to enjoy Van’s presence, rather than pouting over how it’s rapidly coming to an end as soon as it began. “I’m fine,” You tell him. Your voice sounds less sharp and more resigned. It wasn’t his fault, after all.

Van shakes his head. He uses the toilet when you’re done, tosses on the sweatpants he had rolled in his backpack, and heads out onto the porch alone.

In his absence you scold yourself for acting like this. What the fuck were you doing? Ruining the two nights you had him, because of something that wasn’t anybody’s fault? You remake the bed, mentally giving yourself a stern talking to.

“You wanna talk about what’s wrong now?” Van’s voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“Nothing’s wrong,” You insist again, but your voice betrays you.

“Something is,” Van argues. “I’ve been watching you fluff that pillow for ages.”

At his words you realize your hands are still gripping the corner of your pillowcase, and you unclench your fists.

Van steps into the room, and to your mortification you feel your eyes heat up with warm tears.

“It’s been a long day,” You lie. It’s been a long fucking summer. “And I’m PMSing.”

Van frowns in sympathy, starting to climb back into bed. “Need a cuddle?”

A cuddle sounds like the equivalent of doing an entire round of shots by yourself when you’re already dreading the hangover.

“Yeah,” You sniff. “I do.”

On Thursday morning Van gets you up even earlier than your alarm clock, one of his hands nudging your thighs apart. You expect him to get on top of you once you’re more fully awake, yawning and wiggling around to get more comfortable, but instead you feel his calloused fingertip press against your entrance.

“Oh,” You sigh in surprise as he slips into you, searching out your good spots by touch alone. When he slips a second finger in, angling himself right, you clench down on instinct. “Yeah,” You breathe, blinking up at him sleepily. He’s watching your face intently, and if you were even slightly more awake you’d be horrifically self conscious. “You got it right.”

You can’t remember the last time you were fingered as the entree of the sex, rather than the appetizer. It’s appallingly intimate to have Van’s face so close to yours, breathing in any noises you make and watching every slight expression change in the darkness of your room. You’re also appalled at how you’ve been completely robbed of his talents; he can sense exactly where you’re throbbing for him, your clit twitching against the pad of his thumb when he applies pressure right where your body has been screaming for it. It barely takes any time with his thumb working in tiny circles and his fingers pressing into you hard before you’re gasping for air, drowning under the waves of your orgasm that feels like it’s radiating from both areas, whimpering Van’s name helplessly.

As soon as you’re flinching from his touch he pulls his hand away, his fingers slipping into his mouth so he can clean them off.

“Holy shit.” Your lungs are still desperate for air, but you haul him in for a sloppy kiss, paying no attention to the taste of yourself on his tongue. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Van lets out a deep, throaty laugh at that, but you’re already pushing him backwards so that he’s laying flat. You’re way too sensitive for sex, but you jerk him off and let him come on the soft skin on the inside of your thighs, as a treat.

After you drop him off at the airport, both of you looking slightly disheveled due to having to rush to get ready, you sigh to yourself in the empty car. You hated how weak you were when it came to him. One minute you’re convincing yourself you need to stop hanging around him, and the next you’re telling yourself there is absolutely no way you can give up the best sex you’ve ever had.

It was quite the conundrum.

#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen fanfiction #van mccann #catb #catb fic #vanfic #van mccann fic #van mccann fanfiction #Catfish and the Bottlemen

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years ago

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FIC Pt 10: Only August Walker knows how Ethan Hunt dies 1/1

Summary: You are a medic and a member of what’s left of The Apostles. August Walker has been found alive and thanks to you and your team, he’s well on the mend. And now REVENGE!

Ilsa was the first, second was Luther and then Benji met his maker. And now ETHAN MUST DIE.

You and August get even closer like a cute little MURDER couple. This is the end of A Month of August Walker Challenge.

Note: If you like the IMF team, you probably won’t like this series :)

Rating: Minor mention of violence, the climax of the series, you’re gonna love it ;)

Would like to be notified with I post a fic? Message me to be added to my general tag list. Thank you for your support.

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Want to start from the beginning of this challenge? This challenge needs to be read in order. Click to get started with the first prompt entry.

The Obligatory Intro Post to the Challenge

01 August - Please come back, August Walker

02 August - Hello August Walker, I heard you were dead

03 August - Watch your hands, August Walker! People might talk.

04 August - Don’t talk to me, or August Walker again

05 August - Does August Walker even remember you?

06 August - How do you like your coffee, August Walker

07 August - Which part of her do you want, August Walker?

08 August - August Walker, I love it when you’re bad!

09 August - Put your mouth to good use, August Walker

Ethan Hunt was not a stupid man.

In fact, he was quite the opposite. He was cunning and clever and suspicious which were characteristics that helped him to remain one of the top Mi6 agents.

He also had a golden streak of very good luck and August Walker was just about to ruin that man's whole career.

'He went squirrely, ' said Ayami who was pawing through a tin of broken Danish butter cookies from where she sat perched on the kitchen counter-top.

Two weeks after you returned from the Dunn business, Ayami just turned up at the country safe-house. Much to your delight, you'd found her one morning sitting at the kitchen table having a bagel and cream tea. And you knew why she was there. Things were winding up to the big payoff and the team needed to be as consolidated as possible.

'What does that mean?' you asked her but it was Mr. Instant Coffee who answered.

'Means that he knew what's good for him and went underground.'

'Because all of his peeps were getting murdered,' Ayami finished cheerfully and you half expected her and Instant Coffee to slap hands in a celebratory high-five.

August sat silently in his usual place, thoughtfully turning the small white coffee cup in a circle on the table.

'Last time he was seen?' he asked finally.

'Park hotel, Berlin,' Instant Coffee read from the reports supplied by the 'boots on the ground' team. 'Been there for about a week, but he hasn't really stayed one place for more than that. We should have moved earlier.'

'No,' said August, not looking at him, but at the cup. 'No, we want to give him enough rope to hang himself. Let him get complacent.'

'Do we have time to let him get complacent?' Instant Coffee said. 'I mean, the longer we wait, the more time he'll have to burrow in like a fucking tick.'

You looked at Instant Coffee for a moment. He did have a point.

'Okay,' August replied easily. 'You're right.'

At that moment, your respect for August Walker increased ten-fold. That he was able to take in the opinion of the other members of his team was unbearably sexy. He may have earned a little leg over for later that night.

'I'm going alone,' August announced finally, drawing the sharp attention of everyone in the room.

You reined your own reaction because an emotional response in that instant would have been inappropriate. You knew exactly why August wanted to hunt down Ethan alone. Hunt had not only gravely wounded August’s body but also his pride. His revenge was personal.

'That's probably not a good idea,' said Instant Coffee, obviously feeling confident that he had scored a few brownie points a few moments earlier.

August scowled and looked to you. Meeting his gaze, you nodded once.

'August should face Hunt alone,' you said to the room and then to him, added, 'but I don't think you should go alone.'

There was so much gratefulness in his eyes that you felt embarrassed and looked away. You didn't want August to see the answering distress in your eyes. If the fight on the cliff side had been fair, and luck hadn't been on Hunt's side, August wouldn't have lost. Tossing August over the edge was poor sportsmanship. You were afraid that Hunt would employ other clever tricks and defeat August for the second time. And now that August wanted to take the IMF leader on his own ensured that he would be left vulnerable to losing the upper hand.

You didn't want to lose him again, but you remained silent. This was ultimately August's decision and he had made his choice.

The two of you didn't speak much on the trip to Berlin. There wasn't much to say. You didn't dare express to him your fears, because that would only serve to distract him with your possibly misplaced doubt. And distraction was the last thing August needed.

When he pulled up to a local hotel to drop you off, you stayed in the car, sitting quietly for a moment, unsure what to do or say. Sighing, you turned to him and reached to cup his cheek.

'See you soon,' you encouraged him. 'Bring me a trophy.'

August nodded and you got out of the car.

Come back to me, you thought watching the car disappear in the afternoon traffic.

Your room faced the Berliner Fernsehturm and you could hear music from the festival going on in the square below. You took a long hot shower and stretched on the surprisingly comfortable bed. It wasn't the Shangri-la, but it was charming and it wasn't long before you fell asleep.

The room door thunking shut as if a heavy weight collapsed against it awoke you hours later. With a gasp, you shot upright and reached for your weapon. You couldn't remember where the light switch was, so when you scrambled up from the bed, you backed up to the table under the window and jerked open the curtains to let in the artificial outdoor light.

The scent of sulphur and petrol filled the room and as your eyes slowly adjusted to the differences in the light you could just make out the bulky form sitting on the floor against the door. You knew that form as the impression of it was etched on your own flesh.

You put your weapon aside and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor, grabbing a towel and wetting it as you passed the small bathroom alcove. You crouched before the shadowed figure and put your hand beneath his chin. You lifted his face to the light and it was clear that Hunt had given August a run for his money.

You gently cleaned the dried blood from his mouth and chin, carefully working it out of his moustache and scruff.

You wanted to say something reassuring, something positive, but you were too overwhelmed with relief.

'Well,' you murmured, stroking his face. 'I hate to see the other guy.'

August was silent and you hoped you hadn't over stepped the line.

He then held up a small package wrapped neatly in butcher's paper and tied with white twine. You took it from him, pulled the string and the paper unfolded to reveal your trophy. Holding it up to the light, it took a moment for you to recognise the carefully extracted evidence of Hunt's death and you smiled.

'Come on, you big brute,' you said fondly, attempting to pull him up from the floor.

When August didn't budge, you stopped straining against his weight and gasped with exertion.

'You're gonna have to help me here, babe!'

Groaning miserably, August managed to get his feet beneath him using the door and you to heave himself from the floor. You struggled to get him out of his clothes and under the soft yellow light above the sink you examined him. Big swollen bruises bloomed across his chest and back accompanied by several shallow scrapes and slashes. You wasted no time washing him up, patching his wounds, and getting him into bed.

Lying on his belly, August was still asleep when you woke the next morning. You went to the minibar refrigerator, withdrew your trophy and admired it in the morning sunlight. Your mobile beeped, distracting you.

It was a message from Ayami.

'Tell your boyfriend to be a little less conspicuous next time, ok?' she'd written.

Curious, and glancing at August's sleeping form, you rang her.

'What's that mean?' you asked when she answered.

'I mean that August didn't need to leave that fucker's burning corpse in the warehouse. He damn near burned down the place.'

'He was obviously sending them a message,' you answered, smiling gleefully, proud of your little murder puppy.

'I can understand that,' she shot back sounding uncharacteristically irritable. 'But that also earned us more attention than we wanted.'

You sobered.

'Is this something that needs to be taken care of?'

'It's already handled,' she answered and some of her good humour crept back into her voice.

You sighed and relaxed, wrapping an arm about your midsection.

'He's not my boyfriend,' you said after a moment with no conviction in your voice and she laughed incredulously.

'When are you coming back?' she asked, changing the subject.

'I dunno. Depends on what August wants.'

'Ok, you two lovebirds hash it out and I'll see you... whenever.'

'Thanks, Ayami. I love you!'

'Get something from the Wall museum for me, ok?'

You disconnected the call and tossed aside the mobile.

Feeling a warm sense of well-being, you re-wrapped your trophy and stored it in the refrigerator again. Climbing into bed next to August, you lifted his arm, crawled beneath it, and curled your body against him.

August had exacted his revenge and you felt satisfied for him. But you weren't sure what was going to happen now. The mission that had consumed so much of your year was over. You felt un-moored and a little panicked, but when August tightened his arm round you, your hamster wheel of thoughts scattered.

There was time to worry later, now in the heat of August's embrace was peace and with a small smile still on your lips, you put your head against him and slept.

This is the end of A Month of August Walker Series. I hope you enjoyed it and please like, reblog and comment.

taglist: @0witchtrials0 @supernaturallymarvellous @lharrietg @gingerspecks @lightsidecalling @littlefreya @lunedelorient @omgkatinka @igotkatiepowers @emmaofgreengabbles @justaboringadult @jencanbeyouryengeralt @skittywittykitty @g0ldenlush @xxxkatxo @rachie725 , @the-soot-sprite , @harrysthiccthighss , @little-green-love @darkbooksarwin @foxyjwls007 @xshadyladyx @maan24 @angreav @mstgsmy @littlesidewriter @ruthoakenshield @wheretheriversrunintothesea @maizyistrash @demivampirew @itsjusttaralove @cynic-spirit @heathengurrrl71

#a month of august walker #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker x you #amoaw

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gophergal · 4 years ago

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Hooooo Boy! This took longer to write than I though, but with the help of @bucketofcowboys , I did it! (Encouragement from @bisexual-horror-fan was also a major motivator) enjoy this second chapter <3

I’m Not Lonely - Chapter Two

Word count:4 000+| Rating: M | Michael Myers x OC | M/F

Morning came, with all that entails. In the midst of her freshly awakened delirium, Jean was sure that the previous night's events had just been a strange dream. She'd been known to have dreams like that, especially when she was stressed. The paranoia induced by the news I listened to on the way home must have been the basis, she told herself. She had been exhausted and what she did in that dream was absolutely ridiculous. Never in a million years would she be so stupid as to do what she did. That would be like one of those foolish horror story protagonists that Jolene liked to tell her about. With a light chuckle, Jean changed out of her pajamas into the brown sweater and jeans she liked wear on cool mornings like this. There were plenty of things to do today, but none of them could be done on an empty stomach, so off to the kitchen it was.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the living room came into view, and suddenly her train of thought came to a screeching halt. The coveralls, with their dark stains and tears, lay on the floor, mocking her for her stupidity. Their owner, however, was absent, with no sign of his presence. Jean's heart began to beat far too fast in her chest as her mind raced with all the things that could go wrong. She turned suddenly to leave the room and crashed into a solid mass, stunning her for a moment. At once, she was hit with a wave of embarrassment as she was pressed against the chest of her uninvited guest.

“Oh! Excuse me, I didn't see you there,” She exclaimed, taking a step back from the man. Now, in the daylight, she could take the moment to realize how tall he was. He was about a whole foot taller taller than her, built like a football player, and, when she'd been pressed against him, solid muscle. “Um, I, well, I'm going to be making myself some breakfast. Would you like to join me in the kitchen?” He didn't answer, unsurprisingly, but she could feel his presence as she moved toward the other room. Her mind was a storm as she flipped an egg in the skillet. What am I even doing? She wondered, I don't know who the hell this guy is or what he did last night before he broke in.

Jean set a plate of eggs and toast in front of the stranger, then sat across from him with her own steaming plate. The air was heavy with tension as they sat, the man staring at Jean as she struggled to force her mouth to form words. Neither of them reach for their food and Jean feels the need to squirm in her seat. She spots her notebook and pen.

“Ah, I- Um, I never caught you name,” she pushed the paper and writing instrument toward him gently, “Mine's Jeanette. Jeanette Parrish. Well, I just go by Jean, because that's what everyone calls me.” She stuttered out. She would almost feel embarrassed if he weren't watching her in such an intimidating way. Like an owl watching a mouse scurry across the forest floor, waiting for the moment to swoop down with its talons bared.

Stop that, she thought to herself, you're working yourself up over nothing. The little voice of common sense returned, Or not. He very well could be dangerous. After all, how many good men just break into a person's home covered in blood, refusing to speak? Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the thoughts racing in her head, Jean pushed herself up from the seat a bit too forcefully, nearly knocking her half eaten breakfast off the table. She needed air. Somewhere without his eyes on her, forcing her mind to spin wild thoughts. She went outside to the utility shed, a basket of dirty laundry (she'd grabbed the filthy jumpsuit without thinking on her way out) pressed to her hip as she exited. The washing machine was set up to cycle and she leaned against it as it filled with water.

She let out a shaky breath, tapping her fingers against the cold metal as she calmed. The machine hummed and shook as it worked, the rhythm of it lulling her into a sort of relaxing trance, broken by the buzz signaling the cycle's completion. On autopilot, she removed the garments from the washer's drum and took them to the line, performing the repetitive motion of hanging them up to dry. When done, she went back inside, seeing no sign of the man when she did. He wasn't in the kitchen, where she had left him, the only sign of him being on the table, where his empty plate sat beside the notebook. Jean was amazed to see a name written down on the paper in a childish, unpracticed scrawl. “Michael,” she read softly to herself. Well, that answers one thing, she thought, but leaves a lot more for me to wonder about.

Michael watched from threshold undetected as the woman, Jean, flit around the kitchen tidying things up and washing the plates and silverware. She moved with purpose and care, reminding him much of the few nurses who cared for him in the sanitarium. One question kept coming to him, however: how stupid was this woman? When she first saw him, she did not scream or beg, or even run away. No, this one stood her ground against him, a thing of pure evil, silent and horrific. Admittedly, it intrigued him, her strangeness. He realized that she lived alone, yet appeared no older than his escaped prey, Laurie. Young women didn't tend to live alone, only old women and men did. She would have been an easy kill, had he chosen to do so.

Why hadn't he? Well he hadn't wanted to, of course. Why hadn't he, though? Enough. He wouldn't waste time on this line of thought for longer than he needed to. Only because you have no answer, The Shape spoke. He supposed that was true. He felt the same urges he had when seeing those girls Laurie surrounded herself with. The same urge he felt when he was young, seeing the life leave Judith. Jean was beautiful, and there was only one thing a devil could ever do to beautiful things: destroy them.

Jean felt eyes on her back as she put the clean, dry plates in the cabinet. She twirled around to see Michael in the threshold, head cocked ever so slightly to the side. She started to move again, not even noticing the pause she made in her movements. She walked past Michael into the living room, deciding to straighten the book shelves and sweep the floor. The usual intense focus she would fall into refused to come, the presence of another body too distracting for her to push from her mind. Why won't he leave, she wondered quietly.

Eventually, she gave up on the endeavor, choosing to flop onto the couch, frustrated. She picked up the book on the end table. Well, I could always start that book Jo recommended to me, she considered as she opened the book. She'd only gotten a few lines in when she felt breath on her shoulder, causing her to hesitantly look to the source. Michael stood, head tilted like a confused pup. She swallowed and pointed to the book, “Have you read this one? My coworker said it was good, but I'm not very fond of scary stories,” she said, “but, if you wanted, I could read it aloud and we could experience it together? You might want to sit down if that's the case.”

Truthfully, she just wanted him to stop hovering uncomfortably behind her like a cat ready to pounce. To her surprise, he did, though a bit closer than she was comfortable with, a closeness which was increased by gravity pulling her to the low spot made by his superior weight. She cleared her throat, “Well, I suppose I should start then,” a pause as she readied herself to read, “Chapter one: Job Interview. Jack Torrance thought: Officious little prick...”

She read until she could read no more, Michael sitting as still as a cold marble slab next to her on the old couch. When she looked up, throat scratching from the use, she noticed that it was quite dark outside and, upon looking at the clock, realized that she had missed dinnertime and her stomach was quick to confirm. Dog-earring the page she was reading, Jean set the book back on the table, rushing to the kitchen to get something to eat. She eats a plate of leftover meatloaf that had been in the refrigerator, and left a plate for Michael, should he decide to have some. With a yawn, she turned off the light in the kitchen, slinking up the stairs and looking over to the couch where Michael still sat.

The bedroom door was shut firmly behind her and she turned the lock to give her peace of mind while she slept. Are you so sure that will keep you safe, her common sense questions, when he's so close by? She pushed it from her mind, it's all she could do if she wanted to sleep. Besides, becoming paranoid wouldn't serve her well either. The bed wasn't comfortable enough to counter her stress and confusion over the situation she'd gotten herself into.

Jean awoke abruptly, horribly aware on this morning that the previous day and night were not, in fact, dreams. She was also horribly aware that she would have to leave her room at some point that day. Oh shit, she thought, I have to work tonight. Snuggling further into the soft comforter on the bed, she grumbled internally. She didn't hate her job, but she sure as hell didn't like it. Annoying, entitled customers weren't the only thing she disliked about it, but they were a big part of it. The next man to call her “sugar tits”, “babydoll”, or anything overly familiar was going to have to get her fist surgically removed from his face. She was a waitress, goddamnit, not a whore! And even whores deserved more respect than that. Both she and they were just working women, after all. How could that ever be undeserving of basic human dignity?

Rolling out of bed, she hissed at the cold hardwood under her bare feet. The weather is cooling rather quickly, she noted as she put on slippers, unlocked the door, and braced herself as she tiptoed down the stairs. There was no sign of Michael, which seemed to be the norm with him. She half expected to run into him again as she had the previous morning. He wasn't in the kitchen either. Or the bathroom. Or the closet. Not hiding behind her like the shadowy creature in an old monster movie. Finally, she checked the backyard, only to see that the man's coveralls were missing and in there place the clothes he'd borrowed had been lazily draped over the line.

It was- surreal in a way. He was gone just as abruptly as he'd appeared. It was almost sad to have him gone, in a strange way. The house felt emptier, like it was missing something. She shook her head. No, this was the way it was meant to be. She could only hope that he didn't decide to return. That settles that, she thought to herself, now I can just live my life in peace. All that left for her to do was get some breakfast and enjoy some time to herself. Same thing as every day. Eggs and toast. Get dressed. Tidy the house. Sit and read. She felt odd picking up The Shining again. It's rude to read ahead when you're trying to share a book after all. She put it down without a second thought. Picking up an old favorite, she began to read it all over again. It must have been the- what? Tenth time? Something like that. It was a comforting book to read, after all.

Soon enough, it came time to ready herself for the long shift ahead. Her clean, wrinkle-free pink blouse and black skirt reflected back at her in the mirror as she pulled her hair into a half ponytail in the back. She dragged herself to the car, an old gray clunker that had to be from the last decade or so. Jean didn't really know. It was granddad's from when he was a younger man, but she remembered how her brain would shut down every time he tried to talk cars at her. At least she knew how to change tires and oil, the mechanic could worry about everything else.

The door to the diner section of the truck stop swung open as Jean walked in. There was only one patron sitting at a table, a plate of meat and potatoes set before him. He looked up at Jean and gave her a friendly nod, which she returned with a smile. At least he wouldn't be a nuisance tonight. She walked back into the kitchen where Jolene leaned against a counter top as she chatted with Gus, the cook. He was a big man who's heart was as big as his biceps. He was an amazing cook too and, oftentimes, it made Jean wonder why he hadn't become a chef at some big fancy restaurant. He noticed her and grinned.

“Hey Jean, did you have a good day off?” he asked, deep voice carrying over to her. Jolene seemed to light up, turning to look at Jean.

“Yeah, it's never as fun around here without you!” she said. Jean smiled.

“Oh, y'know, same old, same old. I started reading that book you recommended to me though!”

“Really? What do you think? I know you're not one for scary stories, but I thought you might like this one.”

“Pretty good so far, actually. I didn't think I'd like it, but I've enjoyed it quite a bit. I like the atmosphere the author's set.” Jolene smiled at that.

“That makes me really happy, Jean. Now if only you'd just-”

The redhead was cut off by the jingle of the door as a customer stepped into the establishment. Jean flashed her a small smile as she made her way over to where the man sat down. She knew exactly what Jo was about to say next and felt as though she'd dodged a bullet when she got away. Now she'd just have to be sure she wasn't hit by the ricochet when they took their break. “Now sir, what can I get you?”

Finally, a quiet moment came where no customers sat in the dining area. Jean took the moment to join Jo as she left out the back door. Jolene stood in the light of the small bulb that flickered above the back door. She puffed away at a cigarette that she clenched between her peach toned lips. A grin quirked up to her lips when she noticed Jean, who sighed as she prepared for the usual lecture Jo liked to give her.

“Oh Jean, you wouldn't believe the guy that came in here yesterday,” Jo began, taking a pull off the dwindling white stick, “guy waltzes in like he thinks he's hot shit. Couldn't be any older than, what? Sixteen, I'd guess. Just some dumb fucking kid. And he says to me Ay, dollface, how's 'bout you get me a beer?”

She throws her hair around, “As if he thinks we won't card him, ha! I tell him about as much and say I'll bring him a soda, so Mr Tough Guy gets pissy, but agrees. When I leave to go get it though, the little bastard grabs my ass! What a pig, am I right?

Well, I know he's lucky that you weren't here because you would've been on him like that!” she snaps for effect, “well, Gus just threw him out and made sure I was ok, but still, what a little creep!” She finishes, throwing her hands up in the air as she did.

“Wow,” Jean began, a bit confused as she always was when Jo would go off on a rant like that, “the nerve of some people! You're right, I would've taught him some manners right then and there. Little bastard.” She swore.

“It's no big deal, I guess. It's not like I'm hurt or anything.”

“That's not the point! You know I can't stand when people like that act like they can just do whatever the hell they want.”

“I know, but there's no need to worry about it. Gus took care of it.”

“Not as harshly as he should have.”

“Well, you know that's just not how he rolls.”

“I do.”

“Now-”

“Oh no.”

“Don't you Oh no me! You didn't call my buddy Robert back!” She threw her hands to her hips, her brows furrowed.

“Jo, please-”

“You promised me that you'd give him a chance, Jean.”

“I did. We just didn't hit it off, I guess.”

“Ugh, that doesn't mean you get to be rude to the guy. The best thing to do is tell him up front.”

“I'm sorry,” and she was. Jo was just trying to help her, in her own way. This was the third guy she'd set Jean up with. It was sweet of her, but the help was unneeded and very much unwanted.

“I'm just- Well, I'm just worried about you. I don't want you to end up a lonely old woman, bitter because you never found anyone.”

“According to you, I'm there already,” Jean said, chuckling.

“Laugh it up, but when that happens you'll think: Oh, how I wish I listened to Jolene! She's always been so smart, why did I disregard her advice!” she danced about dramatically as she said this, throwing an arm over her head with the last word, making Jean snort-laugh.

“Alright, alright, you have a point.”

“Yes, I do! Now do you promise to keep an open mind?”

“Of course.”

“Pinkie promise?”

“Yes,” she said, holding out the finger, which Jo hooked with her own. The door opened gently and Gus stopped it with his foot.

“Something I missed?” he asked softly.

“No, no,” Jo laughed, “nothing at all!” Gus rolled his eyes.

“A'right then, well your break's up, ladies,” he said, holding the door open more so that they could enter.

Jean felt light as she drove home from work. Her shoulders were relaxed as the blackness surrounding her passed by. Talking to Jo and Gus was like therapy for her. She could almost push Michael and his intrusion from her mind. Almost. She was still a little worried that he'd show back up in the night. Thankfully, there was no figure on her couch when she unlocked and opened the door (making very sure to lock it back after her). There was no man sat at her table, no towering mass in her corner with intense black eye holes that made her feel weak and small. And that was how it stayed for days. That's how it stayed when she woke up to eat eggs and toast. That's how it was when she went to work and when she got home. For about two weeks.

She got home after a late shift, more tired than she had been in a long while. It had been the stress, she guessed, of Jo reminding her that she had no plans for the holidays that were rapidly approaching. No loving husband and in laws to fill her home with joyful voices and good memories. Being alone had its downsides, it seemed. She flopped straight into bed with a muffled groan of annoyance, then fell asleep with ease. It was also with ease, however, that she was awoken. First slowly by the creaking of her window and the cool breeze that came through it, but then abruptly by the sudden presence at the end of her bed.

The foreboding black shadow just stood there, the moonlight obscuring the figure in silhouette. She at once felt panic rush through her veins as she kicked her legs out. They connected with the figure's abdomen, forcing a deep strangled grunt from it. She flipped out of the bed, staggering to her feet as they tried to carry her to the exit. Her arm was grabbed, causing her to slip and nearly fall, had she not been pulled roughly to the figure's solid chest. She struck out with her free hand wildly, which was caught in a vice-like grip and, using the leverage gained from having her hands in its grasp, the figure pushed her roughly against the wall, pinning her and knocking the air from her lungs. The figure breathed heavily.

Jean squirmed helplessly against the wall, her torso bared vulnerably to her attacker. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away and holding her breath as she waited for the inevitable. When nothing happened she opened her eyes and looked back, catching the sight of a telltale white mask and blue coveralls. “What the hell, Michael?” She breathed through a clenched jaw. He responded with a head tilt, as though he saw no issue with the situation at hand.

“You can't just do that!” She yelled, which amused him because he could, and he did.

“Can I at least have my arms back?” She asked, as he pretended not to hear her, keeping her arms in his cruel grip.

“I'm sorry I kicked you, but you have to understand that I was afraid I would really be killed- Or worse!” Were he any other man, Michael would have chuckled. Not yet, Jean, the Shape supplied for him. That would have to wait. Regardless, he released her wrists, which she rubbed gratefully. She left the room, pausing to look over her shoulder expectantly, almost like she was waiting for him to follow her. And so he did, down the stairs and into the living room where she plopped herself down on the couch. He sat beside her, feeling as she leaned against him at first, then readjusted herself on the couch.

“It's been a while, huh?” She said softly, peering at him nervously. “Well, I'll admit, I can't get back to sleep with all this excitement. I'd like to read our book. Would you like that?” He tilted his head, first to one side, then to the other, which she took as a yes of sorts. She cleared her throat, then picked up the book, “Alright-y, where were we? Aha! There!” And she began to read.

Michael didn't pay much attention to what she was reading to him. On occasion, he would tune back in to her words to catch bits of the plot. Not that it interested him, but her voice, on the other hand- It was mesmerizing. He'd heard women's voices before. Obviously. Usually they held the tone of disinterested disgust, much like the nurses at the sanitarium. Sometimes it was in the midst of a pleasured moan, much like his sister, Judith mere moments before her life ended. Best of all was their fear, their pain, their death. The sound of it intoxicating, filling him with a sense of control and satisfaction. Something about Jean's voice, however, was very different.

When he heard her voice, regardless of what he would think on first seeing her (that being the desire to snuff her out like a candle), he would begin to feel a sense of calm wash over him. He felt like a child again, hearing his mother speak to him in soft tones. Mother. She wasn't quite like his mother, this woman, but it was a closer comparison than to either of his sisters. She was caring. Not like the nurses, with their fake chipper tones and needles filled with numbing drugs. No, she was real. For a moment, when she bandaged his wounds, he remembered Sunday school and the stories of angels he was told. Is this an angel? He asked the Shape. No, it responded angrily, this is flesh and blood. This is for you to rip and shred. To break into a million pieces. But not now, not yet. Now you wait. Now you remain patient.

And so he did.

#michael myers #slasher x oc #slashers #michael myers x oc #gopher writes #I'm Not Lonely

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