#running shoes steel toe

[phagodyke]

new boots get delivered today :-)

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

[octopiys]

Lost and Found

iii.

Prev | Next

You wake in a bed that is not your own. You start, pushing the covers off and practically falling off the bed and scramble towards the door. You pray you don't find it locked.

It swings open with ease, and you run face first into a very concerned Simon, who moves his cup of tea up and out of the way so it doesn't spill anywhere.

"Woah woah, there, what's got yer knickers in a twist?"

"You- I was- I don't know how-" You gesture vaguely back to the bedroom, that was not yours, heart pounding in your chest as you fail to explain what was going on.

Scraggle weaves into your legs, purring as it brushes up against you. Pay attention to it. Please.

"Honey, listen." He says rather bluntly, steeling you into your senses. "Ya fell asleep on the couch last night. Didn't want ya to have a bad back this mornin' so I moved you to my bed, it was closer. Didn't stay in there, tucked you in an' left. Not that kinda guy."

You swallow, looking down to pick up Scraggle, who seems very upset that you have not given it nearly enough attention. Simon's eyes follow your actions, before you look up at him, and meet deep brown irises.

"....what kind of guy are you, then?" You ask softly, toeing the water. You knew next to nothing about him. Other than his name, and he rescued you, like he rescued everything else in his house.

He lowers his tea, and slurps it loudly, accidentally-on-purpose, and you smile.

"Fed the dogs this morning. Breakfast is in the kitchen." He grunts, before turning away. You notice how he doesn't answer your question. You wonder if he doesn't know the answer.

Scraggle yowls. It wants food too. Give it food. Give it.

You make your way down the hall, trying to make sure that you look at least somewhat presentable.

The kitchen smelled nice. You took a little bit of everything, but not too much, still on the fence. You'd take what you can get, but not enough to leave a noticeable mark.

Simon's sitting at the table, typing something into his phone.

You didn't have one of those. Didn't have much use for one, either. If you needed to look something up, which, apparently, is something people do, you use the house computer.

It's the start of a sunny day, warm light bathing the kitchen through the windows above the sink. You sit down across from Simon as you eat quietly. Some bits you leave untouched. Not your favorites.

"Simon." You start softly. "Where did you sleep last night?"

"Couch." He grumbles, but not in a mean way.

"I thought you said-?"

"Yeah, honey, I'm used to it. Slept in worse places." His eyes crinkle like it was some inside joke you didn't understand. But you feel like you've already asked too many questions this morning. If he senses your hesitance, he doesn't pay it any mind.

You stand and leave to wash your dish.

Simon asks if you want to go to the market with him. He shows you your list. Tells you he won't leave your side. You can pick out the sauce, and the seasoning.

You're far enough away. Its been enough time. Its been a few weeks. You can go. You can go out for an hour. Nobody would notice. Nobody would see you.

You trust him, right?

"I have some stuff to do around here.... can we make it quick?"

"'Course. 'Course we can." Simon nods, and for a moment, you feel like he knows more than he lets on. But it slips, and you're back at square one.

You grab your work boots, a dark pair that Simon had gotten you two weeks ago. They've got some mud on them, but around here, it was impossible to find someone with perfectly clean everyday shoes.

It's almost twenty minutes into town. That's reassuring to you, distance enough away from folks you don't know, nor want to concern yourself with. It'll be something you could make a day out of, further down the line.

The car ride is quiet.

"....y'mind if we stop at the bookstore?" Simon grunts out as he pulls into a space outside of the supermarket. "Don't have to, but I was plannin' on..."

"That's fine." Simon clocks the way your eyes light up, and you try to play it off, and there's a fuzzy, warm feeling in his chest watching you. Instead of facing it, he gets out of the car, and opens your door.

You stick real close to his side as you walk into the store, practically calling yourself his shadow. He gets a cart. You pull out your little yellow-pad note of a grocers list. He glances down at it fir a moment, then back up to scan the aisle signs above you.

"Right then. This way."

Luckily, today there were no crowds in the market, and they had everything you needed. You were beginning to feel a little excited, like warmth in the tips of your fingers. You liked cooking, and you liked starting from scratch.

Must be a figurative and a literal thing, huh?

As you walk up to the check out, you push the cart. You pass the last aisle, and stop abruptly. Simon, not paying attention, runs directly into the cart, and then looks down at it like it personally offended him.

"Y'alright, honey?" He asks, his hand ghosting down near your waist, the curve of your back, a strong, secure point. His hand is warm.

You cock your head, and turn the cart down the last aisle.

Then you come back with a bag of marshmellos in the cart. Simon raises an eyebrow, but doesn't judge you for it.

"Wha'ssat for?" He asks, joining you at your side as you push the cart towards the check out, determined.

"I read on the computer that raccoons like marshmellos. We have treats for the cats and the dogs, but with Tres in the family now, I mean, he's just a little guy, and little guys gotta have treats too, sometimes, right?" You ask, looking up at him.

There's a fire in your doe eyes, like no matter if he agreed with you or not, you were taking those goddamn marshmellos to little baby Tres. He smirks, peering down at you, before squeezing the curve of your shoulder assuringly, before putting the bag of marshmellos up on the check out conveyor.

Yeah, the little guys gotta have a treat, too.

You've been a little less skittish, recently. Less Bambi-like, no longer wobbly kneed and hesitant– at least, not terrified to ask anymore. But it was little touches that got you out of it, small things, like the brush of a hand, or knocking his knee to yours, or wiping flour off your cheek.

Simon has his own story, and he knows you have yours. He doesn't expect you to question his, nor would he you, but he's seen the marks. He's seen the way you wince, like a few mornings ago, when you limped into the kitchen and brushed off his concern and braced the day without a complaint. Just grateful to have food in your belly, and a warm roof over your head. It ignites a fire in his chest, one that burns right through his heart and lungs, knowing that someone or something out there did this to you, and you wouldn't tell him who it was. Anger. He'd never been quite good with that. All in due time, he supposes.

He knows you've seen his scars, too. The trees are starting to grow over the house, and the way the branches grow are unstable. He's gotta cut some of them back. It's broiling out, so he shuns his shirt as he works on the roof, careful not to put his foot through a sensitive spot in the roof, or startle the raccoons, and he forgets, because he doesn't have to care when he's home.

You bring him lemonade when you see him come down. Your eyes linger on his bare skin, damp with sweat, and he feels... Like you see him for more than he appears, standing before you. Your eyes catch on each jagged mark, each curved line cut and carved deliberately into the patchwork of his skin. It's strangely sensual, how you both stand in the kitchen with your eyes on one another, simply cataloging the indents of people he once knew, and couldn't care enough to remember, because remembering replaces this. This soft moment, your eyes misted over, hip resting on the cabinet.

Maybe he overlooks the way that you seem to be looking at him for more than he is, and he sees you, too. Your eyes practically glow in the golden light of the afternoon, skin softer now with safety, a net he provided. The creature in his chest purrs at the sight of it, the softness of you in your entirety, knowing that it was his doing, a strange kind of possessiveness there that made him want to sink his teeth in, that would drown a man if kept unchecked.

But he's always been a good swimmer.

The worry in your face is still there, but no longer carved as deep. Your hands intricate, short nails nearly bitten off, lined with your own struggle, your own story, as your fingers grap around the cool glass of lemonade, and he doesn't think he's ever longed to be an inanimate object more. He blinks, scared for a split second that when he opens his eyes, this domesticity would be gone, a faux scenario in his fragmented, wretched mind, and yet, you're still there.

He found you. You haven't gone anywhere.

What's that they say? Finders keepers?

He doesn't plan on letting you go, any time soon. And he's not one to lose, either.

Your lips are soft, pursed as your eyes glance up to meet his, half lidded. Minx. You don't have any idea what you do to him.

You look like you're about to say something-

Scraggle yowls, headbutting Simon in the leg, and the moment breaks.

And you laugh, and he does too. He feels dizzy.

The bookstore is on the corner of the block. He loaded the bags into the car, refusing to let you even lift a finger.

You glared at him. He let you shut the trunk.

A small bell twinkled overhead as you walked into the dusty bookstore. There were a few plants that hung in the front window, the decorated neon sign buzzing.

There were a few tables, along with a coffee maker and a pastry case, one of those glass ones like you see in a bakery. Anywhere you look has at least one plant, and a stack of books. There were quite a few shelves, and you couldn't quite tell what was what. There was a staircase in the back, winding up to a second floor, where there were more shelves, but a sign near the top read 'Music', so you assumed that it would be CDs or something. It was pretty overwhelming, as your eyes adjusted to the soft lighting and the smell of lavender and... something you couldn't quite place a name to.

He watches your eyes dart around, shoulders tense, before you blink slowly, and take a deep breath, before pushing forward.

Pride causes him to smirk, as a woman appears from behind the counter.

She doesn't say anything at first, watching you scan the shelves, and quickly make your way over to the little fantasy section she has. She glances over at Simon, who approaches her but doesn't take his eyes off of you.

"Who's the new thing?" The woman asks, careful to keep her voice low.

Simon huffs, the question rolling off him. "Where's the Scot, Peach?"

"He's-"

"Hey, LT!" Exclaims a very loud man from the top of the staircase. He makes his way down the steps, before clapping Simon on the shoulder.

Your curiousity piques, as you look over a shorter shelf to watch Simon and this mystery fellow interact, hidden away in this little alcove of book stacks. Your hands find purchase flipping through the yellowed pages of an old book, one you remember from a long, long time ago.

They share a few words, nothing you can make out, really, before all three turn and look at you.

You duck, not wanting to be caught dropping any eaves.

"Been through the wringer that one has, havin' ended up wit' ye." Johnny comments, crossing his arms over his chest as you duck.

"Fuck off, Soap." He grumbles, starting to regret this idea. "You want pasta or not?"

"We-" A manicured hand slides over Johnny's mouth, his partner electing to ensure he doesn't screw up dinner plans.

"We'll be there if it's all good with the missus." She says smoothly, recovering as she glances over towards you.

Simon hums, and she sees he still hasn't taken his eyes off you. "Something going on with you, Riley?"

Simon hums again, not fully paying attention.

"Oi, earth to Ghost!" Johnny snaps, before realization dawns on him. "Oh- oh, yer down bad, aren't-"

"MacTavish, if you say another word, I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you."

".....note taken."

"How's Lord Scraggle doing?" Always good for a save, that Peach.

Of course, Peach wasn't her real name. But it's what Soap called her. It's what everyone knew her as. But, like everyone else, they had their own reasonings. And Ghost... Well, he respects her enough not to ever get in her way. Ever.

Simon buys you the old copy of the Hobbit you'd been clutching. You're shyly introduced to his friend Soap, and Peach. You introduce yourself too, and Peach repeats you to make sure she gets it right. In a bold move, you look to Simon and invite them to dinner. He shrugs, and looks to them. Peach tells you yes, and Soap looks like he's been kicked before he agrees, too. He looks familiar. You're not sure from where.

You talk about your book on the way home. Simon listens to every single bit of it, even if it might seem to you that he isn't. He doesn't tell you that he's read all the books too. If he could forget that he has, just to listen to you tell it to him as if it's his first time, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

The raccoons are under your- Simon's porch when you both get home. You squeak in excitement, rummaging through one of the bags on Simon's arms before sitting down in front of the porch, with your hand outstretched, a small marshmello sitting at the tips of your fingers.

Then, the smallest little grabby hand reaches up through the slats in the boards and takes the marshmello, tugging it down through the porch. You think you could cry.

Simon huffs a laugh and pulls you back to your feet as you both go inside.

And Scraggle dubs you to be a traitor, feeding other things than the cat. After all, is Scraggle not the most important thing in your life? Seriously, this cat is starved for attention every day, what a horrible, horrible house, death to mother and father, death for- oh, bowls are full again! Okay, maybe Scraggle can forgive you. It's already forgotten what it's upset about.

masterlist

[lightseoul]

ooooo could u do 30?? love ur writing sm!! ur an inspiration!!

yes, i can! and thank you so much <3 this one was a bit of a doozy to write, since i really tried to take the unexpected route. enjoy!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

30. "WE SHARE THE SAME NAME!" (1.4k)

he was in the middle of opening the mysterious package—cautious as ever, of course, lest it be a bomb threat sent to the #2 pro-hero dynamight—when he hears the barrage of knocks echo from the door.

he’s not used to visitors showing up unannounced to his home, what with privacy being one of his most deeply held values, especially now that he’s a top-ranking hero in his early 30s.

but it’s not the prospect of having to deal with an intruder that sends his heart racing and his stomach churning with equal parts dread and excitement.

he can easily deal with a non-savory—no doubt about it.

but the person who’s responsible for the all-too-familiar three consecutive, not too heavy but not too light-handed rapping on his door?

not so much.

despite himself, he crosses the distance between him and the entrance in just a matter of few strides, and he takes a deep breath as he steels himself for what’s about to greet him at the other side.

he doesn’t even bother to look through the peep hole, opting to grab the knob and turn it with conviction.

and sure enough, there you are in your—no, his—front porch, decked out in your casual clothes with no makeup on, looking like you just hurriedly dressed yourself to run to his place in a fit of urgency.

it’s that thought that causes his face to morph into worry, even though a million other things are racing in his head, like how long it’s been since you two were alone together, or how fucking pretty you look despite looking so bare and winded.

he gives you another once over, eyebrows further furrowing in confusion, because why the hell would you go out of your way to see him amidst everything? “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you start, “it’s just—well, of course it’s not nothing. i wouldn’t bother you if i absolutely had no business to—”

bakugou feels himself frown at your words, but you don’t stop.

“—but i think my package got sent… here…”

you trail off, gaze shifting from him to the cardboard box he was just trying to pry open with his bare hands a few minutes before you unceremoniously arrived at his doorstep, and the second you land on it, your eyes widen, and before he knows it, you’re toeing off your shoes and barging past him and into the living room.

you reach for the package that has been sitting on the kitchen island this entire time, clutching it to your chest and turning to face him, looking absolutely horrified. “you opened it?”

bakugou stammers for a beat, not knowing what to say, before finally settling with: “what else was i supposed to do? we share the same name!”

that must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because your face falls, and for a millisecond he thinks he shouldn’t have went there, but just as quickly you school your face into a neutral expression, before heaving a deep sigh.

“they got my address fucking wrong again.”

neither of you say anything for a while after that, the both of you just standing there in tense silence.

because in bakugou’s case, what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

that he thinks the universe is telling you two something? that the delivery men can’t even move the fuck on so why should he? that, after all this time, you two do still share the same name, and that it should stay that way—the bakugous—and not separated by a fucking ‘versus’ in the middle?

but he doesn’t say any of these, opting to stare at you instead as you fumbled with the package.

you’re being extra careful with it, he notes, your body angled slightly away from him, perhaps purposely obscuring his view of the parcel.

but then your hands slip and you yelp; down goes the box onto the pristine, hardwood floor, and out tumbles the contents so important that you raced all the way here to what used to be your shared home.

and when he sees it, everything suddenly makes sense.

because sprawled over the ground are what looks to be at least three matching sets of revealing underwear.

before he can even react, though, you swiftly crouch down and stuff the lingerie back into their container.

“they’re not mine—it’s my friend’s.” you then abruptly stand up, awkwardly smoothing back your hair, “she had it sent to my place to save on delivery.”

bakugou doesn’t know how he manages, but he hears himself reply in a surprisingly steady voice. “you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“well, i want to,” you toss back without missing a beat, and he legitimately feels a seed of hope and relief being planted in the pit of his stomach.

because, sure, your reason for filing a divorce against him might be something he can never wrap his fucking head around, but he knows you’re coming from a place of immense love for him.

always, always coming from a place of love.

immense love that he knows hasn’t died out despite your insistent efforts to pull away and keep him at arm’s length.

still, he must’ve been looking pained, because your face softens the way it always did when you were about to soothe him. “i don’t want you to misunderstand, katsuki.”

he doesn’t get the chance to respond to you saying his first name again after what has felt like ages, though, because you reach for the undergarments again before dangling them in the air for him to look at.

“see?” you wiggle them for further emphasis, cringing at the fabric. “you’d catch me dead before you see me in these.”

and he agrees, that type of style was never your cup of tea, and he knows that better than anyone else.

but the way you just said that?

“don’t fucking joke about you being dead.”

“i was just kidding,” you retort defensively, the playful expression that was just etched on your features now long gone. you drop your hand to your side, and you heave such a heavy sigh it wracks your entire body.

you’re exhausted, but so is he.

who wouldn’t be, fighting for a marriage where your spouse is your motherfucking opponent?

bakugou clenches his eyes closed for a second, before opening them and fixing his gaze onto you. you must’ve felt his piercing stare, because your own, timid gaze drifts to him.

and he knows it’s stupid for him to ask, but he just can’t help it—not when you’re looking oh so vulnerable in the kitchen where you’ve cooked a thousand meals together, watching him with palpable longing.

“…are we still doing this?”

this being divorce by litigation—something he never would’ve imagined would be part of his future.

imminent death, life-threatening injuries, global destruction, maybe.

but not this.

and when you nod, he curses himself for even asking in the first place, because no matter how many times you’ve gone over this, the scalding pain that stabs his chest doesn’t get any less excruciating.

“i’m not gonna get any better, kats,” you add on, voice small. “i’m way beyond recovery.”

“and so naturally you have to divorce me?” he snaps, although he instantly regrets it.

you purse your lips into a thin line like you always did when you willed yourself not to cry. “i’m just trying to give you a second chance at love while you still have the time.”

bakugou’s about to spit something along the lines of why you’re talking like you’re already dead but he bites his tongue just in time.

he already knows what your answer is going to be.

so, instead, he shakes his head, muttering to himself. “…whatever the fuck happened to in sickness and in health?”

if you heard him, though, you don’t make it obvious. instead, you gingerly gather your things and start heading for the door.

his eyes only follow your movement as you put on your sneakers, and as you straighten up, he has to fight the lump in his throat at the sight of you leaving.

something that you’ve been doing a lot these days.

“‘m sorry again for the hassle,” you speak up, sheepishly gesturing to the parcel in tow.

he shakes his head. “‘s nothing.”

only it isn’t just nothing.

because at this point, every excuse for him to get to see you is everything.

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ outfit combination prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

➴ pick from as many or as few of the below categories as you like, and let the story lead you where it wants.

choose 5 and 23 for a frantic, bloodied chase through the woods that end in a tumble after a clunky boot catches on a tree root.

1, 15 and 33 could see a gruff white-collar type dragged from their comfortable solitude at a bar by a passing bachelorette party to join the fun.

or maybe 4 and 16 sees your mc throwing open the doors to a&e, not having even wasted time in changing out of their pjs, arriving just in time to see their loved one wheeled out of sight in a hospital gown as ashen as their bloodless face.

༊*👕🧥👚·˚ a top

¹⁾ a crisp white button-up

²⁾ an old, faded band shirt

³⁾ a patterned bikini top

⁴⁾ a paper hospital gown

⁵⁾ a blood-splattered undershirt

⁶⁾ a beaten leather jacket

⁷⁾ a warm, loosely-buttoned flannel

⁸⁾ a delicate, embroidered lace bralette

⁹⁾ a plush, expensive hotel bathrobe

¹⁰⁾ a stolen hoodie

༊*👖🩲🩳·˚ a pair of pants

¹¹⁾ blue swim shorts

¹²⁾ ripped jeans

¹³⁾ baggy sweatpants

¹⁴⁾ a glittery miniskirt

¹⁵⁾ pressed suit pants

¹⁶⁾ cartoon-patterned pyjama pants

¹⁷⁾ basketball shorts in bright team colours

¹⁸⁾ faded cargo pants

¹⁹⁾ loose boxer shorts

²⁰⁾ a draped sarong

༊*🥾👟👠·˚ some shoes

²¹⁾ bare feet

²²⁾ soft, plush slippers

²³⁾ dust-caked hiking boots

²⁴⁾ weathered sneakers

²⁵⁾ tall high heels

²⁶⁾ cheap plastic flip flops

²⁷⁾ combat boots with one missing lace

²⁸⁾ soft house slippers

²⁹⁾ tough steel-toe safety shoes

³⁰⁾ new running shoes

༊*·💍👜🌂˚ an accessory

³¹⁾ a pair of sunglasses with one cracked lens

³²⁾ a lacquered string of rosary beads

³³⁾ a costume-shop feather boa

³⁴⁾ a straining tote bag

³⁶⁾ a motorcycle helmet

³⁷⁾ an oddly heavy duffel bag

³⁸⁾ a souvenir baseball cap

³⁹⁾ an overflowing plastic grocery bag

⁴⁰⁾ a wedding ring (or, the absence of one)

[stray-kaz]

First Kiss, Next Kiss : a Roronoa Zoro x f!reader oneshot

Summary: Roronoa Zoro was your first kiss, but after Kuina died, you were pulled out of training and figured you would never see him again. But history repeats.

Seven years ago

You sat at the edge of the practice arena, out of reach of the flashing swords, but close enough to read the frustration painted all over Zoro's face as Kuina repeatedly pushed him to the edge of his skill. You winced when he landed on his back again, fury etched in his skin.

Kuina glanced at you when Zoro snatched his sword up from the ground and stormed off, flicking her sword out in the direction he had disappeared to. You pushed to your feet and hurried after him, narrow hilt bumping against your hip.

You found him at the running brook in the forest surrounding your home, sitting slumped with his swords cast to one side. He glanced to the side as you approached from the left, reaching up to scrub a furious tear from the corner of his eye.

"I'm fine" he muttered, trying to glower fiercely at you and failing.

You sat down on the grass next to him, adjusting your sword carefully.

"Yeah, you look fine" you replied casually. "But you ran away again."

He narrowed his eyes at you.

"Again" he growled.

"Yes, again" you repeated.

"Stop coming after me."

"Stop running away."

Zoro opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, huffing through his nose.

"Kuina keeps beating me" he said finally, surprising you. "I'm not as good as her."

You shook your head.

"But you will be if you quit running away and let her show you properly. Your ego gets in the way of your improvement, Roronoa Zoro. Time to grow up."

He blinked at you.

"Grow up? You grow up!"

He bounded to his feet and glared down at you, chest heaving. You followed suit more calmly, eyeing him curiously. You watched him retrieve his twin blades and raised your eyebrows. He jerked his head towards your katana hanging from your hip.

"Come on" he said, his jaw tight. "Your turn. See if you can beat me."

You rolled your eyes.

"You know I can't. I know I can't. What's the point?"

Your eyes widened as he stepped toe to toe with you, his eyes wide and dark, almost afraid.

"Please" he said softly, and your resolve crumbled.

Roronoa Zoro never said please to anyone. You slowly drew your blade and raised it, heart pounding.

The first strike of steel on steel rang in your ears and you fought back, knowing that his drive and desire to win far outweighed yours. He wanted to have a victory, so you would let him have it.

Zoro pushed you back and back, away from the babbling water, your feet sliding and skidding on the damp grass and leaves. All you could hear was the sound of your soft shoes struggling for grip and your heavy breathing, the clash of the swords as you defended yourself against Zoro's onslaught.

You could hold your own against most of the boys, but apart from Kuina, Zoro was the best and you barely even realised he had you beat until you had your back against a tree and the shining edge of his blade hovering two careful inches from your throat.

His throat worked hard as he caught his breath and there was a dark gleam of triumph in his eye you just had to get rid of. You let your sword arm drop, tossing the katana onto the grass. Zoro lowered his sword in confusion and you took your chance, feeling the flat of the blade press harmlessly against your collar as you kissed him.

His eyes widened and his fingers flexed uselessly around his sword hilts. You pulled away and stared up at him. He had gone perfectly still, except for his eyes, which were darting frantically between your eyes and your lips. You opened your mouth to speak, to apologise, but he cut you off mid breath, kissing you back so sweet for such a furious boy.

When he stepped back, your eyes were bright and there was a flush tinting his cheeks. He bent and picked up your katana, sliding it back into its sheath for you, his fingers grazing against your hip for a moment.

"We should probably be getting back" he murmured, biting at his lip.

You nodded as he sheathed his twin blades before shyly reaching for your hand, his skin warm on yours.

A few days later, you were gone.

Present Day

Hidden backstage at Buggy's circus, you twitched awake at the sound of doors slamming and the thud of a body against the spinning target wheel. You sat up slowly, wincing at the aches from bruises and knife pricks, drips of blood long since dried up.

Glancing to your right along the curve of the room, you could see a woman with orange hair crouching like a feral cat in the corner of her cage, gaze fixed on the pirates swaggering back out of the room. You didn't look at her for long, your gaze drawn by force towards the man tied to the spinning wheel. Your eyes widened.

Dark green hair, dark brown eyes, a trio of swords haphazardly leaning against the wall a few feet from him. That white hilt... He was older, obviously, and harder looking, but that was still...

"Roronoa Zoro!"

The name exploded out of you and you clapped your hands over your mouth, shocked. Two pairs of eyes searched you out and you slowly stood, wrapping your fingers around the bars of your own cage. Zoro strained against his bonds, his jaw tensing at the sight of you. He remembered.

He spoke your name between gritted teeth and the flame haired woman narrowed her eyes at you.

"You know each other?" she demanded. "Oh man, this can not get any weirder."

"I wouldn't count on that" you replied dryly, tugging aimlessly on the rope tied around your ankle. "With these clowns? There's no end to the weird."

You could feel Zoro's hard stare raking down your body and shifted your weight uncomfortably.

"What did they do to you?" he growled. "How long have you been here?"

You shrugged.

"Anything. Everything. Knives, fists, hot pokers. How long? No idea now. Lost track of the months."

Zoro closed his eyes and focused on regulating his breathing. The woman looked between you two, focusing last on you.

"Speak" she ordered.

You sighed.

"We grew up and trained together. Our friend...died. My father pulled me out of training and I haven't seen Zoro since we were fourteen."

As you were speaking, the woman freed a lockpick from her hair and started working on the cage lock. Suddenly, the echo of screams pitched into the room and Zoro tipped his head toward the woman.

"Hurry up, Nami. Work faster."

The door slammed open and a pirate with striped hair strode right up to Zoro. His eyes flicked to Nami and then to you before he pretended to pay attention to the other man's years long desire to put Zoro's head in a bag.

You couldn't control the gasp that slipped out when the pirate stepped back from the wheel and held up a knife. His gaze slid to you, an ugly smirk twisting the corners of his mouth.

"You know the demon, do you, little mouse?"

You opened your mouth, but Zoro spoke for you as he had done all those years ago.

"Don't look at her, look at me!" he barked.

The first knife buried itself point down beside his head. He didn't so much as flinch. You longed for your sword, laid down long ago.

The second knife landed between his legs, too high. You flinched for him, your fingers curling inwards for your nails to bite into your palms.

Nami worked quietly on her lock, one eye on the clown pirate.

The third blade whistled through the air and pierced the black tie binding Zoro's right wrist. You straightened your spine as he gave it the barest of glances, his dark eyes narrowing a fraction. He opened his mouth and goaded the other man closer with taunts about his brother as he died by Zoro's blade, the tie around his wrist threatening to snap.

Then it did. It loosened entirely and he slammed his fist into the pirate's stunned face. He untied his left wrist, then his feet, as Nami stepped from her cage and went to yours. You ducked out of it and were taken aback to find Zoro's arms tight around you the second your head cleared the metal overhang.

Nami, too, seemed just as surprised, staring at Zoro's back. Your nose pressed hard into his shoulder, your own arms trapped down by your sides as he hugged the breath out of you.

When he stepped back, he cleared his throat roughly.

"I assume you have a plan?" he said to Nami. "Plans seem to be your thing."

She nodded and retrieved her bo staff from where it leaned against a wall with Zoro's swords.

"I say we beat the crap out of every pirate we see."

Zoro grinned.

"Now you're talking."

He collected his trio and passed you the Wado Ichimonji. You stared at it before you wrapped your fingers around the hilt.

"Are you sure?" you asked, tentative.

He nodded.

"I don't want to lose anyone else. Not you" he said steadily, his voice soft.

You followed Zoro and Nami out of the room and back into the Big Top, where a boy in a water filled tank struggled to breathe. Nami growled under her breath and threw her bo staff; it cracked the glass, spidering cracks webbing out across the surface.

Zoro thumbed his sword catches free and drew both swords at once, their sharp edges gleaming in the shadowy lowlight. You slid his third, most precious katana into the air and felt the familiar easy heft of a weapon in your hand, the sweep of it cutting through oxygen.

The next few minutes were a blur of heavy breathing, panic and Buggy's loose limbs flying all over. You took a boot in the head and knocked it into the nearest box Zoro was holding open for you. He slammed the lid down and glanced around in the sudden silence.

The boy, Luffy, bounded over to the clown's captives and started to free them. Zoro wandered over more slowly and joined him, hacking at the chains and manacles until they clattered free onto the ground.

You turned away, returned the Wado Ichimonji to its home and walked slowly outside, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the sudden brightness of the sun you hadn't seen in months. You inhaled deeply, dizzy from all the light and clean air, and swayed on your feet.

Strong hands landed solidly on your waist, keeping you up. They turned you slowly until you were toe to toe with Zoro, deja vu shattering the rest of your senses as the memory of your first kiss flooded in. Still a little dizzy, you held out his katana, but he ignored it, wrapping his arms around you instead. He lifted you onto your tiptoes and kissed you deeply, not minding in the slightest your tiny squeak of surprise.

The sun beat down on your heads, scalding your already burning cheeks. Your hand trapped against Zoro's chest with the sword still clasped in it, you could feel his heart pounding hard. He eased back a few inches to speak, but you pulled him down, sliding your free hand up the back of his neck, and he made a soft sound of relief, pure acquiescence.

As you lost yourself in Zoro's embrace, the other two wandered out and stopped to stare. Luffy pointed, confused.

"Who's she?" he asked.

Nami sighed and shrugged.

"A girl from Zoro's past. His first love, I guess."

"Huh."

Luffy paused only a second or two before leaping over and thumping Zoro on the shoulder. He pulled from you again and glowered at the boy.

"What?" he snapped, curling his fingers around your hand still gripping the third katana.

Luffy beamed widely at you.

"Wanna join my crew?"

Tagging: @writingmysanity @elizabeth-karenina

[avrizl]

sometimes i wonder when you sleep,

are you ever dreaming of me?

- mike schmidt x fem!reader

- smut, dom!mike sub!reader

- you’re abby’s babysitter and you have feelings for mike, but he doesn’t know it

- authors note ; this is something short to hold you guys off as i’m writing something big that will most likely have multiple parts ( wink wink )

- word count ; 3.3k

- mentions ; there is a slight age gap ( 20 & 23 )

it was a late friday night as the wind was blowing and the stars were shining in the sky. you hear a jingle at the door and you know it’s mike coming home from the pizzeria again. you could tell he hated working the night shifts, and hated that he had to make you stay all night so you could watch abby.

he opens the door and hangs his coat on the door and kicks his steel toe work boots off exhaustedly. he throws his keys and wallet on the kitchen table and immediately slouches into the arm chair directly across from you laying on the couch. he asks, “did you sleep at all?” you look back at him, “kind of.. i’m not the greatest with falling asleep either way.” he throws his head back slightly in annoyance with himself because he feels like a burden keeping you here.

you direct your focus towards the kitchen, “i made dinner, there’s leftovers in a blue tupperware in the fridge if you want any. abby’s asleep and she ate dinner tonight.” mikes eyes soften at your gesture, “thank you, that means a lot and i’m glad she ate dinner.. what did you do to get her to eat?” he laughs. you respond, “i made spaghetti, you told me it’s one of her favorites..” you smile as you say this wrapped in a blanket now sitting up.

you stand up saying, “i guess i should start going-“ mike stands up with you in unison, “you don’t have to go.. you could stay if you like, abby likes when you’re here y’know?” you smile at his words, “that’s very sweet of you, but i wouldn’t want to be a bother and i have some things to tend to..” mike responds with a slight frown and dissapointment in his voice, “that’s alright i understand..” you say to him, “you need me to come over same time tomorrow?” mike answers, “same time tomorrow.” with a heartwarming smile. you never realized how cute of a smile he had until now. you gather your things and toss on your coat and beat up sneakers as you walk out the door.

mike heats up the dinner you made and happily enjoys it. he always loves when you make him dinner or lunch. he watches you pull out of the driveway and drive home. he starts to clean up after his meal and he then goes to check on abby, and she’s sound asleep. he thinks you’re an angel sent from heaven because she never eats dinner or goes to sleep under his authority. he thanks you every day for helping with her.

it’s the next morning and you wake up around 8:00 am, your alarm is blaring in your ear as you groggily rub your eyes and slap your clock a few times before it stops. you get ready to get some things done. you lace up your running shoes and zip up your windbreaker and tie your hair into a tight ponytail. as you’re on your run, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket and you check to see what it was, it’s mike.

you read the message and it says, “abby’s going to be sleeping over a friends tonight, you don’t need to come anymore.” you frown at the text, wishing you could still go so you could see mike. you respond with, “aw okay, i was looking forward to see you guys :(“ you then slide your phone back into your pocket and finish up your run. when you walk into your house, you check your phone once again to see a text from mike, “would you like to go do something.. like go out to dinner?” you jump around your living room and screech as you toss your phone onto the couch. you collect yourself and respond, “i would love to :)”

you start to get ready for dinner, even though you’re claiming it as a date. you take an everything shower and scrub your body with your signature scent until that’s the only thing you smell. as you step out of the shower you start your skincare and haircare. your face is covered in suds while your hair soaks up the mask you put in it. you dry off and wear your cutest set of underwear. it’s a black lacy bra with matching underwear that has colorful flowers on it. you rummage through your closet to find out what to wear and your eyes land on this scandalous black dress. it’s a halter that’s mid thigh length, covered in glitter, and very form fitting.

you text mike, “are you picking me up? if so what time?” he responds almost immediately, “yeah, i’ll be there in a half hour alright?” “sounds good to me :)” you start your makeup and you turn on your record player to get you hyped up for dinner. it’s the 1989 taylor’s version vinyl, it’s your favorite. the song suburban legends comes on and you are singing your heart out as you dust your face with blush and highlighter and before you know it, mikes in your driveway honking to say he’s here. you slip on your black heels and fix your hair quick and grab your clutch and walk out the door. you step into his car and he just stares at you, you respond? “what?” while chuckling. he just stares at you for a little bit longer, “i uh- you just look beautiful..” your cheeks are adorned with blush as you smile and look away. “you clean up nice too mike.” he replies, “thanks..” with a chuckle.

you guys drive to the spot you’re having dinner at and you think it’s amazing. it’s this high end restaurant on the west side of town and it’s known for its amazing food & drinks. the two of you take your seats and start to look at the menu. your server directs you to the alcoholic beverages, even though you’re not of age. you think to yourself, what they don’t know won’t hurt them but just in case you order a diet coke and mike orders wine. he laughs and looks over to you, “you thought about getting something right?” you smile, “yeah.. kidding! i’m only kidding” he laughs back at you, “you know i dont care right? i mean well.. it’s not the smartest idea but who cares.. teenagers always do dumb stuff, anyways what are you getting to eat?” you skim the menu, “i don’t know.. i’ve never been here and there’s so much to choose from!” your eyes are caught at the sight of seafood pasta. you ask mike, “what are you gonna get?” he thinks, “i don’t know either.. i’m indecisive.. maybe i’ll get the steak, you think that sounds good?” you reply awkwardly, “well um- i don’t eat beef.. so i would disagree..” he awkwardly replies, “oh sorry, i didn’t know” you say, “there’s no need to be sorry..” you both chuckle.

fast forward after dinner..

you’re in his car with the light on the radio turned down so you can hear each other, “tonight was amazing.. thank you for taking me out.” you say pushing your hair behind your ear smiling. “it’s no problem, i had a great time tonight too.” your mind is racing as you think of something to ask him and he can tell. “what’s got you so worked up?” your clammy hands fidget with your rings “i uhm- uh..-“ he questions, “hey are you alright?” as he places a reassuring hand on your knee moving his thumb back and forth. you look up from your hands and look into his beautiful hazel eyes, and he smiles at you with them. you smile back and mike continues, “you wanna head inside?” you nod in response. “alright cmon.”

he takes the keys out of the ignition and comes around to your door to open it and lead you out by holding your hand. you take your keys and press it into the lock and turn. as soon as you get into your house you kick off your heals to put your aching feet at ease and you throw your clutch and keys onto your table. mike responds with unlacing his dress shoes and placing them near the door and hanging up his coat. “i forgot how nice of a home you have, it’s very cozy and welcoming.” you sigh as you sit down on the couch, “thank you mike..” he sits down next to you on the couch leaning back and slightly man- spreading placing his hands on each of his knees. you stand up and your dress being unbelievably short, mike stares. you walk over to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and you ask, “you need anything? water? a snack?” you guys have been out and about all around town after dinner and you are both exhausted. “a glass of water would be nice, thank you.” you bring his glass of water and slightly bend down to place it on the coffee table, and this dress isn’t anything short of revealing. mike glances quickly at your cleavage but looks away even quicker. you notice this and you cock an eyebrow at him and he immediately becomes red. you sit back down next to him and make small talk as you sip your water. “how has abby been recently, like with therapy?” “she’s been doing good, she likes her therapist so that’s good..” “i’m glad mike.. i’m happy she’s doing good.” you go to get up once more and he follows you and grabs your wrist, “wait where are you going?” the look in his eyes captivates you, “i’m just going to get changed, i’ll be quick i promise.” you give him a reassuring smile.

you come back to the living room in short pj shorts and a big t-shirt that hangs off of your shoulder. he stares at you in awe. “has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” he says with a light shake in his voice. “wh-what? what did you say?” he answers, “you heard what i said. has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? you’re so perfect y/n.. the way your hair just always perfectly falls to frame your face.. your beautiful eyes.. your perfect body..” this makes you blush like crazy, and he sees your face painted maroon. he turns to you and smiles, “i know how you feel about me, and i feel the same way. ever since you started babysitting abby.” you stutter at his words, “mike.. you really feel the same way i do?” his eyes dart around the room looking for words to say, "yes, why would i say it if i didn't?" your cheeks are immediately a rosey shade after he said this. mike starts to lean in closer, and he does the thing you've been dreaming of, he kisses you. you melt into his lips and his hands move to the small of your back and he pulls your closer. you don't believe this is actually happening, wondering if its all some sick dream your mind put on to torture you. you both pull away from the kiss staring at each other with stars in your eyes.

mike cups your face in his big calloused hands, "you're a really good kisser.." he chuckles out. you giggle and look away in response. he pulls your face to look at him, "you're a really special girl y'know that right?" he kisses you once more and your stomach is flipping and twisting in every possible way. his lips are pure bliss. he then suddenly grabs you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder. you're surprised at his quick movements and strength, and its addictive. you protest by flailing around and hitting his back, but not hard enough to cause pain. you guys reach your bedroom and he flops you down onto your bed. he is now hovering over you with a smirk on his face with some kind of bad intent. his hands dart to your sides and he starts tickling you and you squirm and start yelling and laughing, "mike! stop i-it! i literally think i'm gonna die!" your giggles and pleads fill the room. he finally stops about after 5 minutes and your chest is heaving up and down desperate for a deep breath of air.

he creeps close to your ear, whispering, "the outfit you wore out to dinner made you look so good, made me want to find out what was underneath." mike plants a kiss on your neck and you shudder at this as you feel his hot breath on your neck. "mi-ke.." you plead as you feel him slowly slip off your large t-shirt. this reveals a black lacy bra underneath, "all for me hm? you wore this because you knew you were going to get ruined by me?" you whimper at his seductive words. his hands are all over your body, and his mouth is finding any place he can leave a mark on. you're squirming around at his delicate yet desperate touch. he whines, "fuck.. your body is so beyond perfect, it's even better than i imagined.." he's basically drooling at this point. his kisses trail down to your lower stomach and he looks up at you with begging eyes, this makes you want him even more. his hands are on your hips and your hands are in his hair. he kisses along your inner thighs but stops, and you're baffled. "wa-wait please don't stop." mike is now level with your cunt and he says, "i want you to beg for it. if you want me so bad you can beg for it." you moan at his words, "pl-please mike.. i'll be good i promise. need you so bad.." you babble out. "if you're such a good girl, on your knees." you comply almost immediately. you start to undo his belt buckle and he grabs you chin so your vision is directed towards him. "i didn't tell you what to do, did i? that's what i thought." you want him so badly you're aching for him, and his touch.

you hair is bunched up into a makeshift ponytail as you're bobbing up and down on him and slightly gagging, but only when you take all of him into your mouth. he's groaning and tipping his head backwards as he whispers out curses and praises, "oh my- fuhhckkk.. you feel so good, taking me so well." it's not long before he's telling you he's close. as he says this, you take him fully one last time and this sends him over the edge, causing him to release in your mouth. he strokes you face lovingly looking down at you shuddering, "you're such a good girl, my good girl.." as he wipes spit away from the corner of your mouth. as you take time to collect yourself after what just happened, he's gently stroking your hair. he's so unbelievably sweet and caring. he's always been like this, ever since you two first met. as you're calmed down he asks, "you alright?" with a darling smile, "yes i'm alright, thank you for being so considerate." he plants a kiss on your forehead and wraps his arms around you tightly, squeezing you in the tightest hug you've ever had. you giggle as you roll around on your bed.

now he's hovering over you and whispers, "now it's my turn to make you feel good." his hand moves past the waistband of your dangerously short shorts and he rubs slow circles around your bud. you moan at his touch, "mike.. please don't stop" he abides to your words and his hands feel like heaven on your heated cunt. he then fully removes your shorts and sees you have matching panties to your bra, "oh so you really wanted me to sleep with me? you want me inside of you that badly?" you whimper out, "yes mike.. i want you so bad i'm so desperate for you.." your words drive him insane and he takes off your panties and throws them with the rest of your clothes on your carpeted floor. your slick cunt the is all he sees and he's lost his mind. "you're already this wet for me? you're such a slut, but you're all mine." you stutter out, "i'm all yours, nobody elses." your words make him feel like he's in total control of you, which he is. he slowly starts to slowly slide himself into you and your breath hitches at the sensation of him. he asks, "you okay? is this comfortable?" you nod because you know you wouldn't be able to form words with him inside of you. he slowly moves in and out of your tight walls as they contract against him, causing him to groan in pleasure. his movements speed up and your voices grow even louder. "mike-.. oh my god please don't stop, m' so close.." he never thought about stopping once. his fingers dig into your sides inevitable to leave dark purple marks the following morning. his movements get even sloppier and faster, "m' close too baby.. just keep taking me like the good girl you are.." your walls tighten around him one last time before all you feel is complete ecstasy. your head goes back into the pillows as your gripping onto anything you possibly can as you moan louder than you ever have. he keeps going overstimulating you and a few pumps later, he finishes inside you panting into the crook of your neck.

he runs to the bathroom quick to get you a warm washcloth to clean up and as he comes back with the washcloth, he picks out clean clothes from your dresser. you clean yourself and then change into the clothes he offers. he cleaned himself up in the bathroom, but he still has nothing on. you question, "do you need something to wear? i have that change of clothes you left here in case of anything remember?" he nods and you get up and rummage through your drawers to find them, and you finally do handing him the neatly folded stack of clothes. he changes into them and flops down face first onto your pillowy soft bed. you laugh and sit down next to him stroking his hair, "you did so good babes, i'm so proud of you.." your hand moves down to his back to rub it and lightly scratch it with your nails. "you also did amazing baby, you make me feel so good.." he sits up and moves over to you to give you a kiss. you're lost in the moment not being able to think of anything else but his lips attached to yours. you pull away from the kiss. "i love you mike." "i love you too y/n, so much." you get up and stretch, "do you need anything to eat or drink?" he shakes his head no but you head to the kitchen anyways.

you walk back into your room and you see mike just looking around, "i never really took in your room before, it's really cute and it matches your personality.. and who's this blonde girl on all these posters?" you reply shocked, "taylor swift obviously! she's the best!" mike responds, "oh yeah her, her music's alright i guess.." "you GUESS?!" you both start laughing as you set down 2 glasses water on your nightstand with a bag of chips and sweets. "you wanna head to bed?" mike asks. you answer, "sure, i am pretty tired." you crawl under your mound of blankets and mike follows. you slowly wrap your arms around his torso and bury your head into his chest and he wraps around you in return. you both slowly drift off to sleep.

tags - @silversword7000

authors note - thank you all for the support i've been receiving over the week! i'm greatful for all the likes and reblogs it makes me so happy you guys enjoy my work <33 much love to you all.

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 21: Wriothesley x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5459

Warnings: Afab!reader, prison, handcuffs, solitary confinement, abuse of power, desperation play, noncon, vaginal fingering, watersports, piss

A/N: Once again cutting it close but I made it!

⭐

Evidently kicking one of his guards in the face was enough to warrant a personal visit from the Duke of Meropide himself. Go figure. 

Cautiously straightening up from the grumpy slouch you’d fallen into against your cot, you look over to the narrow doorway at his sudden and unexpected entrance. You can’t help noticing that he appears to take up most of the doorframe with his tall, stocky build, the solitary confinement cell they’d shove you into so small that he seems to fill the already cramped space with his presence. And you don’t exactly like the way he shuts the door behind himself either. 

You’d only been a prisoner in the Fortress long enough to know its head warden was a rather elusive fellow who didn’t often make public appearances aside from the brief glimpses one could catch of him walking down the steel lined and reinforced corridors. Being on the receiving end of a one-on-one talk with him so early on in your sentence did not seem to bode well for the rest of your stay in this deep sea prison. 

“… what are you doing here?” You hedge, warily watching him lean back against the opposite wall directly across from you with his arms folded over his broad barrel chest. This was your first time seeing him up close like this, and you were admittedly rather impressed with how very large he was. 

Or maybe intimidated was the better word. 

Sighing faintly through his nose, Wriothesley settles into place and pins you with a level stare that doesn’t tell you much about his reason for being here, but it does seem to solidify that your initial thoughts on the matter were correct. This couldn’t be anything good. 

“You should be glad it’s only me.” He drawls in a surprisingly light, affable tone for what he was saying. “A few of the other guards wanted to handle our newest troublemaker themselves, but I know how they do things and I told them I’d take care of it. You’re a lucky little inmate if I do say so myself.”

You restlessly shift on top of your cot, shooting him a suspicious look. “Why would you do that?” 

He gives those broad shoulders of his a rather disinterested shrug. “You’re a woman. Simple as that. I generally try to be a bit more lenient with the fairer sex when I can, even when they foolishly decide to kick one of my guards in the face.”

You self consciously draw your bare feet in at that, tucking them under yourself where he wouldn’t be able to easily see how naked and bare they were after the penitentiary officers relieved you of your standard issue shoes for the transgression. As far as you saw it, your penance had already been paid. Both in the form of how very chilled your toes were and also the last few hours you’d spent in here with absolutely nothing to do. 

But the way he looks over at you with a vague air of stern authority reflecting in his chilly blue gaze seemed to suggest he was not in agreement with that estimation. 

“That doesn’t sound very on the up and up to me,” You murmur, listlessly flexing your wrists where they were restrained behind your back to test the give of the cuffs around them. Nope. Still just as unrelenting as the last time you’d checked. “Does the surface world know about this? Something tells me The Steambird would love nothing more than to run a scathing exposé about the questionable practices of not only the Fortress staff but its own Duke as well.” 

“I’m sure they would too. Luckily though they’re not going to get their hands on this information any time soon to run that article in the paper.” 

“You - -“

“I think that's enough banter for now.” He smoothly cuts across you, his mild tone leaving no room for argument on your part. “Let’s talk about you instead. Wanna’ tell me why you decided to attack one of my guards like that?” 

Primly sniffing, you turn your head to look elsewhere in the room but there’s not much else to focus your attention on other than the stand alone toilet in the corner and the wall. You settle on the wall. “I don’t see why I should explain myself to you.”

“You should do it because I asked. Nicely, I may add. I don’t have to be polite about it, just keep that in mind.” 

You can’t quite stop yourself from prickling slightly at the soft note of warning in his voice. What was with this guy? Either he was on a massive power trip down here where no one of a more civilized nature was there to keep an eye on him or he had an ego the size of Fontaine with the attitude to match. You really didn’t think you liked him very much. 

“Fine. I kicked him because he grabbed me even after I told him not to. I was defending myself. Simple as that.” 

Stirring at the bitter vindication in your voice, Wriothesley slowly unfolds his arms to let them hang loose down at his sides. It’s so slight and subtle, but something about the change in his body language does not make you feel very optimistic about how this was going to play out, and you anxiously shift on your cot again. 

“Interestingly enough, I heard a somewhat different story. You were refusing to cooperate and go where he was telling you to go. He only grabbed you, as you put it, to get your butt in gear. Isn’t that right?” 

“It was unnecessary.” You hiss back, hackles starting to rise. 

“Not in a prison it’s not. You’re expected to follow orders, little miss inmate. Without question. The guards are well within their rights to make you do something even if you don’t want to do it.” 

“Well, he didn’t need to touch me to accomplish that!” 

His brows taking a sedate trip up to his hairline, Wriothesley looks at you like he’s equal parts impressed and puzzled by your growing anger. Could he really not see what the problem was with having an unknown man suddenly putting his hands on you like that? If he'd get close enough you wouldn’t have minded giving him a good kick in the face too, and you think he must see that in your expression because he lets out a quick laugh.   

“Goodness, you’ve certainly got a short temper. I’m starting to see now how the situation escalated like it did. Maybe I should give you a bit more time to cool off and we’ll see if you’re feeling less mouthy when I come back.” 

You’re so shocked by the abrupt shift in the conversation that you just numbly watch him push off from the wall and make the short pivot towards the doorway, reaching out for the handle. It’s only when he’s got it halfway open and you realize he’s actually serious about leaving you in here even longer do you lurch forward with a jerk. 

“Wait!”

Wriothesley pauses and glances back at you. He doesn’t say anything though so you quickly rouse yourself, cobbling together a haphazard entreaty on the fly. 

“Please don’t go. I don’t like it in here. I’ll cooperate, I promise. Please?” 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before lashing out like a brat then.” 

“I wasn’t being a brat! I just … I’ve never been in a prison before and I’m so scared. I’m not used to being around this many men. The guards were yelling at me and I panicked. I didn’t know what he was going to do to me. He could have really hurt me or — worse. I swear it was just self defense, I didn’t mean anything by it. Really.” 

Batting your lashes at him, you fix the Duke with your best sad look of helplessness and even conjure a filmy sheen of moisture into your eyes for effect. It was one of the trusty ace’s you kept up your sleeve and one that tended to work on even the most resolute, emotionally unavailable men, but Wriothesley just stares at you with a less than impressed frown tugging at his mouth now. Dammit. 

You hadn’t expected him to be completely immune to your ploys and feminine wiles, and you don’t exactly have a back up plan in mind as he shifts his weight back to thoughtfully settle inside the tiny room again. 

“Hmm. If I remember correctly … you’re the one who’s in for scamming people, aren’t you? Is that poor little put out face how you got all those gentlemen to sign over their life’s fortunes to you?” 

A genuine flush starts to crawl across your cheeks, more than slightly embarrassed at having your innocent act fail so miserably. “That has nothing to do with this. I’m telling you the truth.” 

“I bet.” Scoffing a quiet laugh, he once again brings his arms up to cross them, pinning you with a pointed look. “Cute trick though. I’m sure you’ll be quite disappointed to find it won’t work half as well as it did on the surface down here. Well, maybe with the male inmates it might get you somewhere I suppose. But it’s not going to do you any good with my guards and it’s certainly not going to have any effect on me. Perhaps you could give it a try on one of the female officers next?” 

You shoot him a biting look of warning at that, making Wriothesley chuckle another brief sound of amusement at your expense. 

“Ooh, how scary. It looks like someone is in need of a major attitude adjustment to me. But don’t worry, we’ll take care of that in due time.” Still quietly laughing, he begins to turn back towards the door. “Enjoy the rest of your timeout. I’ll see you again in a few hours.” 

Your eyes immediately pop open, widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, and you lurch forward again when he starts to push into motion. 

“Wait!” 

Pausing once more, Wriothesley turns just enough to peer over his shoulder at you. “What is it now?” 

“You can’t … what do you mean ‘hours’? You can’t leave me in here that long!” 

“Oh? Is that so.” 

You sputter at that, realizing in a distant sort of way that he was actually, really truly serious about this. Not only did he plan to leave you locked inside this solitary confinement cell for who knows how long but he was also perfectly comfortable with the notion. Not even an ounce of guilt or shame! 

“This is — it’s a human rights violation, isn’t it?” You desperately stammer, foolishly thinking you might be able to get through to him if you just reasoned with him enough. “No food, no water. Nothing but a paper thin blanket in here to keep me warm. And I thought you said you like to be more lenient with female inmates. Or was that just a trick to make me trust you?” 

Studying you for a long, drawn out moment, Wriothesley finally breathes out a slow exhale and rocks back to stand inside the small room with you yet again, fully this time so he can swing the door shut with a casual flick of his hand. 

“That only applies to the female inmates who don’t test my patience and make everybody’s job harder than it needs to be. I gave you a chance to get in my good graces and behave but you refused. Tell me why you think that should have earned you any sympathy from me.” 

“It’s not about sympathy, you ass.” You growl at him, furiously working your arms against the unbudging handcuffs behind your back. “It’s about common decency! You can’t treat people like this just because you’re on some tyrannical head trip. But if you’re so dead set on doing this then at least take these damn things off. I can’t even use the toilet like this!” 

“Sure you can. I bet you haven’t even tried yet.” 

“Ugh! You are infuriating! How am I supposed to pull my pants down or wipe like this? And — and I don’t even see any tissue paper in here! What am I supposed to use, my hand?” 

He makes a considering face at that, as if it was a reasonable enough idea and you were simply too unreasonable to see that, which just pisses you off even more. Perhaps you would have been a little less on edge and a little less focused on this particular problem if you didn’t have to pee so bad. You’d already been stuck in here for a tortuously long stretch of hours since the incident first happened, no way could you last a couple more. 

“Please.” You sob, letting some of your desperation bleed into your voice now. “You’ve already taken everything else from me. My freedom, my life, even my shoes! At least let me keep my dignity.” 

“I’m telling you,” He intones, the abrupt drop in his voice down to a strict whip crack startling you somewhat. “You do not need your hands to go. You’re being a bit dramatic about this, don’t you think? Or is it just that you want me to help you with it?” 

Your spine snaps ramrod stiff, a curling tendril of real unease snaking through your cramping gut now. Surely he couldn’t be … “You wouldn’t.” 

“Oh, but I certainly would. It seems to me you’re forgetting a rather important detail, miss. I’m in charge here, not you. I can do whatever I please whenever I so choose. Would you like to try me?” 

You reel back in abject shock, feeling your shoulders quake with the impotent rage coursing through your system. There was even a hint of fear underneath that red hot current too, if you were being honest. It just didn’t make sense to you how he could speak to you like this, treat you like this and threaten you like this, all in good conscience with nary a sign of guilt to show for it. And this was all somehow legally sanctioned by the powers that be? 

Clearly seeing the raging confusion and uncertainty on your face, Wriothesley takes a casual step towards you and you suck in a sharp little gasp. Quickly drawing your legs up onto the cot so you can kick at the thin mattress and scoot as far back from him as you can. There’s nowhere you can feasibly go with your shoulders against the wall though, and you realize just how limited your options really are in such a cramped space with no shortage of sinking dread. 

Undeterred by your frightened reaction, he comes to stand over you in only two short strides, further reiterating how very trapped and cornered you were in here. You try very hard to keep a brave face but you can’t quite manage to conceal it when he was looming there like that. He was just so big and obviously powerful, if the size of his arms was anything to go by, so of course you’d be scared! 

The helplessness of having your arms secured behind your back doesn’t help either, and all you can do is cower when he sedately reaches out a hand towards you. A multitude of possibilities fly through your head all at once, each worse than the last as you imagine what sort of humiliating trial he was going to put you through next. You probably should have just kept your big mouth shut. 

To your shuddering surprise though, he merely wraps his massive hand around the back of your neck in an unexpectedly gentle yet firm grip, nudging you from the wall just enough to fit his knuckles between. Wildly trembling there on the cot, you hesitantly tip your eyes up to look at him. You didn’t understand what he was doing. This was not what you’d imagined when he’d said he would help you, thinking he was going to drag you over to the toilet and take your pants down himself, or perhaps even make you urinate on the floor like an animal. That is not what seems to be happening though, and you have no idea what to make of it when he lifts his other hand to reach for your lap, tracking the motion with a great deal of fast mounting horror. 

He doesn’t even give you a word of warning before he does it, just unceremoniously shoving his broad palm between your legs to cup you through your pants, and you jolt so hard you nearly come right up off the cot. He keeps you in place with his hold on your neck though, leaving you with such a limited range of movement that all you can do is squirm in place, hissing at him like an incensed cat. 

“Wh - what are you doing? You can’t … you can’t touch me like this, you bastard!” 

“Well, that’s quite a mouth you’ve got, isn’t it? Perhaps you need to have it washed out with soap when I come back.” 

Whimpering softly when that casually delivered threat hits its mark, you uselessly kick your legs up in an attempt to fight him off but of course it doesn’t work. Even when you press your bare foot into the bend of his elbow and push he doesn’t even budge. The Duke just keeps holding your cunt in the palm of his hand like it was meant to fit there and you frantically clench the muscles in your lower body, the warmth of his hand suddenly making it feel like you need to go even more than before. This could not be happening. 

“Leave me alone!” You warble, starting to pant from the effort of trying to wriggle free while holding back the urge to empty your bladder at the same time. “This is — a gross abuse of power, do you hear me? You’re sick! W - what do you think you’re doing to me!”  

“I think I’m teaching you a lesson that you should have learned a long time ago.” He tells you, perfectly calm and collected despite all your restless fidgeting. “Given your attitude and the long list of crimes you committed, I’d wager you think yourself pretty much untouchable huh? And it may have even been true at one point but unfortunately for you that’s no longer the case.” 

Pinching your neck just tight enough to make you squeak a hurt little sound, Wriorhesley all but scruffs you like you were nothing more than a misbehaved kitten to make you be still. The sharp pinprick of real tears rushes into your eyes as you roughly seethe, painfully stiff and halting in his hold. Immobilized like this, you can only follow the motion of his other hand when he lifts it from your cunt to demandingly tug the waistband of your pants lower. 

“I’m afraid you’re playing by my rules now. And before you start in on it again, no, I will not be facing any recourse for it regardless of how much you throw a fit over it. This is my fortress, little miss inmate. You’d do well to remember that from now on.”

He reaches into your pants then, slipping rough, callous worn fingers straight down through the top of them, and you plaintively mewl at the gruff way he worms it lower to dip into the space between your legs. Even trying to squeeze your thighs shut isn’t enough to dissuade him and Wriothesley merely bullies them apart, stretching your bottoms out as he angles his hand downward to find your slit. 

The first indelicate swipe of a blunt fingertip over the fleshy crease makes you jolt so hard your head slams back into the wall with a dull thud. He doesn’t seem to care though, slowly working his digit back and forth for a drawn out moment to encourage the fleshy lips to part for him. And gradually, they do. Not of your own volition or even with any conscious thought to the matter, but the insistent nudge against your labia still has its intended effect. 

As soon as he can dip that finger inside you he does, spearing through fleshy creases and folds to locate your clit. He presses down on it firmly enough to make your thighs twitch around his wrist but he doesn’t hurt you, which manages to surprise you slightly. For a man who looked like he’d be more of a meathead than anything else, someone who was much too focused on stroking his own ego to concern himself with the pleasure of a woman, he’s unexpectedly adept at rubbing you just right. Not too soft yet not too hard, all while not missing his intended target completely. It was astounding in a way. 

You hate it though. Even when your body grudgingly responds to his steady ministrations and you feel your pussy start to warm up to the masculine presence between your legs, you still mentally curse him for everything he was worth. The one and only good thing about this is the more he keeps caressing over that responsive pleasure button the less urgent your need to go seems to be. Maybe this was good after all. If your cunt was too busy getting fingered you wouldn’t have enough time to think about how badly you needed to pee. 

“There. That’s a little better now, isn’t it?” He murmurs when you stiffly relax into it, rewarding you for your good behavior by bringing a second finger to your soft clit so he can caress you over a wider surface area now. “If you would have just listened to the instructions you were given we wouldn’t have to be doing this right now, would we? Maybe next time you’ll stop and think before you act out.” 

Groaning a soft sound of protest under your breath, you screw your eyes shut and try to turn your head away from him. He was far too close for your liking, his warm breath ghosting softly against your hair where he was bent close over you. But Wriothesley’s hold on your neck is as good as iron, and all you can seem to do is reluctantly shudder in place for him, earning a brief click of his tongue when you halfheartedly try to twist away from his hand. 

“Don’t get yourself all worked up again. And you were starting to look so obedient too. Just relax. I’ve got you, you little brat.” 

You noise a threadbare sound of disagreement into the suddenly static charged air, your legs flexing in vain against the sheets underneath you. It’s clear you were losing the fight though — and then he switches up the motion of his hand, going from carefully deliberate nudging at your clit to flattening those long, broad fingers over the apex of your mound so he can firmly drag them back and forth. The very sharp surge of sensitive arousal that shoots through you in response probably would have bowled you over on the spot if he hadn’t been keeping you held upright and in place, shuddering intensely with a faltering mewl. 

It makes your head positively spin from how potent it is as your hips reluctantly judder under the exquisite pressure. You were feeling more and more delirious by the moment, especially when you were aware of your pussy slowly wettening for him. He could feel it too, and he murmurs quiet words of praise at you for being so pliant for him. 

That alone is almost enough to lull you into a throbbing daze wherein you don’t even think to protest when Wriothesley finally directs his damp fingers even lower to press into your entrance. It’s only when he pushes in, smoothly sliding a thick digit into your cunt with enough soft, gooey friction that you woundedly lurch in your spot, and you abruptly snap out of it. 

Mild alarm registers in your mind at the unexpected penetration but it quickly ratchets up to full blown, squirming panic when you realize a moment later how insidiously cruel this really is. The heavy presence of him inside you puts additional strain on your bladder's muscle control, the resulting weak flex pulsing through your entire cunt to make your inner sleeve sensitively contract around his finger. All at once that insistent pressure to let go until you were mercifully empty roars back to life full force and you renew your struggle with a frantic little whimper. 

Wriothesley just shushes you though, sedately withdrawing his hand from your pussy just so he can then push in with two fingers. The mind numbing stretch to your body makes you weakly thrash and clench your teeth in an attempt to stop yourself from involuntarily pissing everywhere. But he seems to know what he’s doing and he’s hellbent on doing it, curling those broad digits inside you to push on up on your upper wall and jab towards where your heavy bladder rests inside you. 

“Oh - oohh — waaaah, stop it! Please! I - I don’t want to …” 

Readjusting his grip on your neck, Wriothesley pointedly nudges your face in his general direction to make you look at him even when your head drunkenly lolls in his grasp. “What’s not getting through that pretty little head of yours, huh? It doesn’t matter what you want. Your needs and desires are of no concern to me. As long as you’re here under my care you’ll do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Understand now?” 

Blubbering rather pitifully while he continues to almost idly fuck his fingers into your aching bladder, you just stare up at him in wide eyed disbelief. Not only were you incredibly taken aback by his misuse of power, his total lack of empathy for you, but the fact that he seemed to be actively trying to make you piss yourself strikes you as particularly alarming as well. Why would he want to do this to you? It didn’t even make any sense. 

But you stubbornly clench down even when the tears start to run over and track hot streaks down your face, fighting tooth and nail to keep your continence under control. It’s a losing battle when his fingers were so thick and heavy, churning your guts with every sharp little jab against your interior. And as the seconds tick by you can’t quite decide which is worse — the way his rough ministrations make your pussy noisily suck at his fingers, slurping loudly each time he plunges them inside, or if it’s the way your desperate attempt at tightening up just makes you squeeze down on him even harder. 

It’s a dizzying, confusing rush of sensation slamming into you all at once, head spinning so fast it almost comes as something of a relief when you feel the pressure in you start to tip. Wriothesley practically forces it out of you, demanding your body respond to him with such insidious precision that you simply can’t help but cum. 

And you do, seething viciously through your teeth while you tersely judder and shake into an unexpected yet not unwelcome orgasm. It leaves you reeling in his hold, woundedly lurching while you gasp and squeal, hips bucking uncontrollably as he continues to fuck his fingers into you. Deliberately milking your release for everything it’s worth and dragging it out until you sensitively angle your pelvis away from him, moaning a dire sound of frazzled distress. 

To your reeling, punchdrunk surprise, the Duke allows his fingers to carefully slide out of you and leave your tender cunt altogether, and you wheeze a grateful sigh at the reprieve. You’re not entirely sure how you’d managed not to vacate everything in your bladder throughout that process but you feel vaguely proud of yourself in the aftermath, in a far off, dreamy sort of way. 

You even manage to straighten up enough to shoot him a relatively sharp look of victory that you’re certain is not in any way diminished by the fact you were flushed hot and still trying to catch your breath. 

He just looks down at you though, those icy crystalline blue eyes taking some of the wind out of your sails for how unmoved they were. 

And when Wriothesley slides his hand out of your pants you foolishly think this bizarre trial is over, that you’d bested him at his own game and now he had no choice but to give up. 

Your triumph over him is regretfully short lived though, and a haggard, hissing gasp catches in your throat when he presses his palm down on your lower stomach. Jerking at the pressure, you immediately try to twist out of his grip even when it yanks on your neck but he holds you fast. A little more firmly he pushes down, not enough to crush or hurt you, yet it’s more than sufficient to make the tension in your bladder start to give out. 

You couldn’t stopper it. Not after being attacked from the inside and now the outside. All you can do is helplessly squeal and squeeze your thighs together as tight as you can but it’s no use. You feel it coming, eyes starting to roll back in your head when the first tiny trickle slips out of you. And once that small allowance is made, involuntary though it may be, it’s like you lose complete control all at once. 

Another dribble of piss quickly follows and then a full on stream, forced right out of you by the uncomfortable pressure on your guts. Wailing a stricken sound of humiliated defeat, you bonelessly slouch back into the wall and let your legs fall open in a wide spread while it just keeps coming out of you completely against your will. The warm, wet sensation rapidly spreads underneath you, soaking into the cot and even right through your pants. You’ve never felt quite so deeply embarrassed as you do watching that stain spread across the material as your hips twitch at the onset of great relief that comes with it, knowing Wriothesley was watching you piss yourself the same way. 

He doesn’t let up on your stomach until he seems to be certain there’s nothing left some few moments later, slowly retracting his hands from you and then straightening up to leave you sitting in your own soiled clothes. Weak and broken, you just lie there without even making an attempt to close your legs and hide the evidence from him. Not only was it much too late for that but there was also too much of a mess for you to conceivably hide any of it. 

Your pants were soaked. 

The middle of the mattress was as good as waterlogged. 

There was no way you’d ever be able to forget this mortifying ordeal for as long as you might live, and something told you Wriothesley was going to personally see to that himself. 

“Well,” He intones, casually straightening out his tie where it had gone askew. “I’d say that takes care of that. I trust you’re feeling better now, little miss inmate?” 

Listlessly rousing at that, you send him a halfhearted and tearful glare. “Screw you …” 

“Ah, so you’re still inclined to be mouthy with me I see. No matter. I’m sure you’ll be singing a much different tune the next time I check in.” He starts to pull away from the cot as if to leave but seems to think of something else, turning back to you again with a stilted exhale. “Seriously though, I hope you’ll take this opportunity to reflect on your behavior so we don’t have to have another demonstration like this one. I don’t like throwing my weight around unless I absolutely have to. You’re going to get yourself hurt down here if you start running your mouth with someone who’s a little less nice than me. Just some food for thought.” 

He does leave then, calmly walking over to the door which he tugs open and steps through, shutting it with a click behind him. The sound of a rattling set of keys turning in the lock rings loud in the tight, cramped little space as you’re left alone in a quickly cooling puddle of your own piss with only your deeply embarrassed feelings for company now. 

If this was how the Duke did things in his fortress then perhaps it would be wise to behave him from now on. At the very least you didn’t want to get on his bad side again. 

⭐

Crossposted: here

[velarisbynight]

A Night Of Convenience

Azriel x Eris

For Day 3 of @acotar-omegaverse-week — All Tied Up: Oh, you're tied up so you don't do anything you'll regret during your heat? Would be a shame if someone... came along and messed up that plan for you :)

a/n: please keep on scrolling if Azris or omegaverse isn’t your thing!

warnings: dry humping/grinding; dubcon since Azriel’s in heat; enemies to lovers vibes?; personally I’d argue bdsm vibes since Azriel’s actually chained up but whatever floats your boat

word count: 3.4k~

~~~~~~~~

Azriel leans his head back against the cold, crooked rock of the cave, his breath misting in the frigid air. The wind howls around the mountain, whipping at the brutal stone, rain likely lashing down from the thunderous storm clouds he’d seen on the treacherous flight up here with his brothers. 

It had taken a lot of persuading to get them to comply, but he’d managed. After all, they’re both alphas—he can’t expect them to understand the humiliation of his heat, inherently submissive when compared to a rut. He can’t stand it, the degradation of his body being so out of his control. He doesn’t want to make a scene…do something he’d regret once it’s passed.

The gorsian shackles bite at his wrists and ankles, a wider, much thicker band of iron clamped around his waist. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least—there’s no way to sit without his wings snagging on a jagged edge of rock, or brushing against the icy bite of the chains—but it’s never going to be a comfortable experience. He just wishes it was a little warmer in here, that his toes and fingers weren’t already tingling with numbness—maybe he should have waited a little longer before bringing himself up here, waited for the symptoms to begin manifesting so he doesn’t have to suffer additional hours of intense discomfort. If only there was something warm…a fire, or even a blanket…something that would smell of woodsmoke, and ease the tension in his body…

Rich, spicy blood trickles down his chin, lip turned white around the edges from where his canine has pierced the skin. At least it’s hot, scalding his tongue when he swipes it away. 

Why did he have to be born this way? A bastard and an omega. 

Forget picking the short stick, he didn’t even get to draw. 

Water vapour gathers on the rock ceiling, coalescing into condensation, running down the tip of a stalactite before dripping down the nap of his neck. He shivers. 

Something clicks in the far off distance, the noise muffled and blurred from echoes as it hums to him through the deep tunnel system. The clicking continues, coming closer, until the tip-tap of those stiletto heeled shoes comes to a stop at the far end of the cave. Even through the slight haze that has crept into Azriel’s eyes he knows the figure. 

Amber eyes cut through the darkness like searing steel fresh from a forge. “You look comfortable.”

Azriel’s spine turns ramrod straight, muscle curling taut through his warrior’s body, resplendent golden thread stitching his lungs shut. Eris’ gaze flickers approvingly, and Azriel’s lip curls with fury. “What are you doing here?” He puts as much ice into his voice as he can manage. But it belies the emotion swirling within his chest, raging inside his mind—relief at finding company, and revulsion Eris would seek him out in a moment like this.

But Eris shakes his head, strong arms folding across his narrow chest, sleek and powerful. “You know, it’s not just your problem, Azriel. It’s mine, too.” His name sends a shiver up his spine, forcing his wings to tuck in tight so as not to reveal the biological reactions. He’s vulnerable enough as it is. 

“Get out.” 

Eris looks him over, a bored look on his sharp features. Then the clicking starts again, leisurely striding toward him. 

Azriel snarls, getting to his feet, his body made heavier by the weakening hormones beginning to seep into his bloodstream. “I won’t tell you again,” Azriel mutters, wings flaring in warning as the alpha steps closer, entering his circle. 

“And what will you do, omega?” Eris asks, coming to a smooth halt less than a step away. “You’re chained up. In gorsian shackles, no less. Where are those shadows of yours?” 

“You have no right to be here.” 

“No? You’re going to reject it? We both know that would be a worse choice for you. An omega can’t survive without its—”

“Shut up.” Azriel hisses. The centres of his palms surely have indents in them by now. “I don’t need you.” 

“Yes, you do.” Eris steps closer, close enough Azriel tries to shift his head to the side so he won’t have to take the male’s scent into his lungs, so it won’t catalyse the inevitable heat that’s beginning to stir to life in his body, his pulse beginning to spike. 

“You have me now.” Eris says, and Azriel’s body turns rigid when the heirling places an owning palm atop his heart, exuding proprietary entitlement. “It’ll be worse without me.” 

“I’d rather die.” 

“And then I’ll be left without a mate. That can’t happen.” 

Gods, Azriel can feel his skin warming. There’s a tightness in his throat that shouldn’t be there, a shallowness to his breath that signals the commencement of his heat. Azriel’s pulse spikes when Eris’ hand lifts higher, stepping closer still. Close enough that he’s trapped, wings already scratching against jagged rock. Eris’ palm stops at his jaw, the nail of his thumb grazing across Azriel’s cheek. 

“I won’t tell anybody,” Eris murmurs, amber eyes like molten magma, searing into his flesh, stoking the embers of what will quickly become wildfire. “I can feel it. It’s beginning to compound.”

“You have no right.” Azriel hisses through gritted teeth, blood rushing around his ears, a familiar tingle beginning to spread through his legs. “Unhand me.” 

Amber eyes burn. 

Azriel’s blood scalds his veins, heat accumulating swiftly, catalysed by this male’s invasion. 

A muscle flickers in Eris’ jaw. And he steps away. 

Azriel’s chains rattle as he instinctively takes a step forward, chasing the touch, but forces his body to freeze. Teeth grinding, wings pulled taut at his back. 

“You want me.” Eris mutters, a lick of flame in his amber eyes. 

“I hate you.” Azriel snarls. 

“They can coexist.” 

Azriel needles the male with an icy glare, cold enough to burn. Eris watches quietly, his sharp eyes narrowed. 

“Do your brothers know about me?” Eris asks, the honed edge of his drawl making sweat bead down Azriel’s spine. Skin prickling beneath the serrated tone. “There’s nothing to tell them.” Azriel spits lowly, wings beginning to shiver. “You could die this time. You’re happy with none of them knowing why?” 

“I think it would be a mercy to pass without any of them knowing who I’d been mated to.” 

Eris’ lip curls in a barely suppressed snarl, and Azriel has to steel himself against the urge for his legs to buckle, weakness flooding through his body. Amber eyes lick over his figure once, before hot, rough palms are pushing against his chest, a compact, distinctly male body pressing to Azriel’s, a thigh between his legs. A shocked breath of air is snatched to the shadowsinger’s lungs, eyes marginally widened at the close proximity, the rampant heat bursting in his lower body in response to such a relatively minor touch. 

“Fine.” Eris bites out against his mouth, almost close enough to taste the fiery male. “Have it your way. But I’m staying right here. You aren’t the only one this will affect now you’re tied to me.” 

“Like anything you’ll experience will even compare,” Azriel hisses before he can stop himself. Long, deft fingers curl themselves in the collar of Azriel’s shirt, scrunching the fabric in the male’s large fist as Eris forcefully drags him closer, mouths less than an inch apart, able to feel hot, harsh breath ghosting across his skin. “It wouldn’t have to be a trial for you if you’d let me help. Like it or not, we’re in this together. So either you can make it hard on yourself, or we can cooperate.” Eris’ eye burn like ruby flames. “Let me help you.” 

In the time between Eris first appearing and now, Azriel’s discipline has rapidly deteriorated. His discipline quickly slipping the leash with alarming skill as Eris shifts his hip, the toned muscle of his thigh rubbing against the seam of Azriel’s leathers. The Shadowsinger grits his teeth, jaw working almost painfully. He forces his gaze elsewhere, being drawn in by the hypnotising burn of colour in his-…in Eris’ eyes. Azriel drags breath into his lungs, inhaling through his nose, humiliation rushing his abdomen at the prominence of his own arousal—how it’s already thickly permeating the air, turning it denser; smokier. 

Azriel’s scent shouldn’t be smoky. 

Hazel eyes slide open, half-glazed. “You’re enjoying this,” Azriel bites out, every syllable an effort to drag from his throat. A beat passes, and Eris holds his gaze. Now Azriel has identified that scent, what it means, the hunger seems obvious. Fury barrels through the haze of his mind, adrenaline returning enough sense to his muscles to grab at Eris’ shoulders, shoving him firmly, keeping the flat-tips of his fingers biting into the heirling’s flesh. Azriel hopes it hurts. Hopes he can squeeze and pop bones out of place. 

“You came here knowing you were going into rut?” Azriel snarls, noting how the flame blazes in Eris’ gaze at the mention of his state. “You’re a fucking piece of work, Vanserra.” But Eris retaliates, strengthening his already brutal grip on Azriel’s shirt, overpowering the weakened Spymaster as hormones begin to spike. “I came here because your heat triggered it,” Eris growls, tugging so hard at the fabric Azriel hears it begin to rip. “Have you clocked that yet, omega? We’re tied to one another. If you don’t survive this heat without me, I’ll be having to deal with something far worse.” 

“So you want me to let you fuck me just so you don’t have to deal with that?” Azriel gives a harsh, derisive laugh. “Like I’d ever make it that easy for you. If this kills me I’ll go happily knowing you never got your hands on me.” 

“And you said I was the piece of fucking work.” Eris hisses over Azriel’s mouth, lips brushing, pupils dilating with hunger. “You’re really so proud you’ll let yourself die over something like this?” 

Azriel smirks. “I might make it.” 

Eris shoves the Shadowsinger back, a hiss of fury mixed with pain releasing from his mouth as rock abrades the sensitive membrane of his wings. Shared breath mixes between them, both brandishing hot tempers while fighting against raging instincts. Fighting on two fronts. Eris swallows once, attempting to sooth the white-hot flame burning in his blood. “By Autumn Court law I have every right to you,” he breathes, fingers lessening on Azriel’s shirt but not releasing. “And by Night Court law I am free to claim you, now that a bond has made itself clear.” 

“And I’ve told you I’d rather die.” 

Eris’ nostrils flare, his jaw wound impossibly tight. 

He releases Azriel. Steps back. Puts some distance between them. No more than a few steps. Eris can’t make himself move any further. 

“I wouldn’t have spent so much effort on trying to convince you if I wasn’t going to listen to your opposition.” Eris says at last, amber eyes hot and molten. “I said I would at least stay here. I won’t do anything you don’t want.” 

“Like I’ll believe a single word from your—”

“Shut up.” Eris snarls, voice ablaze with white-hot dominance. 

Azriel’s mouth seals shut, wings tucking meekly at his back, knees nearly buckling at the command. 

Eris runs a hand through his hair. “I came here to offer help—help that would be mutually beneficial. Even you can see that.” Azriel’s lip curls but he says nothing. “Like I said before: hate and want can coexist.” 

“Well I don’t want you.” 

Eris turns on his heel, clicking sternly across the uneven rock floor and Azriel braces himself for the rough shove to his shoulders, the winding punch to the gut, a kick to the stomach. Instead a hot, rough palm slides around the nape of his neck, fingers threading pleasurably through his silky hair, his hazel eyes fluttering with a surge of dizziness. Another palm settles at his jaw, tilting his chin, angling him right. “You don’t want me?” Eris whispers. “Then one kiss should be fine. Right?” 

Azriel’s pulse spikes in his chest. Staggering heat accumulating between his legs. Just Eris’ mouth on top of his, Eris’ tongue flicking against his own, Eris’ body pressed tight against another. Just his alpha touching him exactly as he’s supposed to. Amber eyes are staring into him but Azriel’s gaze has been caught by the heirling’s lips. Rosey, elegantly narrow, parted. Inviting and taunting. Azriel manages a half nod. 

“Ask me.” 

Azriel drags resentful eyes up to the heirling’s, but the reproach dissipates when he’s met with sincerity. Eris wants Azriel to clearly say it himself. 

Azriel swallows. He won’t be able to lie to himself and pretend it was out of his control. He’s still more than aware enough to know what’s going on. He won’t be able to spin this against the male pressed so close to his body. Whose thigh had briefly been between his legs. How good that had felt. 

“Kiss me,” Azriel breathes. 

Eris’ eyes flicker, then a warm, narrow mouth is pushing to his own. Lips that taste of warm spices with a hint of brown sugar caramelising on his tongue. Chains clink at Azriel’s sides, then silky hair is threaded between his fingers, his pulse beginning to sooth its sharp, snare-drum-staccato beat. A pleasant pressure presses between his legs, Eris’ hip ghosting across the front of Azriel’s leathers, delicately inclining his weight into the Illyrian so he can feel the firm, powerful pressure against him. Azriel’s hips shift along the muscle of Eris’ thigh. A hot tongue strokes across his own, and saliva mixes swiftly after. 

Azriel doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing when Eris pulls away, returning once to run his tongue over the curve of Azriel’s lower lip, a wet, silvery thread stretching between them. 

Is Azriel delirious or is the creamy pale skin on his alpha’s cheeks slightly coloured? 

Eris’ thumb swipes smoothly across the saliva-wet top of Azriel’s lower lip, applying a light pressure at the centre to reveal pale teeth. A tongue, guarded, behind them. 

Azriel licks his lips, hazel eyes glazed as he leans forward, fingers that had somehow found their way into Eris’ hair clutching tighter. But Eris pulls away, “I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I hate you.” Azriel murmurs, softer than a breath. Eris arches a narrow brow, “you aren’t denying it this time.” 

Heat warms Azriel’s cheeks but it’s hard to distinguish from the thrumming pulse of his heart, how hot his blood is as it courses through his body, rushing from his head. 

“Once.” The word is less than a whisper, but Eris hears it clear as day. “Just this once.” 

“Unique circumstances require unique solutions.” 

“This doesn’t mean anything, Vanserra.” 

“Of course not, omega.” 

Azriel’s lip curls in a half snarl, but Eris is much faster, broad palms spanning over the jutting bone of the Shadowsinger’s hip, tugging him tight to the heirling’s front, mouth descending gluttonously to his mate’s exposed throat. A gasp that sounds far too close to pleasure escapes Azriel’s mouth, head tipping back as teeth nip along his shoulder, a hot tongue licking across his neck, incisors grazing a spot that has a shiver running up Azriel’s spine. He’s slipping. Can feel his discipline fraying at the edges. 

Scarred palms press themselves flat to the jagged rock at his back, fingers curling as the hard ridge of nails drags across the stone in attempts to keep himself from unraveling entirely. 

Eris shifts his body, and everything clicks into place. 

Biological satisfaction satiates Azriel’s hunger, but drives him to consume more. 

Roughened palms grip a pale-skinned jaw, dragging those lips back to his with an open mouth. Azriel’s skin burns, and he twines one of his legs around Eris’, tilting his hips so the seam of his leathers is rubbing against him, and— 

A humiliating sound leaves his throat when Eris’ hips buck into his own. Broad, pale hands rise to squeeze firmly at Azriel’s waist, thumbs digging into muscle to hold him still. Amber eyes pierce into him, watching intently as Eris presses the edge of his hip carefully between Azriel’s legs. The Spymaster can feel the hot flush colouring his cheeks, the pleasure tingling in his lower abdomen…he knows this kind of sensation, what will follow too quickly after it… 

Azriel’s head tips back, rock clanging pain through his skull but he doesn’t care as Eris’ hand slips between them, palming the Shadowsinger through his leathers. And it feels good. Azriel’s arms leave the safety of the rock wall, twining themselves immovably around Eris’ shoulders, the Spymaster’s spine arcing from the stone to feel the sturdy presence of his mate as the orgasm rushes through his blood, practically turning it to steam in his veins as pure pleasure takes his life-force’s place. 

Hazel eyes manage to flicker open, met with creamy, pale skin, threads of fiery, silky hair settled at the nape of Eris’ neck, soft new hair curling from his skin. Azriel inhales, that rich, sweet and smoky scent cutting off circulation of thought—it’s too good to not taste. 

Amber eyes slide shut, a heady groan rumbling in the heirling’s chest as Azriel opens his mouth over Eris’ throat, licking up the side and nipping with his teeth. Long, deft fingers outmanoeuvre the ties keeping leathers together, pushing them away. Eris can feel how hard his omega is, the dampness of the fabric concealing him still. The heirling drags the heel of his palm down the thick length of Azriel’s cock, already leaking again and desperate for stimulation. 

“Hurry up.” Azriel pants, scarred fingers curling tight in fiery locks of hair, his hips tilting to rub against Eris’ palm, already needing a second relief. “What are you waiting—” Azriel cuts himself off with a gasp when Eris’ hand wraps itself around his cock, able to feel every finger, every knuckle… Nails dig into the heirling’s back as Eris lazily swipes his thumb over the tip, smearing precum that had nestled there. 

The Shadowsinger snarls in frustration when Eris pulls his hand away, then bites down on the aggression as pale fingers rise to a rosey mouth, elegantly narrow. “Eris, what are you…” 

Wild heat spreads through Azriel’s abdomen, pleasure and satisfaction twining together as the alpha’s tongue licks at the gleaming, creamy liquid. His cock twitches, hips pressing themselves flush to his mate’s, feeling slick beginning to drip down his thighs. In the past he’s found the sensation uncomfortable, invasive and suddenly sensitive, but now he’s in heat with his…with Eris, it doesn’t feel as awful as he remembers. Maybe even promising something good, this time around. 

Azriel’s cheeks are stained with colour as Eris pushes an open-mouthed kiss to his lips, tongue flicking and stroking, sharing the flavour as movements lose their gentle curve, steadily roughening, sharpening at their edges to demands. “Don’t you taste good?” Eris murmurs between the hot, feverish kisses, cum mixing with saliva. Azriel struggles to register the thought, and instead his scarred hands are roughly tugging clothing free from his mate’s body, buttons flying as Azriel uses a bit too much strength, tearing the fabric in his haste. 

“Impatient.” Eris murmurs, but it’s distinctly fond, lacking its authoritarian drawl. Azriel doesn’t care if he’s impatient—he’s in heat. 

“Stop dragging it out,” Azriel pants, fingers trailing down the bare expanse of the alpha’s chest, marvelling at the sight. “You said you were here to help.” 

“Shall I help you?” 

Hazel eyes flick up to meet amber. If these chains weren’t here, they threaten. 

Eris’ lips curve, as if he understands the unspoken demand to hurry up. “I think you look quite nice in them.” 

Azriel’s cock twitches at the low drawl, heat fluttering through his lower abdomen, arousal shivering with pleasure. “Stop teasing. Do something.” 

“Do something,” Eris muses, reaching to his trousers. Azriel���s tongue wets his lips. “Do something like…unchain you?” 

Sure enough, that’s a set of keys twinkling before him. 

Azriel lurches blindly at the promise of pleasure, but Eris steps back, heels clicking just out of reach. A thunderous snarl rips through the inner chamber, water droplets dislodged from stalactites far above. 

Amber eyes glance over the keys idly, twirling the coil of metal holding them together around one long index finger. Rosey lips curve in a smirk that makes the Shadowsinger’s knees nearly buckle. 

“Shall I free you, Azriel?” 

[crazylittlejester]

Which Link do you think would wear sandals? Wild for sure, and Hyrule probably. Legend would probably wear one if he have to, tbh I think he'd do pretty much anything if he have to, but he won't like it. And I think quite a few would be horrified by them, but I'm wondering who would have the strongest opinion.

On the topic of footwear, Four would be so attached to steel capped boots. Protects your toes from dropped tools AND destroys (other's) ankles in a single kick? Yes please.

WIND, he comes from an island i know the others have to force boots onto him in order to protect his feet. I headcanon he prefers sandals or to just run around barefoot, but that’s not the best idea when on rocky terrain or in a forest, so he does have closed toe shoes but he doesn’t like them very much. he definitely hates the texture of socks too

I could see Sky wearin’ sandals but not super often, Twi too

Warriors I think would be against the idea of any form of footwear that wasn’t boot-like because how is he supposed to hide a knife or dagger in a sandal? (dont let him think too hard about it, he’ll find a way)

FOUR DEFINITELY HAS STEEL TOED BOOTS. AND HE KICKS MONSTERS WITH EM, I KNOW IT IN MY HEART

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | july 15 - july 21

50:90 – HONEY

“Maybe this sounds stupid, but I didn’t think it would be so cold at the rink,” Bea says. She’s got a thin zip-up hoodie on over a t-shirt and a pair of leggings. She’s wearing long socks because Honey told her that she needed to go change out of her Birkenstocks and put on real shoes– “like, sneakers, Bea”– so that she didn’t get frostbite.

Honey’s only been to an ice rink once, on a date with Thomas just before Christmas when they first started dating. She had been dressed for the Charlotte winter in her big puffy coat and gloves, but she had worn jeans and thin socks that day, and she thought her toes would fall off by the end of the date. They were only at the rink for an hour and she made Thomas turn the heat to 80º in his car on the drive home so that she could thaw out.

Bea definitely wouldn’t have made it through the boys’ practice in Birkenstocks. That’s why they’re in Charlotte today.

It took Trevor an hour on the phone to convince Honey to come with him to Charlotte, since Jack had invited Bea along to practice. She feels a little trapped in the city, but as long as they’re in the Coliseum, Honey isn’t looking over her shoulder the whole time. After all, it’s only the seven of them in the rink besides a few workers that are doing their own thing. The boys are on the ice and she and Bea are on the home bench, sitting and watching the boys run a passing drill.

“It also echoes a lot more than I thought,” Bea adds. “Qu– they’ll smack the ice with their sticks and it, like, reverberates.” 

Despite her correction, Honey doesn’t miss the way that Bea was going to mention Quinn by name. She also hasn’t missed how Quinn has been showing off during practice– he’s never been the type to gloat, but every time he does something well or scores on one of the others, he looks over at Bea to see if she’s been watching.

But she hasn’t been watching him. Bea has been resolutely ignoring Quinn as much as she can, only sneaking a look when he’s completely enraptured with what he’s doing in that moment. 

“Why have you been acting weird?” Honey asks, the question bursting out of her like a cannonball. “Him blue-balling you one time isn’t that big of a deal, you know.”

Bea presses her lips together and rubs a fist over one of her eyes. She sighs and turns to face Honey, swinging her leg over the bench to straddle it. “I have been giving him so much attention,” she says. “It’s messing with me, honestly. I’m so attached to him, but it’s just not reasonable for me to be this attached.”

“Why not?” Honey prods. Bea sounds much more rational than the previous morning, when she hijacked the phone call between Honey and Trevor to rant about Quinn. That’s a good sign– or maybe it’s not, because Bea’s starting to sound a little resolute about her choice. She’s always been the kind to make up her mind and stubbornly stick with her decision, even if it turns out to be the wrong one.

Bea spreads her hands out to her sides and shrugs, an ironic laugh bubbling up from her chest. “He’s leaving.”

“So, what? You can’t visit him? You can’t talk to him on the phone?” Honey demands. “There are options, Bea.”

“That’s not what I decided to do at the beginning of the summer,” Bea says.

So it is stubbornness that’s causing Bea to act this way. Honey should’ve guessed that.

“Things can change,” Honey says, scoffing a bit. “You don’t have to stick with your Slut Summer if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that, Honey!” Bea snaps. She looks around to make sure none of the boys heard her outburst as they continue to practice, then she steels herself with a deep breath. When she speaks again, her voice is quiet and definite. “I like him too much. I am too attached to him. Even if I wanted it to work after this summer, it wouldn’t. That’s just the way that it is.”

“Why not?” Honey asks again. “Really. If you like him this much, then you shouldn’t have any trouble making it work outside of Litchton.”

“Honey!” Bea scrubs her hands over her face, then starts to count off the reasons against her palm, her tone sharper than it needs to be. “He lives across the country, in another country. He travels constantly. He might like me now, but I’m just some bitch from Litchton. It’s not like I’m a model from New York who understands the pace of his life.”

“Did he say that?” Honey interrupts, looking out onto the ice to Quinn. If he called Bea ‘some bitch from Litchton,’ she’ll walk across the ice right now and tackle him to the ground. Trevor would probably help her beat him up, just because it’s her, and it’s not like the other boys would stop her if she told them that he insulted Bea.

“Of course he didn’t say that, don’t be stupid,” Bea retorts. “But it’s the truth!”

“So, what? You’re just going to give up?” Honey shakes her head. “You’re going to fuck the other guys and ignore him until you like him an acceptable amount again and push your feelings for him into a dumpster that’s on fire?”

“Are you and Trevor going to stay together after the summer?” Bea asks, turning the tables on Honey with a quirk of her eyebrows. 

Honey frowns. The truth is, she doesn’t know. She has a lot of the same concerns as Bea, but despite how she felt last week during that brief– three day long– period of panic where she wanted to end things with Trevor, she doesn’t know what she wants. She likes him, but it’s the same thing: he’ll be all the way across the country and she’ll be here. “We haven’t talked about it.”

Bea laughs at Honey’s reply. “Well, Quinn and I have talked about it. It’s a one summer thing.”

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Honey murmurs, her frown only deepening. “I’m just saying that, if you like him, you should see if it works outside of Litchton.”

“It won’t. He won’t be around. It’ll be a seasonal relationship because his priority is hockey. I don’t want a boyfriend who’s only around for three months out of the year,” Bea says, her eyes narrowed. “And that’s it. That’s that.”

“Okay, geez,” Honey concedes. “I just don’t see what that has to do with your relationship with him now. You’re clearly upset ignoring him. He obviously feels like shit, too, but he’s not trying to cause a fuss. Why can’t you just talk to him?”

“I’m taking a break,” Bea states. 

“I don’t see how that helps you.”

“You’re the one who suggested it in the first place.”

Honey flinches back. “No, I didn’t,” she denies. “Why would I suggest that you and Quinn ‘take a break?’ You’re obsessed with each other.”

“Yeah, you did,” Bea insists. “You told me on the phone to take a break. Trevor agreed that it’s the right thing to do.”

“You’re following Trevor’s advice?” Honey sneers. “Bea, sweetheart, he’s an idiot and you don’t really like him all that much. Plus, Quinn doesn’t want to take a break from you.”

“You don’t know that.” Bea rolls her eyes.

“I do. I do know that,” Honey insists, her voice rising a bit.

“How?” Bea snaps. “How could you possibly know that?”

“He told me.”

“Great, well, he told me that he respects my decision and he agrees that it would be really hard to be together after the summer. And as much as he’s willing to try, I’m not. I like him so much that if we break up, I’m going to be miserable,” Bea says. “We’ll break up because of distance and it will change me on a fundamental level. So, we’re mutually parting ways at the end of the summer. It is the best outcome and you can’t change my mind.”

“So maybe you should suck it up and be happy with him now,” Honey bites back. “Ignoring him and making yourself miserable now isn’t going to make that ‘mutual’ breakup any easier at the end of the summer.”

Bea clenches her jaw and glares at Honey, clearly stopping herself from saying something. 

“Oh, don’t do that,” Honey scoffs. “Whatever you want to say, go ahead and say it.”

“You don’t want me to say what I’m thinking,” Bea says carefully through her teeth. “I think I’m going to go call Cece and see if she wants to grab dinner while I’m in town. She’ll drive me back to Litchton tonight. I’ll see you at work.”

Bea stands and stomps away, dialing her sister’s phone number and holding the phone to her ear. Her footsteps echo across the arena and the boys pause on the ice. 

“Hey,” Luke exclaims with a clap and a whistle to get the girl’s attention.

“Bea, where are you going?” Jack calls. 

Honey watches Quinn’s head turn as she makes her way to the doors, pushing them open with a crash and disappearing through them. Something seems to click in him and he skates toward the edge of the ice, finding an entrance and hopping up, following after her. His stilted jog on his skates is probably slower than he wants it to be, and all of his gear must be weighing him down. It’s probably going to ruin the blades of his skates, too, but he makes his way through the doors anyway.

Cole and Trevor skate up to Honey. 

“What was that about?” Trevor asks, concern written all over his face as he looks at Honey. As he surveys her, some of the tension in her shoulders melts away. His concern is for her, if she’s okay.

“Yeah, is she alright?” Cole adds, leaning over the boards on his elbows. “That was…”

“She’s fine,” Honey interrupts, words clipped and short. “She’s just calling her sister. She’ll be back in Litchton tomorrow.”

Cole nods. “Alright. Cool,” he says, taking Honey’s word as truth. That’s lucky for her– it’s good that he doesn’t pry. 

Trevor, however, is still standing in front of her, the look in his eyes much more skeptical.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Honey warns the boy.

Trevor pauses, then nods. “Okay.” He looks out onto the ice, then back to Honey. “Do you want to come skate? I can find some blades for you somewhere. I’m sure they have extras. I can go ask the equipment guy.”

Honey fully relaxes, endeared by his offer. “No, baby, I’m okay,” she says softly. “But thanks for asking. You’re almost done anyway, right?”

Trevor looks at the door to the lobby, which has been flung again upon Quinn’s return. He’s got a stormy look on his face, a scowl the likes of which Honey has never seen.“I think we’re about to be done for the day right now,” he says. “I’ll rinse off in the locker room and be out as soon as I can. We’ll pack the car and head home.”

He skates off, joining the other boys as they exit through the tunnel to the players’ locker room. Honey is left on the bench, checking her pockets to make sure she has all of her things before she stands and walks to the lobby. This rink is about twenty minutes from Bea’s house, so there’s a good chance she’s still in the lobby waiting for Cece to pick her up.

Honey should feel trepidation about being next to Bea again so soon after that argument, but there’s something about the way Trevor said ‘home,’ like Litchton really is his home. It felt like a kiss to the cheek and a squeeze of her hand. Trevor talks to her like they’re together-together, like they share a space, and it gives her butterflies.

Just like she thought, Bea is in the lobby. She’s sitting on a bench near the water fountains, arms crossed over her chest and a deep frown etched onto her face. She looks at Honey when she walks through the doors, but just tilts her head up defiantly.

Honey gets the message. Bea doesn’t want to talk anymore. Good– neither does Honey.

She turns her back to the girl, reading the fliers posted on the bulletin board over and over, as if there will be new information the next go around. Anything to avoid having to sit next to an angry Bea.

Whatever she wanted to say, but held herself back from spouting, must have been too mean. Honey understands. She’s seen Bea put the nail in the coffin of an argument before, even experienced it a few times herself. It’s never good and Bea always regrets saying it. It was her New Year’s Resolution last year to work on that, and she’s done pretty well.

A car horn sounds outside. Honey looks to the entrance. She recognizes the vehicle– it’s the old ‘Wagon’ that Bea’s dad used to drive. He passed it down to each of his girls, so Cece has it now. It’s not an actual Station Wagon, but it’s big like one, so that’s why they call it that.

Bea stands and heads toward the exit, her hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie. She pauses at the door.

“We’re going to House of Pizza,” she says, voice hard. “Do you want me to say hello from you? If I see them?”

She’s referring to Honey’s parents. It used to be a tradition to go to House of Pizza on Mondays after school, to celebrate a good start to the week. Honey would get a side of fries to go with the pizza that she’d share with her mom and dad, who always left work early on Mondays to pick her up. Her dad always swore he didn’t want any pizza. He’d order a meatball sub and scarf the whole thing down, then eat two slices anyway. Every single time. 

Honey’s heart seizes for a second and she swallows. “Sure,” she replies, her voice feeling foreign. “If you see them.”

Bea nods once and leaves.

Honey takes her place on the bench. Her mind is racing. She traces the back of her teeth with the tip of her tongue.

Do they still go, now that I’m gone? Are they able to do that without me?

Honey doesn’t think she would be able to go to House of Pizza without her mom and dad if things were the other way around. There are too many memories with them there. 

There are too many memories in Charlotte, now that she thinks about it. It’s weird that she’s here. There are people in this city that knew her before Litchton. This is where her childhood cat is buried and her dad’s favorite dog. Honey has to take a deep breath before she feels suffocated by how fresh all of her memories still feel.

It’s lucky that Trevor comes out of the locker room with his gear as she exhales. His hair is a little wet and his clothes are sticking to his body, folding over awkwardly with the bag that’s thrown over his shoulder.

He’s alone, so when Honey stands to greet him, he leans in and pecks her mouth. “The other boys are going to throw their stuff in the back themselves,” he says. “So we can go sit in the AC. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Honey confirms. “We just got in a fight.”

“What about?” Trevor asks.

“Quinn,” Honey tells him with a shrug. “It’s fine. We just have different opinions about their situation.”

“Yeah,” Trevor says. “I figured it was something like that. I’m sorry you got into a fight.” They walk towards the exit and Trevor holds the door open for Honey. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Next time, don’t tell Bea to take a break from Quinn,” Honey replies with a chuckle.

“But that’s what you said.” Trevor sounds confused.

“I never told her to take a break from him,” Honey tells him. “But she seems to think that I did, too.”

“You told her to take a break from ‘all of this for a minute,’” Trevor says, using air-quotes. 

“Oh,” Honey breathes out. She does remember saying that, just to console Bea. She meant for her to take a deep breath and distract herself for a little while, just to put the emotional spiral aside. “Trev, I didn’t mean Quinn. I just needed her to ground herself so we could talk it out rationally later.”

“Oh.” Trevor blushes. “My bad.”

Honey laughs. She shakes her head. At the car, once he places his bag inside the trunk and they climb into the driver and passenger seats, Honey leans over the console to press a kiss against his lips. “‘s okay,” she murmurs, kissing him once more before the boys arrive. “They can’t stay away from each other long, no matter how much she insists. I bet by the end of the week, we’re back to gagging about their public displays of affection.”

“Oh, their ‘PDA,’ if you will… I better enjoy this while I can,” Trevor quips back, reaching for the radio to change the station to something that isn’t yelling about an advertisement. 

“And Jack better milk the shit out of it,” Honey adds, which makes Trevor laugh. He laughs even harder when Jack exits the building and puts his bag in the back of the car, but Trevor doesn’t explain himself. Jack just narrows his eyes suspiciously and uses his stick to reach across the backseat and poke Trevor in the back of the head. It turns into a brotherly spat, which eventually calms once the other three exit the building and break it up.

With a final promise to see them in Litchton, Honey and Trevor are left alone in the car for an entire ninety minutes. Despite his best efforts, Honey refuses to give Trevor road-head and won’t allow him to finger her while he’s driving. Finally, when he gives up, she gets to listen to him sing off-tune the whole way to the fruit stand for her usual shopping spree, then all the way home.

51:90 – TREVOR

With a final tap to the 8-ball, Trevor loses yet another game of pool to Luke. He was supposed to see Honey tonight at her place, but she texted him earlier saying that Jessie had a family emergency and she and Tyler had to run to the hospital, possibly for the night. Honey was asked to babysit little Luca and, being the kind-hearted girl she is, she said yes.

Trevor can’t really be mad at her for helping them out, but he was looking forward to cuddling with her and having a slumber party in his girlfriend’s bed. 

Because he can’t do that, he’s in the basement with the boys, playing pool and listening to music and talking about random shit. 

Now that Trevor is free from the confines of the pool table, he flops down on the couch. He sits beside Cole, tucked away into the corner near the armchair where Quinn rests. Luke calls for Jack to take Trevor’s place at the table and the boy goes willingly, although his eyes slide over the movie on the screen. Talladega Nights. 

It’s been a fan favorite among the boys of the lake house for years. Of course it is– Will Ferrell, racing, pretty girls, raunchy humor. At one point in their lives, it was each of their favorites. Whether it be because of the moment that Carley Bobby flashed her tits or because of the stupidity of the film, they all loved it.

Jack seems more reluctant than most to leave the movie behind to play pool. After all, it’s still one of his favorites, easily a top five pick. Quinn’s barely paying attention, just watching the movie with a half-interested flicker of light in his eyes. Cole is much more interested, mouthing the words along with the characters on the screen. Trevor falls in with them, able to pick up the story easily after years of watching it over and over again. It never gets old.

“Hey, let me see your phone,” Quinn murmurs, reaching out with his foot to kick at Trevor’s knee. 

Trevor fishes it out of his pocket. “After the way she snapped at you yesterday when you went after her, I don’t think she wants to see you.”

Quinn fixes him with a glare, then returns to the phone without saying anything. 

“Hey, if she doesn’t want to see him, then maybe she’ll come over and see me,” Cole interjects, putting an unnecessary twang on his words just because it’s the way Ricky Bobby speaks. 

Quinn ignores him, staring at the phone. Then, Trevor watches him shift his eyes to the side and bite his tongue before he tosses the phone into Trevor’s lap. “She doesn’t want to come over at all,” he says. “Says it’s too late for her to come over on a work night.”

Cole laughs. “Yeah, sure, ‘cause she hasn’t slept over on a work night before. You’re down in the dumps, Q.”

Quinn grits his teeth, but stays silent.

“Let me text her, Z,” Cole says, reaching for the phone. “Bet she’ll come over if I ask.”

Under normal circumstances, Trevor would absolutely hand his phone over to Cole to see if Bea comes running. Today? That’s too cruel. Especially because, as Honey revealed last night, he completely misinterpreted her advice to “take a break” and turned it into something bigger than she intended. Plus, his actions caused Honey and Bea to have a fight. He doesn’t like that.

“Nah, bud, just let it be. Listen to Ricky Bobby, he’s learning a lesson right now.” Trevor tucks his phone away again and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. He prods his arm up on the plush pillow next to him and cradles his head against his fist.

He succeeds in distracting Cole, who is as easy as a crow spotting something shiny, but Trevor still feels weird about the dark glare that is cemented on Quinn’s face. He still sits in the armchair– a better man than Trevor. 

If Honey broke up with him, even for a few days, he wouldn’t be seen outside of his bedroom until their problems were solved. He’d sulk the whole day long, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. Trevor’s always the first to remind people that he is not the person with the world’s best attitude, even though he’s doing a lot better at controlling himself than when he was a teenager. 

He’s even gotten better at admitting defeat and apologizing when he’s wrong. This situation calls for that.

“Look, man, I’m sorry about what’s happening with Bea,” Trevor says to Quinn, who gives no indication that he’s listening. Belatedly, he adds, “I feel bad.”

“Why would you feel bad,” Quinn replies with a grunt, patience already thin. Trevor should have thought this through.

Trevor groans in the back of his throat, having been caught in a pickle. He could lie and say that he feels bad in general, but when they patch up, Bea will tell Quinn that it was Trevor’s idea all along. He may as well get it over with. He ducks his head. “I was the one who suggested that she take a break from you for a couple of days.”

A hush falls over the room and everything seems to go still. Even though Talladega Nights plays on, it’s impossible to hear over the suspense of the moment, the anticipation for Quinn’s– likely negative– reaction. Even Cole is quiet and the pool players have frozen in place momentarily. Luke was half-bent over, ready to take his next shot, but he straightens up and watches Quinn. Jack’s holding his cue up in front of him, arms crossed atop it like a hug with one of his fingers touching his teeth and another pinching at his lower lip. His eyes are wide and they’re darting back and forth between Trevor and Quinn. He starts to chew on his fingernail, a tic that has always comforted him in moments like this.

“What,” Quinn states, his head seeming to turn towards Trevor in slow motion, looking like the movement should be joined by the long creak of an old door in a horror movie.

“To be fair, Honey suggested it first,” Trevor says. “But I… misinterpreted what she meant.”

A tight smile comes across Quinn’s face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Those are dark, sharp, and deadly, not complacent like his smile. “Let’s go upstairs, Trevor.”

Trevor looks at the other boys, all of whom avert their eyes. He’ll receive no backup down here. Thanks a lot, guys, he thinks. However, he makes no move to get up. “No, we should– let’s talk here.” At least here there are witnesses if anything happens to him, like a broken bone. After all, it was Quinn that broke Jack’s wrist in a scuffle all those years ago, and that was just when they were kids. Imagine what he can do to Trevor now.

“No, I think you want to go upstairs,” Quinn says with a slow nod, not blinking once as he stares at Trevor. He cocks his head slightly to the side. “Unless you want to talk about that girl that you’ve been seeing. From Raya, right? I think it’s only fair that I get to weigh in on your relationship, since you’ve made a problem in mine.”

Trevor sees through the implication, the threat, and feels his mouth go dry. Quinn wouldn’t dare tell everyone about what’s going on between him and Honey. Trevor can only imagine how pale he looks. He shakes his head.

Quinn nods again, narrowing his eyes at Trevor. “That’s what I thought,” he says sarcastically. He stands. “Let’s go.”

Trevor, feeling meek, follows with his tail between his legs. He thought he was being nice, apologizing to Quinn for the break. He was owning up, and all of that– and this is what his honesty and empathy gets him?

Quinn doesn’t stop at the first floor. He climbs the stairs to the second floor, where all of their bedrooms are, and he stops in front of Trevor’s door.

“What exactly happened?” Quinn questions, crossing his arms over his chest and blocking the entrance to Trevor’s safe haven. His voice is cold, devoid of emotion, and Trevor honestly would rather him throw something or even wind up to punch Trevor.

“It was the morning after the hot tub,” Trevor says. “She barged into my room looking for Honey. She made me call her. She talked, Honey told her to take a break and that she’d see Bea soon.” Trevor looks down at his shoes. “Then Bea asked me if I thought Honey was right, that she should take a break. I thought Honey meant an actual break, not just a few hours to calm down before dealing with the problem. I said yes.”

Quinn’s nostrils flare and his mouth pinches together, about to say something.

“But I also told her that your relationship with her is better than other relationships you’ve had,” Trevor adds, covering up his mess. “And that you seem happier with her than you are with anyone else.”

“You did,” Quinn says. He nods a few times. “What makes you think that you get to talk to her about my other relationships? Why didn’t you send her to me?”

“She didn’t want to see you,” Trevor replies. “After… what happened the night before.” He doesn’t want to explicitly bring up Quinn’s inability to perform.

Quinn’s face darkens. 

Well, it can’t get worse than this. “And she’s worried that you regret this. That you– that she’s not what you want.” Trevor takes a breath, but no more words leak out of him. 

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose and curses under his breath. He looks up. “She thinks that,” he states. He starts to laugh. “And instead of telling her that I don’t want that, you told her to take a break and figure it out?”

“How was I supposed to know how you felt?” Trevor demands. “I can’t give her advice about you!”

“Oh, but you did,” Quinn points out. “You have given her advice about me. Some therapist you are, Trevor. You’ve seen how I was with Liv, you were there while I dated my girlfriends in Michigan, and you seriously thought that I would be okay with taking a break from Bea?”

Trevor flounders for an answer, but comes up with nothing. He shrugs helplessly. 

Quinn reaches behind him and opens Trevor’s bedroom door. He steps forward and takes Trevor by the front of his t-shirt, pulling him closer. 

“If you fuck this up for me again,” he threatens lowly. “I’ll kill you.” He smiles, sealing his promise, and sends Trevor stumbling into his bedroom. Before Quinn closes the door on him, he adds, “You’re lucky that I like Honey. Otherwise, I’d have no problem fucking that up for you, too.”

He slams the door shut and walks away. Trevor can hear him stomping down the hallway, then down the stairs, then the slam of the front door. It isn’t long after that Trevor hears Quinn drive away.

He checks the time. With shaky hands, he finds Honey’s number and clicks on it, lifting the phone to his ear. She said Luca usually goes to bed around 8. It’s 8:45 now, so she should be free. 

She picks up just as he’s about to pull away and hang up, cutting his losses. “Hello?” She asks, a smile already evident in her voice. 

“I’m an idiot,” Trevor says.

Honey laughs aloud, then claps a hand over her mouth. She’s able to quiet herself down, snickering as she says, “Yeah, sweetheart, I already knew that.”

‘Sweetheart.’ That’s a new one. Trevor bats his smile away. Now is not the time to be blushing over a nickname from the girl he likes. “I told Quinn that I was the one who told Bea to take a break from him.”

Honey is quiet on the other end of the call. “You really are an idiot.”

“I know,” Trevor groans. “He was so mad, I thought he was going to punch me.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t.”

“He said if I ever meddled in his relationship again, he’d kill me.”

Honey hums. “Well, that’s nice. For Bea, I guess. That he’s willing to kill for her.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he might just hate me?”

Laughter fills his ears again. “He doesn’t hate you, Trevor.”

“I’m not exactly feeling the love over here,” Trevor complains.

Honey pauses. Her voice returns, sounding like she’s suppressing another round of giggles. “Would you like to?”

Trevor furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head at himself in the mirror and tossing his hand up in a confused gesture. ‘What?’ he mouths to himself. “Feel the love?” He asks into the phone. “I’d prefer it if Quinn wasn’t threatening me–”

“Not from Quinn, baby,” Honey sighs. “Luca’s down for the night and I’m all alone downstairs… I missed you tonight. We could’ve been in bed.”

Trevor perks up. “You missed me?”

“Hard not to. I see you all the time. It’s weird, canceling plans with you.”

A smug smile makes its way across Trevor’s lips. “What part did you miss most?” He teases.

“I was kind of counting on your cock, actually,” Honey says conversationally, like that’s not a sentence that would have Trevor spitting out his water (if he were drinking any). The blood from his brain already seems to be rushing to the exact appendage that Honey mentioned. “Had a bad day at work. Barely talked to Bea at all.” She’s pouting for effect, Trevor can hear it through the tinny speaker. “Thought it would make me feel better to hear all those pretty noises you make when I get my lips around you.”

Her lips. Her bright, shiny, pink lips. The image fills Trevor’s brain, sluggish from the blood leaving it and making his nerves stand on end, and the best he can manage is an “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm,” Honey confirms. “But I’ll have to settle for my imagination, I guess.”

She sounds dejected, like her heart is broken by disappointment, and Trevor just can’t have that. Sure, maybe she’s playing him like a fiddle, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “No,” he tells her. “No. We– fuck, Honey, I’m hard just hearing you talk like that.”

“Aww, you like it when I talk dirty to you?” Honey teases. 

Trevor hums out a response, but Honey didn’t need it.

“Why don’t you let me hear just how much you like it?” She asks. 

It’s just like Trevor’s dream, when he would get so close to fucking her on the boat before he’d wake. She would tease him in her devoted way, although it’s clear through her voice that he’s completely at her power. 

“Are you going to–” Trevor starts to ask, but it’s a stupid question. She’s definitely not going to get off while she’s in Jessie and Tyler’s house, while she’s technically still babysitting Luca. 

“No, not now. But I need something to occupy my mind later, once I’m home in my cozy bed.” She lowers her voice. “I’m ovulating again, you know. It’s been driving me crazy all day. I almost checked out a book from the romance section before I remembered that the real thing is just a few minutes away.”

Trevor’s already walking back to his own bed. He settles among the pillows, a hand on his waistband, ready to take his shorts off as soon as Honey says.

“Ovulating, huh?” He asks, hearing himself through a fog. “So, you’re–”

“Really, really horny,” Honey faux-complains, trying to garner sympathy from Trevor. She tries to make it sound like a problem, but it’s not– not for him. She wants to fuck him, bad. She’s working, technically, but she’s calling to hear him come so that she can get off to it later. 

Trevor cannot believe his luck. Here he was thinking that he’d be dead by the end of his conversation with Quinn, but his girlfriend is on the line making him feel better in the best way possible.

“Fuck, wish I could hear you, too,” Trevor admits sheepishly. “Wish I was in your bed. Want you to touch me.”

“Mm, do you already have a hand on yourself?” Honey asks.

Trevor shakes his head, then remembers that he has to actually respond to her. “No.”

“Go on,” Honey encourages.

Trevor pushes his shorts and underpants down to his knees with a slight struggle, trying to hold the phone between his shoulder and ear. “‘Kay,” he says once he’s wrapped his left hand around his length. It brings a little reprieve and he has to stop before he starts to stroke himself without her explicitly telling him to do so.

“You know what I’d do if I was there?” Honey asks. 

“Tell me.”

“Rub my thumb over your tip,” she says. “Then lick up all the precum that comes out while I rub you. Haven’t tasted you in so long, Trevor. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like.”

Come to think of it, it has been a long time since his dick was in Honey’s mouth. She refused his requests for road head yesterday, and she certainly hadn’t sucked him off in the hot tub. Did she blow him when they were high? He doesn’t remember.

“But I think once I taste you again, I won’t want to keep my mouth off of you,” Honey ponders. “I’ll want to keep you in my mouth until you’re coming down my throat for a second time.”

Trevor’s lips part and he lets out a desperate groan, his eyes closing and his head tilting back. His thumb passes over his slit, just like she said she would do. With his eyes closed, he can almost picture her here.

“There are those pretty noises,” she marvels. 

Does Trevor detect fondness in her words? He’s already too far gone to decide, but his first instinct is that yes, it is. It’s more– she’s proud.

“For you,” he murmurs, losing control of his mouth.

Honey breathes in, her breath jumping through the phone. “Oh, yeah? All for me?”

“Wanna make you happy,” Trevor continues.

Behind his closed eyes, she’s smiling up at him as she pumps his cock, pressing a kiss to his shaft and leaving behind a slight sheen of lipgloss in its place, which disappears as her hand continues to move.

Her voice fills his ears and he imagines her face when she’s trying not to smile, trying not to show that she’s pleased with his words. It’s the same face she made yesterday at the rink, when he offered to find some skates for her– her lips quirking up into a kind-of ‘v’ shape because no matter how much she tries to avoid the smile, it comes anyway.

“You do,” she offers simply. Her voice is sweet, serious even, before it turns raunchy again. “I wish I were there, too, baby.”

Baby, baby…

“Remember when Cole dared me to lick the whipped cream off of you?”

“Uh-huh,” Trevor replies, able to come back to himself for a second when she mentions Cole. He doesn’t want this to end so quickly, so the mention of his friend is welcome, even if it’s a little weird.

“I think if he dared me to do it again, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself, and I’d have to suck you off right then,” Honey says.

“You– you put your fingers in my waistband,” Trevor chokes out, feeling the phantom touch, the memory of her fingers against his abdomen. They were so low, so near to his cock, and she did it mindlessly. If she were here, she’d make a point to touch his v-line now. She’d run her finger over it, barely, just enough to have his skin crawling. “Didn’t even think about it. I wanted you to.”

“Hm, I know you did,” she teases. “I could see it on your face.”

“Dreamt about it,” Trevor adds. “Got off thinking about it.”

Honey makes a noise of surprise. “You did?” She asks. “So you’ve been fucking your fist, picturing me, since the second week of summer?”

It’s humiliating, but it’s true. Trevor doesn’t care anymore. He has her, anyway. They’re together. She’s his and he’s hers, always has been since the second he bumped into her outside the fruit stand.

“Wanted you for so long,” Trevor says. “Need you.”

“You have me,” Honey replies. It’s nowhere close to a promise, nor a confirmation that they’re together the way Trevor wants them to be and tells himself they are, but her words have him seeing stars. “I’m right here, baby.”

Trevor keens. His hand practically flies over his cock, leaking and dripping and twitching as she continues to talk about how pretty he sounds and how much she wishes that he was with her right now. She compliments him in all sorts of ways, but her use of ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ echo through his head over everything. 

The nail in the coffin comes quickly, too quickly for Trevor to process. She says it and he’s spilling over his hand, crying out in a way that would be pathetic if he could hear it over her light laughter and the rush of blood through his eardrums.

Her words ring in his head, replacing the ‘babies’ and the ‘sweethearts’ with “Want you to paint my face with your cum, Trevor. It’ll look so pretty on my tongue.”

He doesn’t remember talking to her after that. Trevor barely remembers pulling his pants up or falling asleep, and yet, he drifts off and his dreams are full of Honey getting exactly what she wanted. It’s an endless loop. Nothing exists for Trevor except Honey– not in his dreams, and if he has it his way, he’ll luck out and be stuck with her forever. It’s almost a shame he has to wake the following day, the only consolation being the promise of the real thing.

52:90 – HONEY

After two days of faux-cordial, one-sentence answers from Bea, the girl has finally apologized for her outburst at the rink. Honey tried to do the same and apologize for pressing Bea for answers, but she just waved Honey off. 

“Emotions were high,” Bea had said with a shrug. “I can’t blame you for getting frustrated. I’ve been so mad at myself for the past couple of days and it hasn’t been easy for anyone.”

“Should we talk about it?” Honey had asked, a slight grimace on her face. “And maybe keep it under control this time?”

Bea chuckled at Honey in a self-deprecating way, rolling her eyes. “Oh, fuck off. I’m much calmer now. Cece and I had a nice long chat about it. We even phoned Trixie in from Topsail. All the McLean sisters, back together again, solving the world’s problems.”

“Really?” Honey asked. “How is Trix?”

Ada shushed them, then asked why they weren’t working, and the conversation ended there. 

It would continue later: Bea left Honey a note at the cash register in her loopy handwriting, saying that they should get margaritas at the dingy Mexican restaurant in town that no one remembers the name of, so they all just call it ‘Mexico.’ On Wednesdays, they have $15 pitchers of margaritas. Honey has never been one to turn down Mexico and Margs.

So, after work, that’s where they go. Mexico is near the grocery store, even shares a parking lot with the brick building that Honey visits every Monday. They walk from the Nook– it’s maybe a block and a half– and they appreciate the exercise anyway. They share a pitcher of the mango margarita and Bea orders fajitas while Honey orders her usual ACP with extra tortillas on the side. 

“So I haven’t been hiding details from you, but there are things I haven’t told you,” Bea starts, gesturing with her fork once the food arrives. 

“Like how you decided you’d keep it casual because he wasn’t over Liv,” Honey says. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that.”

Bea ducks her head and swirls her drink with her straw. “Yeah. I didn’t really– I don’t think I quite believed him until we talked about her on Friday. After the party. After we went to bed.”

“What did he say?” Honey asks.

“You know I’m not an insecure person,” Bea says. Honey nods, confirming her reminder. “I just can’t get over that Quinn was with a model before me. I feel like he left that out on purpose when he said he missed her sometimes. How often is ‘sometimes’ anyway?”

Honey shrugs. “Too vague to tell. I think that’s the purpose of the word.”

“Yeah. But… yes,” Bea shakes her head, trying to get her story together in a coherent way. “When Quinn and I first had our conversation about the Slut Summer, he told me he had just gotten out of a relationship, right?”

“Right,” Honey agrees. Bea had told her that part.

“Then, he tells me he’s not sure if he wants to get back together with her when he sees her again.” Bea spreads her hands on the table, pausing to suck up a sip of margarita from her straw. She clears her throat. “Again, this was before I started… liking… him. So at the time, it was fine! I wanted to fuck his brothers and one of his best friends, so who cares if he gets back together with his ex girlfriend?”

“A few weeks later, you start falling for him, and suddenly you care that he isn’t sure if he wants to get back together with her,” Honey says. 

“Exactly,” Bea states, sitting back against the vinyl booth behind her. There’s a parrot painted on the booth near her shoulder. If she moves over just an inch, it’ll look like it’s her pet and she brought it to the restaurant with her. Honey will have to take a picture for her when they’re having a less serious conversation. 

“So what happened when you talked about her?” Honey asks.

“Quinn broke up with her because she wasn’t ready for marriage and babies,” Bea tells her. “Babies, Honey,” she repeats. “I’m not ready for a fucking baby. I certainly wasn’t hooking up with any of them to marry and have babies.”

“That’s crazy,” Honey says, matching Bea’s tone to validate her feelings. She’s right– Honey can’t imagine getting married and having babies right now.

Her mind drifts to Trevor and his guest appearance at Story Time, to the little girl who pulled herself up by his pant leg and reached for his teeth. She imagines his stupid, silly, overdramatic face as he shows the illustrations to the baby. 

Before she can help it, she’s imagining him in a rocking chair in her house, in the little nook behind the loft stairs that was her nursery when she was young. There’s a baby on his lap, resolutely ignoring the book in his hands, touching his cheeks and trying to poke at his eyes. She imagines Trevor snickering and blowing a raspberry on the baby’s rosy cheek. Suddenly, in her mind, he’s wearing a wedding ring.

“What’s crazier,” Bea interrupts her thoughts with wide eyes to emphasize the word, “Is that at the rink when he followed me, he apologized for making me so upset and he asked if we could talk. I said no, because– well, you know why– and he told me he loved me.”

Honey’s jaw drops. “What?” She demands. “What? In what context? How did he get to that?”

“I don’t know!” Bea exclaims, throwing her hands up. “He loves me? We’ve been fucking for seven weeks! We’ve only known each other for seven weeks! I’ve been a fucking whore this entire summer and still, he loves me?”

“To be fair,” Honey says, trying to speak nonchalantly. “It’s really isolated up here. A week feels like a month, sometimes. Litchton time is different. To him, it probably feels like you’ve been together for ages.”

“But, the thing is, we’re not really together. Like, yeah, it’s special, whatever– but I’m fucking his brother.”

Honey watches a middle aged woman from the table behind them cast a look in their direction.

“Lower your voice,” she murmurs, gesturing around them.

“Sorry,” Bea says, calming down. “It’s just a lot.” She brushes her hair out of her face and takes another sip of her drink, then crouches down to lick some of the salt off of the rim of the glass. “Could you imagine? If Trevor told you he loved you right now, what would you do?”

Honey ponders the question, but comes up with nothing. To be honest, if Trevor told her that he loved her right now, she’d spit out her margarita and probably accidentally get it in his eyes.

“Naturally, I told him that I can’t deal with this right now,” Bea continues. “How do I even reply to that? ‘Sorry Quinn, I’m taking a break from you because I like you too much. I don’t love you back, but I like you too much and I might start loving you back if I’m not careful.’ Like, what the fuck is that?” She demands. “Inadequate, is what it is.”

“Do you really think he loves you or did he, like, just say it to get you to talk to him,” Honey points out. “Because you haven’t been talking to him at all. Maybe desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“I don’t think Quinn would say something like that just for kicks,” Bea says. “Or just to get me to talk to him. I think he means it, and, well… you know. I’ve never loved someone before, I don’t know what that’s like. It’s not like I can say it back.”

“Ah, yes, the age-old Bea dilemma,” Honey teases. “I always knew that you dating all these men for a few months, then breaking up with them just before it gets serious, would land you in trouble someday. The heartbreaker gets her comeuppance.”

“You are so not funny,” Bea scolds. “This is Quinn we’re talking about, Honey. Quinn Hughes. He is the closest thing I have ever had to an actual boyfriend. You know I’ve never been with anyone like this. I never expected to be with anyone like this. The closest thing I can compare him to is Thomas. Not in the sense that Quinn will act like he did, but like… Quinn will change everything for me. He already has. I–” She loses her words, shaking her head rapidly and tapping her fingers against the tabletop. She takes a deep breath like she’s about to speak, then deflates.

The mention of Thomas is enough to stop the conversation temporarily. Honey is lucky that their food arrives and they can take a break to scarf down a few bites. It gives Honey time to think and time to steer the conversation away from her least favorite subject. Bea rarely ever brings Thomas up, so invoking his name adds a seriousness and somber quality to the conversation that it didn't have before. The time with her food gives Honey a chance to form an adequate response– well, a question.

“So, what are you worried about?” Honey asks. “I mean, he likes you, clearly. You like him. Take everything else out of the equation– what’s stopping you from being with him?”

Bea stares at Honey, chewing her fajitas until they’re mush and wiping her lips with the napkin before she replies. She’s sheepish and shy when she speaks, almost embarrassed. Honey has never seen Bea look embarrassed, in all seventeen years of knowing her.

“I am so afraid,” Bea breathes out, her eyebrows furrowed as if in disbelief. She presses her lips together, licks them, and shakes her head again. Slower, this time. More sad. “Of– losing him? And, no offense, but of being as sad and ruined as you were when you lost your first… love? Boyfriend? Whatever we call him nowadays?”

Honey snorts. “No offense taken.”

“I keep getting stuck on the idea that our relationship can only work here, and now. He has a whole life out there. He didn’t know that I existed two months ago– who’s to say that he’ll remember me two months after he leaves?” Bea shrugs, scoffing slightly at her own imagination before she speaks. “Maybe I’ll just be the girl he was hooking up with for a summer. A funny story for his friends and teammates– that he was sleeping with me, but Jack was too.”

“He wouldn’t talk about you like that,” Honey tells her, reaching a hand out to touch hers across the table. “And you know he wouldn’t forget you.”

“It’s not just that,” Bea mumbles. “You know how I get. I had a plan.” She blinks, eyes a little wet. “I’m not in Litchton to fall in love with some guy. I’m in Litchton for you. My relationships are a little treat along the way.”

Ah, yes. Bea’s plan– to spend her time in Litchton trying to teach Honey how to let herself have fun again. It’s why she joined Honey when she moved, and not just because Honey asked. Bea saw how upset she was over Thomas, how completely broken and shattered it left Honey (although Bea used the words “sad” and “ruined”), and vowed that the same thing would never happen again on her watch. She tried to lead by example, by living her life and getting dates and dragging Honey out and having fun, always giving her the option to join in but never pushing. The boys this summer were a twist of fate– for both of them.

“You know, Trevor’s really great,” Honey says softly. “He gets me. Your plan worked. You don't have to stay in town just for me.”

‘Home,’ he had said the other day. He had meant it. Honey thinks that Litchton, without Trevor, isn’t home anymore. Her house, without Trevor in her bed, isn’t home anymore.

“Quinn gets you,” she continues. “I believe it, that he loves you. I think you could love him back. Things can change, you know– I want you to be happy.” Honey feels her throat start to close up with the threat of tears. “I don’t want you to miss out on him because you’re still determined to help me.”

Bea nods. She’s biting her lip to stop it from shaking– and failing.

“I really think you should let him love you,” Honey says. “You can’t keep ignoring him. At least talk to him– you don’t have to stop what you’re doing now, but maybe you could keep in touch with him when he leaves.”

Bea winces. “I can’t,” she mumbles. “I bawled in House of Pizza about it. The waiter had to ask Cece if I was okay. You should see the way he lights up when he talks about Vancouver. He loves it so much but I just can’t move there, not now. I can’t uproot my life for a guy. But– knowing that he’s so far away… and not being able to be with him… I’ll fall apart either way, but especially if I hear his voice through the phone. I think talking to him when he's not here would just make me miss him more. It’s cruel. That I got a taste of him and he’s going to be my One That Got Away.”

“I can’t do anything to change your mind?” Honey asks, feeling helpless. Her face has certainly crumbled, ugly lines marring it as she feels for her friend.

Bea blinks a tear away and purses her lips, shaking her head. “I know myself,” she says resolutely. “It just wouldn’t work. And then he’d be the one that I…” A breath. “Well, I'd just rather be here and have you with me, to help put me back together when it ends.” She takes another breath, sharper this time. She straightens up and pushes her hair back, wiping under her eyes. “Fuck, so serious,” Bea says, changing the subject abruptly, signaling that she's done with this topic. “I hate it when tequila makes me emotional.”

Honey isn’t happy with where the conversation has ended, but she understands what Bea’s saying. Losing Quinn would be a heartbreak she can’t bounce back from, but letting Quinn go? That Bea can live with.

Honey suddenly realizes that she and Trevor have a lot to talk about over the next few weeks. No– she doesn’t want to have this conversation with Trevor and realize that he’s someone who is rapidly slipping through her fingertips, even though she has him now. She likes him and she wants to keep liking him. She doesn’t want to think about what will happen when he leaves every single time they’re together, not the way that it seems Bea is doing whenever she’s near Quinn.

Honey will have to make the most of it. Trevor’s departure– well, she’ll just have to see where the wind takes her. She’s got over a month left with him. She’s going to make the most of it.

53:90 – TREVOR

“No, dude, there’s no fucking way we miss out on the playoffs this year,” Cole argues, waving his fork at Jack menacingly. “I don’t care if there are two Hughes brothers on the Devils. Habs are going all the way to the Cup this year.”

“You fucking wish,” Luke chirps. “Montréal hasn’t won the Cup since ‘93, bro. We won the Cup more recently than you and we’re a better team. Ask anyone.”

“Ask anyone?” Cole demands, scoffing. “Let’s talk legacy, bro. The Devs are nothing.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jack says through a bite of his steak. “The Habs were bottom-five last year, dude. Arizona was better than you, and they don’t even exist anymore. The only one here who’s worse than you is Trevor.”

“Hey, we’re in our rebuild,” Trevor argues. “And we’ve been trading our good players, too.”

“You’re just still upset that your boyfriend isn’t on the team anymore,” Jack laughs. “At least you have Turcs nearby. Can’t believe he’d rather hang out with his girlfriend in LA this summer than with us–”

They all jolt as the front door swings open upstairs. The boys look around at each other. Even Quinn, who had been stabbing at the steak and salad on his plate silently while the boys bickered, snaps his head up to meet their eyes. Cole points to each of the boys, counting them off silently. They’re all here, so Trevor’s alarmed– who could possibly be at the door. 

He grabs his steak knife, gripping the handle of the utensil like he’s ready to use it in self defense. The boys listen as footsteps travel across the floor above them. They near the basement door and that, too, swings open. 

Cole, probably with the best self-preservation instincts (or a “flight” response compared to Trevor’s “grab-a-knife-and-fight” response), scrambles out of his chair and books it toward the glass sliding door. He doesn’t seem to remember that the glass door is the only door that they keep locked when they’re all home, so he tugs at the handle fruitlessly as the footsteps grow nearer. At the last second, he crouches for cover behind the pool table.

The other boys are not so concerned. Yes, Quinn’s got a light hand on his fork, equally ready to use that as a weapon, and Luke has his phone in his hand like he’s ready to call someone. Jack, however, just squints at the base of the stairs and continues to chew his food, even lifting another bite to his mouth. 

The improvised weaponry and Luke’s phone are deemed unnecessary as the intruders descend into the basement. It’s just Honey and Bea. 

“Oh,” Luke says, blinking in surprise and putting his phone away.

“‘Sup?” Jack asks, then lowers his eyes back to his plate and chooses another piece of steak to bring to his mouth. Even worse, he stabs a few pieces of lettuce from his salad, smothered in ranch, and pops those in his mouth before he’s done chewing the meat. 

Trevor curls his lip in disgust. He’s all for scarfing a meal down– but ranch and steak? No thanks.

“Hi, boys,” Bea greets calmly. “Good dinner?”

Jack nods, humming. He’s still chewing. “Yummy,” he mumbles. “Q outdid himself.”

Quinn returns to his food as well, shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly like he can brush the compliment away. He pushes the salad around his plate, avoiding Bea’s eyes.

“Well, he’s the best cook in the house,” Bea replies. “Without him, you guys would be lost.”

Trevor frowns in confusion. This is new. It’s the first time that she’s acknowledged Quinn since Sunday– since Trevor told her to take a break. 

Quinn seems to realize the same thing, setting his fork down and blinking up at the girls.

Honey is trying to hold back a smile, her arms crossed over her chest. She hovers slightly behind Bea, who is wringing her hands and chewing on her bottom lip. She swallows, clearing her throat. She makes eye contact with Quinn briefly, then looks down.

“Um– can we talk?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. She presses her lips together like Quinn would ever say ‘no’ to her, nervous for his reply.

Trevor thinks Quinn isn’t quite sure what to say, since his answer is just a stilted nod and a disbelieving exhale of laughter, sparking a slight smile. He nods, clearing his own throat and moving his plate away. He sets it on the coffee table, wiping his hands on his shorts before he gets up. 

Bea is beaming to herself. Trevor watches her throw a glance at Honey, who tilts her head forward and sets her fist under her nose, covering her grin. She nods.

So it was Honey that solved this thing– Trevor can’t help but swell with pride for his girl. He might have gotten them into this, but she got them out of it. She’s the one erasing this completely unnecessary break between Bea and Quinn. She’s saving his butt, but she’s obviously helping Bea because she loves the girl and she wants her to be happy. 

Quinn takes a few steps towards Bea, then stops and turns back. He approaches the mantle below the television, plucking a small item that Trevor hadn’t noticed from the surface. He turns it over in his hands, then walks over and holds it out to Bea. It’s the birthday present he bought her, the one he wrapped so carefully and hadn’t given to Bea at her birthday lunch. 

“For your birthday,” Quinn says awkwardly, pushing the gift into her hands. “I left it down here in case you’d find it.”

Bea’s expression softens. “You got me a present?” She asks, letting her hand linger over his skin when she takes the box. “You didn’t have to.”

Quinn shrugs. “Wanted to.”

Jack snorts out something that sounds like “simp,” but he chokes down the last few bites of his food like he said nothing at all. Quinn tosses him a glare as he sits back in his chair and brushes his hands together, ridding them of any lingering crumbs. Jack smiles at Quinn, tight-lipped and kind instead of shit-eating like his jokes normally are, and Quinn lets it go.

Bea unwraps the present carefully, trying not to rip the paper, which makes Honey giggle behind her. She moves around Bea, drawing Trevor’s eyes. 

Honey comes to sit in Cole’s abandoned seat, the boy having finally risen from behind the pool table when Honey and Bea revealed themselves, but he still lingers there. He’s grabbed a cue– Trevor thinks he’s trying to cover for his fear by pretending he was playing pool all along. It doesn’t work, but maybe because Trevor saw the whole thing happen.

Luckily, his empty seat is next to Trevor, and Honey plops right down. She’s still watching Bea, but her index finger finds Trevor’s thigh and traces the seam of his pants briefly before pulling away.

A gasp comes from Bea, stealing Trevor’s gaze again. She blinks, touching the item inside the box reverently. Her bottom lip pokes out, head tilting to the side as she looks up at Quinn. Her hand comes up to her mouth, covering her pout. “Quinn,” she manages before her face folds with tears.

“Oh, baby,” Quinn sighs, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her torso, holding her close. 

Bea’s arms go around his shoulders, her face buried into his neck while she sobs. She’s spewing some incoherent whines into Quinn’s skin. Trevor understands one of her sniffled sentences: a repeated, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” It’s hard to watch, to be honest. Bea looks tiny in Quinn’s arms. He rubs her back, soothing her with murmured words and cooed shushes. He brings his hands lower and lifts her, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. 

As he walks toward the basement stairs, Bea clinging to him like an octopus, he sends a glare towards the dinner table that offers a clear message. Don’t ever bring this up again.

On the couch, hidden in plain sight, Honey presses her thigh against Trevor’s and crosses her arms over her chest again. With the hand that’s hidden behind her bicep, she nudges him with her knuckle. It’s subtle.

Trevor sees a smile on her face when he turns to look, knowing that it’s directed completely at him, even as she stares at the stairs that Bea and Quinn ascended. 

“What was that?” Luke asks Honey, placing his napkin on his empty plate and sitting back on the loveseat.

She shrugs with a shoulder. “They’re back together.” Honey looks over to Jack and grins, not sounding as sorry as she says. “I’m sorry that she won’t be fucking you tonight.”

“I don’t care,” Jack says, waving her away. “This is Bea and Quinn we’re talking about. That’s kind of a big deal.”

Honey’s surprised laugh has Trevor grinning, up until Jack winks at her.

With his wink, he adds, “Plus, Quinn told me that he said something pretty serious to Bea and she’d need time to digest it. I figure she told you?”

Honey nods, sealing her mouth shut with an imaginary key. She tosses it over her shoulder.

Jack nods too, sharing a secret smile with the girl that Trevor doesn’t like one bit. “We’ll talk about it later.” He stands, collects the empty plates on the table. “Coley, are you done?” He asks, turning around and facing the boy. 

Cole has racked a set of balls for a game. He nods at Jack. “Yeah, I’ll just eat a late-night snack. Who wants to play?”

Honey lights up. “Me!” She springs up from her spot next to Trevor and bounds over to the pool table, snatching a cue from the rack and assuming her place at the head of the table.

“Who said you were breaking?” Cole protests, shoving her out of the way with his hip. 

Honey’s head falls back, her laughter bright. 

She and Trevor don’t talk much, but she hangs out with them until the sun has long since gone down and the stars are twinkling in the sky. 

At the end of their evening, Trevor meets Honey at the front of the house and kisses her goodbye. She promises to see him tomorrow and presses a pair of cheap earplugs into his palm with a murmured “in case you can’t sleep over the noise coming from the honeymoon suite,” snickering at her own cleverness before offering him another kiss and heading home.

Every time he watches her go, his heart feels like it’s bursting, waiting for the next time he’ll see her again.

54:90 – HONEY

Apparently, Luke went walking in the woods today instead of doing his laundry shift and discovered an old basketball hoop in a clearing, so the boys forgave him for his transgression and now they’re playing ball. 

Honey and Bea have been sitting at courtside since they left work that evening. Bea hadn’t made it to the Nook in time to open the store– she owes Honey a few mornings off now– and she hadn’t even wanted to go home to glam up. She was too eager to see Quinn again– her boyfriend, officially. 

Honey isn’t sure if she would’ve gone as far as to make Quinn her boyfriend, if she was in Bea’s shoes, considering Bea is certain that their relationship won’t last outside of the summer anyway. 

Still, the label seems to give Bea a new twinkle in her eye. She rarely lets Quinn out of her sight and he’s no better. If she’s within an arm’s reach, his hands are on her body, claiming her as his own. Honey would be annoyed, but their joy is infectious. Honey is so drunk on the joy that she almost forgot that she and Trevor are a secret, because she nearly tilted her chin up for a kiss when he came over to greet the girls. 

Honey thinks that the news has been broken to Jack, Cole, and Luke that Bea is officially off-limits. She’s almost certain that Jack decided to rib Quinn by pouting and asking if he could just have a night to say goodbye, given the red Indian burn above his wrist– then, Honey briefly wondered if kids have changed the name of an Indian burn since she was on the playground as a child. It has to be an offensive term, but she can’t imagine what else to call it. 

She’s actually supposed to get all the information tonight from Jack. When she gave Quinn her phone number after crying in his car, Honey wasn’t expecting the other boys to hijack his phone and steal her information. Yet, this morning, she received a text from an unknown number that read, Need to discuss the big ILY w you. 2nite? and then, Btw this is J$$$!!!

J-Money, he said. No one has ever called Jack ‘J-Money,’ but he said it with the confidence of a man who has been called J-Money for his whole life. Honey had to look up his area code to make sure it was really Jack, but she should have known just by the way he typed. It was typical Jack.

The basketball game seems to be dying down– the boys are panting and starting to dish out lazy fouls. When Cole gets backhanded in the face by Luke, he declares that the game is officially over and he quits. The Hughes boys, dressed in Alvin and the Chipmunks colors in what they swear is a recreation of an old photo, join Honey and Bea at courtside while Trevor and Cole gather the basketball and the water bottles strewn on the ground haphazardly. 

“Good game, Q,” Bea says with a fond smile. When he sits on the ground beside her, she climbs onto his lap and makes herself comfortable. She pecks his lips before returning to the group, giggling at the side-eye Jack and Luke share.

“H, wanna go chat?” Jack asks, extending a hand to her. 

“Pulling her for a chat?” Bea interjects, referencing her favorite show– the one they’ve been watching because Cole is just as obsessed as she is.

Jack eyes Bea again. “Going to talk shit about you, bud.”

Bea laughs.

Honey takes Jack’s hand and he pulls her to a standing position. Honey wipes over her backside, clearing it of dirt, twigs, leaves, or whatever else she might have been sitting in. “Yeah, J, let’s go.” To the others, she asks, “Do you guys want to start a fire when you get back to the house? We’ll join you when we’re done talking about Bea.”

“You’re really going to talk about her, huh?” Quinn asks, a laugh tinging his words. 

“Not just her,” Honey promises with a little wink. 

Jack laughs, then he loops his arm with Honey’s and starts to head back towards the house. She marches along with him, pretending like they’re wooden nutcrackers in a Christmas movie. It was Jack’s idea and it made her laugh, so she played along.

They make it back to the house, only getting a little bit lost in the maze of identical trees. Luckily, Honey has always had a good sense of direction when it comes to the woods, and she finds the path out of the greenery after only a minute or two. 

Jack takes her up to his room, which she’s never been inside other than the peek she stole during Cole’s initial tour of the house. His bed is just as big as Trevor’s and he’s got a wicker rocking chair in the corner, which Trevor doesn’t have.

She moves to occupy the chair, but Jack pushes her toward the bed. “It’s not comfortable,” Jack says. “You’ve been sitting on the ground all night, bro.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Honey says, shrugging. “Really, I don’t mind.”

Jack narrows his eyes at her. “I do. Plus, you’re giving me all the dirt. That means you get the good seat. What happened on Bea’s side?”

“Tell me Quinn’s side first,” Honey replies, crinkling her nose.

“I asked you first,” Jack argues. 

“Well, I’m prettier than you, so you have to do what I say,” Honey says snidely, trying to hide the smile that creeps onto her face every time she jokes with the boys and they, gullibly, take her seriously.

Jack’s mouth drops open and he scoffs. “Are not!”

“Am too!”

“Are not!”

“Am too!”

Jack switches tactics. “Tell me about Bea,” he whines, elongating the girl’s name. “I wanna know what happened.”

“I don’t know what they talked about last night,” Honey laughs. “She didn’t tell me. I was hoping Quinn told you.”

“He didn’t tell me either,” Jack says, frowning. He snaps his fingers. “Darn. Just when I thought he and I were getting somewhere.”

“So we have nothing to talk about?” Honey demands.

“No.” Jack shakes his finger. “He told me that he said he loves her. That’s it, though. You know more, don’t you?”

“I do,” Honey tells him.

Jack brightens. He clasps his hands together and rubs them excitedly. “What did she say?”

Honey laughs, curt and short. “That she couldn’t deal with that right now.”

Jack makes a face. “What?”

“I mean, they were on a break, Jack. She was upset, too, and then he follows after her and tells her that he loves her? Of course she didn’t know what to say,” Honey says.

“Ugh, how frustrating,” Jack sighs. “I thought she’d be down for that.”

“It’s not that she’s not down for that,” Honey says. “Obviously, since they’re boyfriend-girlfriend now. But, like– can you keep a secret?”

“No.” Jack shakes his head, his answer resolute. “Never been able to do that.”

Honey rolls her eyes, her expression flat and annoyed when she looks at him. 

Jack breaks into laughter. “Not from my brothers, dude. From Trevor? Sure, I can keep a secret. From Cole? That’s easy. But not Quinn and Luke.”

“Yes, because Quinn doesn’t already know what happened,” Honey replies sarcastically. 

“Hardy har,” Jack fake-laughs at her. He reverts to a normal tone of voice. “Seriously, though, if Luke asks me, I won’t keep a secret from him.”

“Then I won’t tell you,” Honey says, dangling the information above Jack’s head. She crosses her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows. She stubbornly keeps her mouth shut, waiting for him to make his decision.

Her phone rings.

Now, it’s Jack’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Are you going to answer that?” He asks after the fifth ring. 

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Jack shrugs. “Okay.”

The rings cease and they continue to stare at each other, waiting for the other person to break. Wow, she thinks, he really doesn’t want to keep a secret from his little brother. I wonder what that’s like.

She never had siblings, so she’ll never know– except that she doesn’t like to keep secrets from Bea, who is basically a sister.

Her phone rings again. The first time, it could’ve been anyone. The second time, however, Honey knows who’s on the other end. She never receives calls from different people back-to-back like this, which rules out any spam calls or appointment confirmations. Plus, it’s night now, so fraudulent messages and legitimate calls from businesses are out of the question. It’s obvious. The person on the phone is Trevor.

Jack grins, looking more devilish. “Are you going to answer that now?” He repeats, smug. “Someone’s popular.”

Honey flushes red. “Shut up,” she hisses, fishing her phone out of her pocket. Sure enough, Trevor’s code name (the wolf emoji– he chose it himself and she was just so glad to be rid of his real name that she didn’t ask questions) flashes across her screen. She taps the green button to accept his call and brings the phone to her ear. “Yes?” She snaps.

“Where are you?” Trevor drawls. “Saw you leave with Jack. What are you doing?”

“I’m busy,” Honey tells him. “I’ll see you later.” She hangs up.

Jack snickers. “Hot date tonight?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Honey shoots back.

“There are a lot of things I’d like to know. One: Bea’s secret. Two: who you’re seeing tonight. Three: if water is really wet, because, well, do you remember that trend from a few years ago when people said water wasn’t wet? It really fucked with my head and now–”

“You’re probably the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” Honey interrupts.

Jack wears the insult like a badge of honor. “Thanks! Tell me Bea’s secret. I will try not to tell Luke.”

Honey glares at him.

Jack holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s the best I can do for you.”

Honey relents. “Fine. She’s never been in a big relationship before, just a bunch of little ones. She likes to date people and hook up with them, but she doesn’t really like to commit to people. She likes to use the word “ex-boyfriend,” like, a lot, but none of them actually qualified as boyfriends when she was going out with them.”

Jack hums, furrowing his brow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Honey confirms. She considers telling Jack the whole story– how Bea wasn’t interested in being in a lengthy relationship while they were in school, how Thomas fucked her over at the end of their time together, how Bea was there for her through it all and how it affected her own views on relationships. While Honey was hurt because such a thing happened to her, Bea was paranoid that something similar would happen to her if she wasn’t careful. After a minute, she decides not to. There’s no reason to bring Thomas up where he’s not relevant. 

“So, Quinn is Bea’s first real boyfriend?” Jack asks.

Honey nods.

“Quinn says that she doesn’t want to stay together after the summer ends, though. I thought it was because we were all hooking up with her.” Jack shakes his head, still looking confused. “But now they’re together, so they’re… staying together?”

“Um…” Honey trails off. She takes a breath, groaning a little bit as she tries to explain herself. “I don’t know what they said to each other last night–”

“Not much, judging by the noises that kept me up,” Jack interrupts.

“–but Bea said that she’d miss him too much when he leaves, so for her own sanity, they’ll probably still end it,” Honey finishes.

Jack snorts. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” Honey says.

“Why would they get together for, like, a month, just to break up?” Jack continues. “Quinn’s done long distance before, I’m sure he’d be happy doing long distance with Bea. I mean, it would be better if it wasn’t long distance, but I feel like long distance is better than nothing.”

“Bro, you’re telling me,” Honey laughs. “I said pretty much the same thing.”

“I don’t understand them,” Jack adds, his rant resuming. “Also, why are you– Quinn, I mean– telling a girl you love her after knowing her for two months? Less than that. He got here late.”

“Time passes differently in the mountains,” Honey explains with a shrug.

“Does it?” Jack questions, punctuating his sentence with a grimace. “I mean, yeah, it seems like we’ve been here for ages. Still, check the calendar– it’s only been two months. Quinn telling Bea that he loves her is like… love-bombing.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Honey asks with another laugh.

“Yes, I know what love-bombing is,” Jack snaps defensively. “I have been accused in the past!”

Honey laughs aloud, throwing her head back. “Of course you have,” she cries out, a little too loud for the quiet bedroom. 

“I was a teenager,” Jack explains himself desperately, clearly upset that Honey is laughing at him. 

“I just think it’s funny that you know what love-bombing is because you’ve done it,” Honey continues, still giggling to herself.

A knock at the door interrupts them. Jack stands to go answer, opening the door to reveal the boy that Honey just hung up on barely five minutes prior.

Trevor’s face turns cloudy when he sees Honey over Jack’s shoulder, sitting comfortably on the boy’s bed. “Fire’s ready,” he says, words clipped.

Jack doesn’t notice. “Okay,” he says, grinning. He turns to Honey, nodding at her. “Ready?”

“Yeah, sure,” Honey agrees. She has very little else to say to Jack, although she had fun chatting with him and gossiping. It’s funny– at their core, each of these boys eat up the drama just as much as a girl would. They claim that they don’t care, but they really, really do. Not only do they care, but they crave the information. 

She hops up from Jack’s bed, walking towards the door. She touches his bicep and squeezes, just to tell him that she enjoyed herself without saying anything at all, then brushes by him. She smiles at Trevor briefly, while her back is to Jack so he can’t see it, but he doesn’t return it. 

Jack follows behind her, then Trevor. They go all the way outside, where the fire is crackling a few hundred feet from the house. The boys have pulled chairs from the porch and brought them around the fire pit, leaving extras for Honey and Trevor. Quinn and Bea are bundled in a blanket, Bea’s head lying back on Quinn’s shoulder. She looks up at him, yawning every so often. Luke has a blanket too– he wears it like a hoodie. 

Cole is tending the fire, tossing leaves onto the stack of wood and lifting his eyes to watch the particles burn while they dance on the wind. Upon hearing Honey, Jack, and Trevor, though, he bounces up. “Don’t take my seat!” He warns unnecessarily, nearing his chair way before any of them get close. Jack tries to tug him out of the seat anyway.

Honey takes the empty chair next to Bea and Quinn. 

Bea turns her head and lazily blinks at the girl. “What do you think about a lake day tomorrow?” She asks, her words running together as a result of her exhaustion. It’s been a long day. 

Honey smiles at the girl, a private smile just for her. “Are you sure you can make it? You look sleepy, babe.”

“‘M just comfy,” Bea denies. Her face looks a little puffy from how tired she is. Honey reaches over and thumbs over her cheek. Bea scrunches her face, disrupting Honey’s movements. “Q will wake me up for lake day if I sleep in too much, anyway.”

“You’re staying over?” Honey asks. Her tone isn’t judgmental, just curious. 

Bea nods, humming a confirmation. Quinn reaches out from under the blanket and tucks her hair behind her ear, out of her face. She blows him a kiss in thanks. 

“Do you want to sleep over, too?” Quinn asks. “We’ve got the extra room. With the bunk beds. Well, Luke moved in this morning, but you could sleep on the top bunk with him and tell scary stories like it’s summer camp.”

“No scary stories,” Luke grumbles. “I’m too tired for that. I need to sleep tonight.”

“Aw, what kept you up?” Quinn teases, smirking to himself at the joke. 

Luke doesn’t laugh. Instead, he ignores Quinn after throwing him a mean glare, turning to Trevor on his right and starting a conversation.

They split into groups unintentionally– Luke and Trevor, Jack and Cole, and Bea and Honey (with a side of Quinn, although he doesn’t jump in often). 

The night turns colder and the cicadas raise their voices, chirping in the trees and adding a backtrack to the mix of voices in the backyard. There are fireflies floating around. One of them lands on Cole’s shoulder, which initially startles him so much that it flies away, even as he begs for his “new friend” to come back. 

Honey and Bea’s conversation dies out eventually. Bea turns to her boyfriend, pouting her lips for a kiss and never letting him part from her for too long. Quinn peppers her face, planting extra kisses on her lips. Everyone ignores them, but they’re all aware of what’s happening.

Honey stares across the circle, letting her gaze fall out-of-focus. She’s tired– Bea and Luke aren’t the only ones who are yawning. She twists a strand of hair around her finger absentmindedly, feeling the way the individual pieces move and bend with her movements. 

She forgets that that’s their secret code, her and Trevor. She remembers when she feels eyes on her, finding Trevor. He looks at her, then to her hair, then he looks away. 

Honey doesn’t want to fuck tonight, so she stops her movement and picks at a hangnail next to her index finger instead. She’s feeling sluggish, and quite frankly, she just wants to go home. She’d better get on the way before she starts to worry about falling asleep at the wheel. It won’t happen, but Honey would rather be safe than sorry.

She bundles herself in her own blanket, standing from her chair. Through a yawn, she says, “I’m gonna head home, guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A litany of goodbyes follow her, but for the first time since they started hooking up, Trevor does not.

Honey doesn’t realize until she gets all the way home and all the way comfortable in her bed. She’s just about to fall asleep when it dawns on her that she didn’t get a goodnight kiss. He didn’t even react when she accidentally used their sex-code, just looked away. Honey stares at the dark ceiling, blinking to herself. 

Her final act before falling asleep is sending Trevor an ‘xoxo’ message, just so he knows that she’s thinking about him. He’s probably not awake, but it soothes Honey enough that she can drift off and start to dream.

55:90 – TREVOR

A truck horn sounds outside, breaking Trevor’s concentration. He had been staring at the potatoes in his breakfast bowl, trying to count the pepper flakes that season it. He’s rapidly running out of things to do in Litchton– it’s always been a problem, but he’s tired of scrolling aimlessly on his phone and waiting for TikToks to load. He hasn’t been to the Nook in a week or two, which means he hasn’t had anything to read. Quite frankly, he’s not like Quinn; he doesn’t want to dust off the books in the living room and crack them open. Books in vacation homes are just decorative. 

Jack comes bouncing down the stairs, completely bypassing the kitchen and heading for the front door. Luke isn’t far behind him, although he comes up from the basement carrying the inflatable raft that the two brothers had bought a few weeks prior. The door slams twice behind them, then once more as Cole makes his way outside. Trevor catches a snippet of a creaky old engine running while the door is open.

No one told him they were doing something today. He’ll just sit right here and eat his breakfast bowl until they invite him personally.

He scoops up a spoonful of eggs, cheese, potatoes, and leftover steak from the other night. Upon eating it, he realizes that there’s not enough hot sauce in that bite. He picks up the Texas Pete sauce and douses his bowl, using his spoon to mix everything together and make sure it’s all coated. He hopes it wasn’t too much. His tolerance for hot stuff is moderately high, but too much sauce can ruin his breakfast. He’d hate to have to make it again.

“Trev, c’mon, let’s go,” Bea calls as she bounces down the stairs in twos, just like Jack did. 

It’s hardly an invitation. 

Quinn goes down the stairs behind her, glancing at Trevor where he sits at the counter. His eyes pass over Trevor, then return to the girl in front of him. They leave the house with the door cracked open behind them.

Trevor allows the cool AC of the house to escape, making no move to get up from his seat. “What happened to ‘Trevor, we’re going out, would you like to come?’” Trevor mocks in a high voice, just to himself. He continues grumbling under his breath as he pokes at the contents of his breakfast.

“No, I said I’ll get him!” comes Quinn’s voice after a minute, becoming more clear as he comes back into the house. He walks into the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. “We’re going to the lake, come on.”

Trevor takes another bite of his bowl. He doesn’t move from his seat.

Quinn sets his jaw. “Are you coming with us or not?”

Trevor shrugs. “Don’t know. Wasn’t invited.”

“This is an invitation,” Quinn snarls. “So are you coming or not?”

“I’d like to finish my breakfast,” Trevor says. “Can it wait?”

“You can take your breakfast in the truck,” Quinn says through his teeth. “I don’t think Earl will mind, especially if you’re sitting in the bed with the rest of us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to make a mess in Earl’s truck.”

“If you do, I’ll wash it.” 

Trevor’s enjoying this a little bit– Quinn is trying so hard to keep his composure that his nostrils are flaring and his eyes are flashing. Trevor kind of wants to see how much it takes before he snaps.

“We don’t have a hose,” Trevor points out. 

Quinn takes a breath. “Then I will buy one.”

“Do you even know where the spigot is?”

It apparently doesn’t take long to find Quinn’s last straw. His patience dissipates when Trevor insults his intelligence.

He walks away. The door slams behind him and Trevor giggles through another bite of his breakfast.

A car door slams shut, then the front door. Good, Trevor thinks. Here comes Bea. I’ll get to chew out both of them. He smiles to himself.

It’s not Bea. He’s not so lucky. It’s his girlfriend, not Quinn’s, and by the looks of her, she’s pissed off. 

She nears him and approaches the counter, reaching out and snatching his bowl and dumping the rest of it in the trash can. She practically throws the bowl into the sink, the ceramic clattering louder than he’s ever heard it before.

Honey takes a deep breath, eyes steely as she stares at him. Her hands are planted on the counter, bracketing the sink. She squints, then licks over her teeth, debating how best to deal with this– the scene that Trevor is causing.

“So what, you think I slept with Jack?” Honey snaps. “Because I went upstairs and gossiped with him about Bea and Quinn? Because I sat on his bed, on top of the covers, completely clothed? And that’s why you’re sitting here, pouting.”

“I don’t think you slept with Jack,” Trevor grumbles. 

“Good, because that’s deranged,” Honey continues. “I’m not sleeping with Jack. I’m sleeping with you. Well, actually, I won’t be sleeping with you for about a week because you’re being a dick. Get in the car. We’re going to the lake. Or don’t! I don’t give a fuck. I’m driving away from this house in one minute and you can either come with us, or you can sulk all day.” She folds her arms over her chest and stares at him for a few seconds, then turns on her heel and stomps away.

He was so busy going speechless over her little tirade that he didn’t notice that she’s wearing a hot pink bikini top and her daisy dukes. It contrasts her skin nicely and the string in the back leaves little to the imagination. 

Yes, Trevor was upset the night before. Yes, he was jealous that Honey went upstairs with Jack and laughed and squealed with him in a way that she’s never done with Trevor. She also completely brushed him off on the phone, saying she was busy and that she’d see him later. She hung up on him. He’s supposed to be angry.

But, then again, he doesn’t want to be in a fight with Honey. It was complete torture to ignore her ‘xoxo’ text message last night, especially since she doesn’t give out affection that often. At least, not where it can be traced back to her. Not when there’s a paper trail and text messages are part of a paper trail– so Trevor really should’ve taken a screenshot of the rare, sweet message from Honey and printed the picture out to put in his wallet.

His minute is almost up. In the interest of making up with Honey, and in the interest of seeing her in her little, hot pink swimsuit, Trevor goes. Honey is literally shifting the car into drive by the time he makes it outside, leaving the front door unlocked because he didn’t have time to grab a key. The car is rolling forward when he manages to hop onto the tailgate, joining the group in the nick of time.

“Nice of you to join us, buddy,” Cole say, clapping Trevor on the back. “No swimsuit?”

“I didn’t know we were going to the lake until five minutes ago,” Trevor says. 

“Yuh-huh,” Cole insists. “We talked about it last night. You were there. Glowering.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Trevor says, partially because he’s not sure what it means. It sounds a little bit like ‘glaring,’ though, so he thinks he’s got the gist of it.

“I do too know it it means,” Cole says. “I asked Bea after she said you weren’t listening because you were too busy glowering. It’s my word of the day.”

“Whatever,” Trevor says, brushing him off and looking over the edge of the bed of the truck. He watches the trees pass and the curve of the road, how the edge of the pavement crumbles off sharply after years of wear and tear. 

The rural roads probably haven’t been paved in, what, fifteen years? He’d ask Honey, but she wouldn’t know. Maybe he’ll ask Earl when he sees him in town next. The old man certainly has a gripe about the roads being closed for roadwork– he probably remembers the exact date and how long he sat in traffic in this old truck, cursing at the workers. 

They arrive at the lake shortly, piling out of the bed. Honey’s parking job is slightly crooked, but Trevor doesn’t say anything. No one does, considering how hard she slammed the door to the cab of the truck.

She helps Luke carry the tube down to the docks while Bea and Quinn rent a boat. Jack and Cole ask about renting a wakeboard, since they forgot theirs at the house. Trevor trudges after Luke and Honey, his shirt already starting to stick to his back from the heat. 

It takes a few minutes, but the other members of the group join them. One of the workers, a teenage boy that reminds Trevor of Quinn the summer before he started at UMich, drives the boat up to the dock and hands the keys off to Quinn. They pile onto the boat and Quinn starts to drive off. Jack ties the raft to a handle on the back of the boat, then the tow-rope to the awning above the console. 

Everyone else kind of does their own thing. 

Trevor drives the boat because he’s still a little pouty from earlier. 

Honey sheds her daisy dukes and lays out at the front of the boat with Bea, tanning her back. Trevor has a nice view of her butt and how her swimsuit doesn’t offer as much coverage as it should, given Quinn is right there. It’s cheeky and Trevor wants to swat at her skin just to watch it bounce– he’s sure that any of the other boys would be thinking the same thing. 

On the bright side, Quinn’s got a hand on Bea’s upper thigh. He seems preoccupied, trying to keep his hand in that exact spot until there’s a pale imprint on Bea’s skin. He wants her tan to be uneven, but only in the shape of his hand.

Jack is the real culprit– if anyone was going to look at Honey, it would be him. He’s actually getting ready to toss the raft out behind the boat, so he doesn’t pay any mind to Honey. Cole is with him, donning a life jacket, and Luke is reclining somewhere behind Trevor, soaking in the sun just like the girls.

Trevor slows to a stop and Cole jumps off the back of the boat to swim towards the raft. “Don’t hold back, Z!” He calls as he swims, catching one of the handles of the raft and dragging himself onto the floating device. Once he’s got a good hold on the raft, he tells Trevor to go, and Trevor takes off.

Cole falls off within minutes. Trevor launches him off the raft, but Cole comes up laughing. He tries to outlast his previous round each time he gets on the tube. 

They waste over an hour on the tube, switching riders when the current person’s hands get too tired from gripping the handles and trying to stay float. Trevor drives the whole time because, well… he didn’t have time to put on a swimsuit. He’s just got his joggers and his t-shirt, as well as the underwear beneath his joggers. He’s fine with staying clothed all day.

Then, Jack tells Bea and Quinn that they have to do a pairs-run on the tube. They don’t last for more than a minute, maybe, not with Trevor swinging them around and forcing the tube to jump over the wake like a skateboarder in a half pipe. Bea shrieks and falls off the tube first, Quinn following after her to act as her own personal buoy.

Trevor knows that he can’t escape for long. The second Bea climbs back onto the boat, she turns to him. “Trev, you haven’t gone in the water today. C’mon. Switch with Quinn.”

“Honey hasn’t gone in the water either,” Quinn points out.

Honey’s jaw drops and she stares at Quinn, completely aghast. “I didn’t know it was a requirement to get in the water.”

“It’s not fun unless you do,” Quinn replies. “Let’s go. I’ll drive. You guys can do a pair and you’ll get it over with.”

Honey grumbles about it, but Trevor has to admit that he’s right. Lake days aren’t truly fun unless you’re able to swim around. 

“Sure, let’s do it,” Trevor agrees, waiting for Quinn to get a hand on the steering wheel before he stands from his Captain’s Chair and sheds his shirt. He looks at Bea when he asks his next question, because he knows this doesn’t matter to the other guys and it’s not like Honey’s never seen him in his underwear. “Do you mind if I wear my briefs?”

Bea sputters out a laugh, blowing a raspberry to wave him off. “I don’t care. As long as you’re not buck-naked, I’m fine. Honey? Do you mind if Trevor wears his briefs? You’re the one who’ll be on the tube with him.”

She covers for them well, making sure that the other girl on the boat gets to voice her opinion. Again, Trevor, Bea, and Quinn all know that Honey wouldn’t care, but in order to save face, they ask anyway.

Honey shrugs. “I don’t care. Just don’t put your dick near me.”

“It’d be kind of funny if he was naked, though,” Cole says. “I’m not saying I want to see it, but it’s a funny image. Tubing with his bare ass out.”

Jack curls his lip. “Yeah, but then his dick would get all over the raft. We’d never be able to use it again.”

“Oh my God, I’m not stripping,” Trevor interrupts. “I’m wearing my underwear, dude.” To Cole, he adds: “Stop thinking about my bare ass!”

Cole gives him a shrug and a smirk. “Is it as smooth as a baby’s bottom, Z? Are you Katy Perry from Teenage Dream? What aesthetic are we going for?”

“I’m going to hit you in the nuts if you don’t shut up.”

“You’d love that.”

“That’s enough,” Honey says. “Stop talking about genitalia. Let’s get this over with. I want time to dry off.”

She dives off the back of the boat, entering the water much more gracefully than Trevor does. No, he gets pushed by Cole after removing his joggers. Does it count as a push if Cole was just trying to pants Trevor and force him to skinny dip, making Trevor fall off the boat while twisting away from his prying hands?

He swims towards the raft, where Honey is already treading water. She’s got a hand on the handle, ready to pull herself up. 

“Don’t look at my butt,” Trevor says.

Honey glares at him from the side of her eye. “I wasn’t going to look at your butt. Don’t look at mine.”

She pulls herself onto the raft and Trevor looks anyway. Then, he drags himself up and clenches his fingers around two of the handles. Honey takes the one next to his right hand, just inches away from touching him. Trevor misses her, even though she’s right there.

He takes his hand from the handle and loops his arm around Honey’s. 

She turns her head and glares at him again.

“So we don’t fall off,” Trevor supplies.

Honey rolls her eyes and faces forward again. She yells to the boat. “We’re ready!”

Quinn takes off, starting slow, then he speeds up rather abruptly. They’re being jostled by the waves, their knuckles white as they nearly start cramping from holding on so tight. 

Honey starts shrieking as they jump over the waves, the lake water blowing in their face. Her hair is whipping around in the wind, smacking Trevor in the face, but he’s smiling so hard that his eyes are crinkling. The sun hits him right in the eyes too, just like the water droplets and Honey’s hair, but it’s so fun. Their arms are linked and they hold on tight.

Eventually, Honey gets a faceful of water and she splutters, using Trevor’s skin to wipe her eyes. She buries her face into their intertwined arms, laughing briefly. 

Trevor wishes the other boys knew about them, so that he could kiss her face while they ride the waves– although it would probably be a bump of his chin against her forehead, one that results in a nasty bruise on her skin and a little blood in his mouth from biting his tongue. 

After a particularly nasty wave, Honey loses her grip and drags Trevor with her. 

They plunge into the water together, fully soaked when they resurface. Quinn drives along, a few hundred feet away before Bea bops him on the side of the head and points at the empty raft. He drives in a big circle, looping back. 

Trevor touches Honey’s arm as they tread water, their fingers brushing. She finds his hand again and squeezes his fingers under the water, out of sight. 

“Think you should go wakesurfing in a bit,” Honey suggests quietly, just for Trevor to hear. He knows that sound travels over water, so it makes sense that she’s speaking so quietly. “I’m mad at you for being so stubborn, but your thighs look really good in your undies, baby.”

She starts to swim toward the boat, which is finally close enough that they can return to it. 

Trevor grabs her ankle. “I told you not to look at my butt!” He exclaims.

“It’s so big, I just can’t help it!” Honey calls back, splashing him with a big kick. 

He goes under the water to fix his hair before he finds the boat again and joins the group again. He’s got a new attitude now, like the water was an actual rebirth.

56:90 – HONEY

When Bea and Honey were little, Bea’s oldest sister, Trixie, became obsessed with daily holidays. For Christmas when Bea and Honey were five, she received a calendar that detailed all the fun, quirky holidays that fall on any given day of the year. 

July 21st is National “Get Out of the Dog House” Day. When Bea and Honey were that young, they didn’t know what getting out of the dog house meant. They thought it meant that they had to get out of the dog’s house– and Bea’s father regularly referred to her childhood dog, Bronco, as the king of the house.

They insisted on sleeping in tents in the backyard that year. Ironically, Bronco came with them and spent the hot summer night outside, getting a bout of the zoomies that had Honey and Bea yelling and exiling him from the tent until he calmed down. It was so much fun that they’ve tried to recreate the night every year since. 

Bronco joined them every year until they were eleven, easily the worst year of all the ones they spent outside. It was very lonely without the massive, fat, entirely non-intimidating Rottweiler to protect them. The following year, they were joined by Bruno, the McLean’s new Rottweiler puppy, named aptly after Bruno Mars when he howled along to one of Mars’ songs on the drive home from the adoption center.

Their best July 21st, after the first, was when they were 16. Trixie had bought a bottle of Smirnoff for Bea for her birthday, but Bea was saving it for her night with Honey. They drank about half the bottle together before they both decided that they felt too nauseous to continue. They giggled and felt warm from the inside out, which really wasn’t necessary considering how hot it was in Charlotte in the middle of the summer. They talked about everything under the sun– reminiscing, talking about boys even though Honey had been in a relationship for months at that point, singing songs, doing dances, everything. Mr. McLean came out to the tent around 2 a.m. and told them they needed to be quiet. Bea threw up in the garden the following morning, trying to hide their sneaky drinking under the cover of leafy plants, and if Bea’s mom ever noticed the vomit, she never said anything.

Even since they’ve been in Litchton, they’ve spent National “Get Out of the Dog House” Day outside. They bought hammocks and strung them up in Honey’s backyard the first year, finding a few trees that were perfectly spaced out. It was one of the traditions that made it out of Charlotte when they left. 

Now, their night isn’t complete without a shared bottle of red wine and a charcuterie board, to start. They eat a bunch of terrible snacks as the night goes on and usually drink a warm mug of Bea’s sleepytime tea once the wind picks up and they decide that they need to bring their sleeping bags out, as well as the blankets they use like tortilla shells around a burrito.

This year, they have five new additions to the tradition.

Honey almost wishes that Bruno was here instead. He peed in the tent when he was a puppy, and that’s still more preferable than having five twenty-something year old boys in her backyard and in her house. The only blessing is that they can use the outdoors as their bathroom– so Honey won’t need to disinfect the seat each time she walks inside to use her toilet.

Six bottles of red wine sit on her counter, ready to be shared by seven people. Quinn came over early with Bea and commandeered Honey’s oven, searing steaks and plating salted ham for a homemade charcuterie board and baking chicken breasts that were to be shredded and thrown into her crockpot to make a soup for a late night snack instead of Bea’s sleepytime tea.

Honey doesn’t mind having a personal chef, which is what Quinn basically is, but she wishes they could just eat bag after bag of buttery microwave popcorn until their stomachs hurt. 

Honestly, her discomfort is probably rooted in sharing her home for the first time, well, ever. The only people that have come to her house are her parents– who lived there first– Bea, Ada, and Trevor. Sometimes Bea’s ex, Griffin, will come and mow Honey’s grass. That’s only really once a month, and he never comes inside, so it doesn’t count.

Her driveway is full– her car, Bea’s car, and Trevor’s car. Now, there are five boys in her backyard, hanging up their own hammocks in the trees, drinking wine from plastic cups because she’ll be damned if the boys use her good glassware in the outdoors. 

They’ve gone through two bottles already, just with the first round of drinks. Cole has a heavy hand and they chilled the bottles for 20 minutes before they left the rental house, which Honey thinks makes the alcohol easier to drink. 

It’s been probably thirty minutes since the boys got here. They’ve already taken a tour of her house– she doesn’t like that they went into her bedroom and Cole jumped on her bed– and they’ve started a fire in an old fire pit that hasn’t been used since her dad vacationed in the house. 

It’s such a caveman thing to do– I cook food. I build fire. I provide for woman.

Right in line with Honey’s thoughts, Quinn calls to the group from Honey’s back door. “Dinner’s ready!” He announces, returning to the kitchen.

Luke agrees to watch the fire while everyone gets food, saying that he’ll go last.

There are vegetables and dipping sauce like ranch and bleu cheese on the homemade board. There’s steak, salted ham, and all sorts of cheese. There are crackers and different kinds of bread. Even Trevor, who Honey has noticed avoiding Quinn for the past few days, compliments him on the presentation. 

“It wasn’t just me,” Quinn replies. “Bea helped too.”

“No, I didn’t,” Bea laughs, grabbing a stack of cucumbers and putting them on her paper plate. “I just sat there and looked pretty.”

“You found the meat thermometer when I couldn’t,” Quinn reminds her.

“Okay, fine,” Bea relents. “I helped with that. But everything else was all you.”

Honey and Jack make eye contact as the two continue to insist that the other was partially or wholly responsible for the meal. Jack widens his eyes like he’s trying to send her a message– ‘They’re making me sick.’

“The meal is nice either way, guys,” Honey offers. “Let’s not make it a whole thing. It’s Get Out of the Dog House Day, not ‘argue about who’s right until someone is thrown into the dog house’ day.”

Trevor laughs, which is nice of him. It wasn’t a particularly good joke, either. 

He’s in a better mood now, but that doesn’t mean that Honey’s not still mad at him for being so rude and stubborn the other day. Sometimes, Trevor seems to get so frustrated and annoyed that he either acts out or he completely shuts off. All of it is for attention or to make his presence known. 

She and Bea watched some of the boys’ highlights last week at the Nook when there was a lull, and Trevor’s a good player, but he can snap easily. Honey doesn’t like that. She likes it even less when it’s directed at her or her friends– which is exactly what happened yesterday morning.

She likes Trevor a lot, but yesterday, she wanted to rip his hair out of his head and scream at him for acting stupid.

Luckily, it passed. He’s being sweet again, sharing fond little smiles with Honey when he thinks no one is watching. She doesn’t take full credit for solving his bad mood, but once he found an excuse to touch her (“So we don’t fall off,” he said), he was back to himself.

They circle around the fire pit again. Luke goes to get his food. They chat until the golden hour of sunlight disappears into the darkness underneath twinkling stars. 

They stargaze when it hits midnight, heads bunched up together as they lay back. They’ve all but finished the bottles of wine; the final one is being passed around in the circle as Trevor points out constellations that the boys seem to have trouble mapping out. Luke and Cole especially complain that all they can see is a blob. 

Bea and Quinn are the first to peel off. After drinking the equivalent of 80% of a bottle of red wine, Bea is tipsy and handsy. She had rolled into Quinn’s side and started touching his lower abdomen, sliding her hand under his t-shirt, very clearly signaling to him that she wanted something. Honey had to tell her to stop or leave, and Quinn decided that they would just go to bed. They’re sharing a hammock, which feels like a recipe for disaster. What if one of them rolls over in the middle of the night and rocks the hammock, eventually tipping it and sending them both to the ground, all while dead asleep? That would be a terrible wakeup call.

The fire is already dying out, since they haven’t been tending to it. The chill from the air sends Jack into Honey’s house to find one of her big sweatshirts, since he’s a fool and didn’t bring one. He returns in one of Bea’s big sweatshirts that she left at Honey’s one morning after a sleepover and with the throw pillow from her couch wrapped around him. Cole fights him for it, winning the blanket after he knees Jack in the gut.

Jack starts cussing like a sailor, growling at Cole like he’s cursing him. 

“I think you’re overtired, Jack,” Luke interrupts, shooing the boy away. “And drunk. You already got your sweatshirt. Go to your hammock.”

Miraculously, Jack listens and stumbles away.

Luke turns to Honey. “Do you have any other blankets? I’ll take one if you do. I’ll bring one to Jack, too. I’ll make sure everyone gives them back in the morning.”

“Yeah, darlin’,” Honey agrees. “I’ll go grab a few. I think it’s time for us all to go to bed, so I’ll come around and hand off the hammocks. You need anything else?” Her question is directed at all three remaining boys, not just Luke.

Cole shakes his head, grinning smugly as he wraps himself in the blanket. He spins like Dracula, blanket flowing out behind him like a cape until he covers the lower half of his face with his forearm, side-eying Honey as he retreats into the darkness of the woods. He backs away suspiciously, until he backs into a tree and stumbles, nearly falling down.

Honey laughs at him. Luke goes to help him into his hammock, saying that it’s unlikely that he’ll be able to climb into the hammock with all that red wine in his system. Trevor tells Luke to protect his goods because Cole might be just as horny as Bea is after all that red wine. Luke whacks him on the head in reply, which is deserved. 

Honey goes into the house to find more blankets. She’s quick to realize that they never even ate the soup that Quinn made– but that’s fine with her. It looks like she’ll have lunch for a whole week. She vows never to bring it up, unless someone– probably Bea– remembers and whines about not getting to eat some of Quinn’s cooking.

She finds four blankets in her linen closet– one for Luke, Jack, Bea and Quinn, and Trevor. Honey tends to sleep better when she’s cold anyway, so she’ll be fine without one. She’s got a makeshift sweat-suit on anyway, with leggings underneath her sweatpants just in case. She’ll be fine. 

After making sure all of the doors and windows in her house are locked except for the back door, she makes her rounds with the blankets. Jack is already asleep, somehow, so she just drapes the blanket over his sleeping body and takes a moment to hope that he won’t fall out of the hammock overnight. Honestly, he’s the one that would.

Luke is next, who thanks her quietly. He even tells her that he appreciates that she’s hosting them tonight. He also mentions that he likes her house. Honey loves him like a little brother– he’s so sweet and he behaves so well, even as he’s grown more comfortable around her and Bea and come out of his shell. She can’t wait for Gillian’s granddaughter to arrive tomorrow– Luke’s date with the girl on Tuesday will be so cute. Maybe she and Bea can go spy on him– surely he’ll tell Quinn where they’re going. Even if he doesn’t, there are only so many places in Litchton that he could go. They’ll find him.

She’s hesitant to approach Bea and Quinn’s hammock. Although Honey isn’t religious, she’s positively praying that they’re asleep when she walks up.

They’re not. She can hear the sounds of them kissing as she approaches, cringing because she really doesn’t want to interrupt that. 

“Hey,” she hisses, stopping about three feet from their hammock.

Quinn pops his head up, finding her immediately. 

Honey holds up the blanket.

His mouth forms an ‘O,’ then he looks down at Bea. “Do you want a blanket?” He asks.

Bea sits up as best she can, looking at Honey. “You can just drop it there,” she instructs. “Quinn’ll come get it in a second. His hands are a little busy right now.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Honey replies, tossing the blanket to the base of the tree next to their hammock. “Have a good night!”

“Just trying to cross something off my Rice Purity Test,” Bea calls after Honey, laughing when Honey raises her hand and flips Bea off. 

Only one blanket remains and it belongs to Trevor. Honey approaches his hammock with a few butterflies in her stomach, just at the thought of seeing her boy while he’s all sleepy and drunk. It’s not the first time she’s seen Trevor like that, but he’s so affectionate when he’s drunk– it makes her feel really special, every single time.

“Trevor,” Honey whispers when she’s just an arm’s length away from the hammock. She reaches out and touches it.

The hammock rustles and nearly flips as she startles him. “Christ, baby,” Trevor replies, sounding louder than he actually is in the darkness. His hammock is farther away from the other boys, at the final pair of trees that are close enough to create a good space for a hammock. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. I brought you a blanket.” Honey holds it out for him. 

Trevor takes it, his hand brushing Honey’s. “Thank you. Did you already get everyone else?”

Honey shows him her empty hands. “Yeah.”

“You wanna sleep with me?” Trevor asks. “Bea and Quinn are.”

Honey chuckles under her breath. “They’re boyfriend-girlfriend, Trevor. Also, our relationship is a secret. I can’t be crawling into your hammock and cuddling all night. It would be so weird.”

Trevor pouts. “Everyone is too drunk to care, Hon. They probably won’t even notice.”

“Nice try, but no. I’ll see you in the morning. Stay warm.” Honey touches his hair, fluffing the ends for a moment before she goes off to find her own hammock.

She climbs into the broken-in fabric between her two usual trees. Bea is pretty close by, so she can hear her best friend and Quinn murmuring about something, although she can’t hear what. Luckily, it doesn’t sound like anything dirty is happening anymore, so Honey can sleep peacefully.

So she thought. Perhaps it was the wine that she drank, or the copious amounts of steak and ham that sit like an anvil in her stomach. Regardless, Honey lays in her hammock, waiting for her eyelids to grow heavy. They never do.

She left her phone inside, next to her bed, so she can’t even scroll aimlessly. Not that she’d want to do that necessarily, but she downloaded the Kindle app and hacked into her old account, so she’s been rereading the books she bought years ago and mostly forgot about. It would be nice to read something while she waits to fall asleep, but it’s so dark outside that there’s no hope of being able to see the words in a physical book. She could go inside, but that defeats the whole purpose of getting out of the dog house.

She turns over and tries to sleep for a few more minutes. It feels like forever. 

Honey tries her hand at echolocation, trying to figure out which of the boys are snoring in the distance. She eventually decides that the snores that are closer to her are Luke’s, while the ones that are father away are Jack’s. Then, she takes a few minutes to listen out and see if Quinn snores too. He must not, because she can’t hear anything coming from the joint hammock belonging to Bea and Quinn.

She turns onto her back and stares at the stars. She was better at identifying constellations than Luke, Cole, Jack, and Bea. Quinn actually had a knack for identifying the connections between the stars, just based off of Trevor’s words. It’s a shame they’ve never been close friends– Bea and Honey think that they have a lot more in common than they think, although their main difference (that Trevor likes to talk and Quinn does not) keeps them apart.

Honey is so tired, but unable to sleep, that she could cry. She’s so frustrated that she wants to scream.

And she’s getting cold. She thought she would fall asleep before the chill really set in, but here she is. Frustrated, brisk, and tired.

Honey rolls out of her hammock, getting her feet on the ground and standing up. She pulls her long sleeves down, covering her hands and rolling up the ends in her fists to keep the warmth inside.

She creeps over to the hammock that’s farther away from the rest. She touches Trevor’s hammock, trying to keep it stable as she shakes him awake. She feels bad waking him, especially since he looks so cozy and like a sound sleeper.

“Trevor,” Honey whispers, tapping his cheek. 

“Mm,” Trevor grunts, turning his head away from her. He’s still mostly asleep– probably a solid 90/10 asleep-or-awake split. “No, Jack. Go ‘way.”

Honey releases a quick breath from her nose, unwilling to laugh aloud at his slurred, sleepy speech. “Trevor, wake up. I don’t want to knock you out of the hammock by accident.” Like a child, she lifts one of his eyelids.

That succeeds in waking him, if only partially. Just enough that he understands where he is and who’s talking to him.

“What, baby?” Trevor slurs, reaching a hand up and rubbing his eyes with a yawn.

“I changed my mind,” Honey says. “Can I sleep with you?”

“C’mon in, gorgeous,” Trevor invites, spreading an arm out so that Honey can climb in and snuggle up to him.

Honey smiles a bit at being called ‘gorgeous’ in her terrible groutfit, especially in the middle of the night after tossing and turning for… hours? 

She finds her way into the cot without tipping them over. She’ll have to wake up at first light, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. She’s a restless sleeper. She usually wakes up early anyway– likely before any of the other guys would. Definitely before Bea would. It’s a recurring problem.

Trevor smells nice and more importantly, he’s warm. His chest is strong under her hand, and Honey uses his bicep like a pillow. She intertwines their legs and presses a kiss to his side, tickling him. Honey’s already so much closer to falling asleep with Trevor than when she was alone. 

“Thanks,” Honey murmurs, burying her face into Trevor’s shirt. 

“You couldn’t sleep?” Trevor asks.

“Mm-mm,” Honey replies, her face still hidden against his body. She shakes her head ‘no’ and throws an arm over his stomach instead of resting it on his chest. She pulls him closer and Trevor chuckles, shaking her.

“Well, sleep tight, baby,” Trevor says. 

Honey doesn’t reply. He’s like a furnace next to her, pushing her closer to dream-land with every passing second. She just cuddles up next to him and breathes as evenly as she can.

A few minutes later, Trevor interrupts her near-slumber with a quiet question.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing,” Honey says.

“After the fruit stand, do you want to get dinner?” Trevor asks.

Honey feels her head sag for a second with sleep, coming back to herself after a brief falling sensation. “Mm, ‘kay,” she agrees with a one-shouldered shrug. “I want pizza.”

“Okay, baby,” Trevor says with another laugh, shaking her. Honey whines, tugging his shirt until he stops laughing. “We’ll go get pizza.”

“Good.” Honey feels Trevor kiss her forehead, then face the sky again. She tells him, “Go to bed. I’m sleepy.”

“Couldn’t tell,” Trevor teases. “Don’t drool on me in your sleep.”

“You would be so lucky.”

It doesn’t take long for them to fall asleep after that. Honey feels just one more kiss on her forehead from Trevor. She has only good dreams.

note: I love HoneyTrev. I love Beaquinn. I hope you all loved this chapter too. Now I am moving onto 13 or so oneshots that I am determined to write before I even THINK about Chapter 9 of STG (but let's be real– I like HoneyTrev and Beaquinn too much to ignore them. They're always on my mind.)

ok love you guys, as always, pls hit me up with your feedback and thoughts on this chapter!! i love to talk about stg and it makes me feel really happy when you all give me something to talk about– otherwise i feel like i'm posting this for The Void and that's no fun. ok. bonsoir.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Fifteen - The End

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 3k

Warnings | +18, yandere themes, wedding, Stockholm syndrome, murder, smut, messy bathroom sex, fingering, blowjob, teasing, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, body worship and kissing, this is not for minors

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys ❤️

This is the last chapter of Dark Moon, a story that I wrote in a period that was not easy for me, in fact the dark tones come from the negative emotions that pushed me to write this story to test myself with this genre, so I really hope you enjoyed Dark Moon, I would be happy to receive comments about it ❤️

As for possible extras, who knows, maybe they will come just like what happened with Happy Ending 😉

Also, it was really nice to be able to talk with you! Thanks for all the love and support, see you with the next story I am already writing 🤧

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon , @hecateslittlewitchling , @namjoonsbuspass , @darkuni63 , @xicanacorpse , @jiminismine4ever , @btssimpjaneth , @antisocial-mochi267 , @reallygenerouskoala , @velvet-stardust2002 , @angelicsmilesworld

Chapter List - Previous - The End

"Where is Y/N?" asked Taehyung, receiving a glare from Jimin.

"Stop it, Taehyung, she's afraid of him, and I'm certainly not going to force her to attend because you think it will help with her trauma," hissed Jimin, looking around.

He had let Y/N fall asleep in his arms before silently leaving the apartment to finish her uncle's execution.

Taehyung wished she was there, he argued that seeing her own nightmare die would help her heal faster, Jimin on the other hand was convinced of the exact opposite, she had run away from the bastard, dead or alive she never wanted to see him again, that was the gist.

"It was just an idea..." put the other's hands forward.

"Jimin, everything is ready" Hoseok warned him electrified, it had been a long time since they had proceeded with a real execution and this was the time to enjoy another one.

The boy nodded as he continued down the dark corridors of their base with the others, the room they were holding the man in was a cell like any other, it was only the way they were torturing him that differentiated the prisoner from the others.

Mikkel was bound hand and foot by a thick rope, which went to twist around his neck with a noose still wide enough not to suffocate him completely.

He stared at everyone with spirited eyes, and Jimin noted how disgusting and repulsive the man looked more like an ugly gray rat.

"You have the wrong man, I'm just a loan shark, the Kims would never say anything important to me," he licked his lips nervously, he had a horrible accent.

Jimin walked around him, his shiny black shoes made a sinister ticking sound.

Heel, toe.

Heel, toe.

He stopped in front of him again, bending at the knees.

"The Kims are our allies, we don't need to know shit about them," he said squaring him with disgust, "And we certainly wouldn't use shit like you for our own purposes."

Mikkel looked around agitatedly, Jungkook rocked back on his own feet, smiling cheekily at the man.

"Then why am I here?"

Jimin's eyes thinned, "Let's clean up, Mik," he said making the man fidget, "Does the name Y/N mean anything to you?"

Surprise and panic soon won out and he began to struggle, unaware of the damage he was doing to himself, the more he moved the tighter the noose around his neck tightened.

"You thought you were getting off scot-free by abusing a little girl who was part of your own family, threatening her parents and then making the poor mother look like a fool," Jimin began, approaching until he could read every distorted thought in the man's increasingly swollen eyes, "You took advantage of their miserable financial status and threatened to throw them out on the street if they talked, even naming certain acquaintances, who didn't like the publicity you gave, so... one way or another you're dead anyway," he growled, grabbing the knot and pulling to speed up the choking.

Mikkel coughed airlessly, tried to wriggle and escape Jimin's death grip, but to no avail, the more he moved, the more he urged Jimin not to let go.

"That's nothing compared to what you put Y/N through, you son of a bitch," he shouted, throwing a punch at the man now with no more air in his lungs, blood began to come out of his nose as his body was invaded by jerks and survival impulses, he cried out mute for mercy, but the boy's eyes remained stone.

Jimin backed away retrieving his gun, but when he pointed it at the monster he had second thoughts, with one bullet he would have died too quickly, so he just watched along with the others as he suffocated in the ropes and his own blood, in the last moments when Mikkel looked desperately at Jimin once again, the latter smiled.

"Y/N, my wife, sends her regards and wishes you to burn in hell," he greeted him amusedly, emphasizing how Y/N was now simply his.

When they saw the eyes turn glassy, with no more life behind them, Hoseok huffed.

"That was too fast," Jungkook commented, pulling out his own gun and unloading it on the body to make sure he was really dead.

"He's dead, that's all that matters," said Seokjin who had been merely observing in silence, "Get rid of the corpse cleanly, I don't want any surprises," he ordered, but everyone's attention was on Jimin.

"Wife?" asked Taehyung with a smile.

"He actually said wife, this jerk decided to settle his head," laughed Namjoon, interrupted by Yoongi who also laughed.

"No, that little head will always be crazy."

"So you're getting married with a celebration?" asked Jungkook, joining the confused chorus of questions and jokes.

"My guess is he's already signed papers, he seemed overconfident," reasoned Hoseok, both Jin and Jimin were getting nervous.

"Listen, you-!"

"When and how they get married is Jimin's and Y/N's business, as for us, we must realize that there is a new family member to protect," he clapped his hands vigorously, "Now, get rid of the body," he repeated.

Jimin nodded in Jin's direction in thanks, then turned to Jungkook, "Make sure that not even the bones can lie on this earth, you understand what I mean, right?"

Of course it was clear, the seriousness and awareness of having to do one's duty well had returned to the room.

The ceremony had been small and for a few friends, Jimin did not like to show off, and Y/N could not bear to see unfamiliar and dangerous faces staring back at her.

The wedding dress, on the contrary, was wonderful.

It wrapped the girl's figure gracefully, her shoulders were uncovered thanks to the bodice's boat neckline, which was white with light blue highlights and had many small flowers woven along the neckline and hips, it then continued with a long skirt made of silk and fluffy tulle, with her hair made slightly wavy and scattered loosely on her back and the thin, shiny tiara placed on her head, everyone had agreed that she was an adorable and pure fairy.

Jimin, for his part, in his sleek, total-black smoking with crystals sprinkled across his chest and shoulders, had never taken his eyes off her, like a hawk aiming at its seductive prey. There was a change in him too, his hair had been dyed blond, for Y/N had been like seeing a fallen angel waiting for her at the altar, she had smiled shyly at him arm in arm with Seokjin.

It had been frightening to meet him again initially, but in time she had realized that if taken gently, Jin was by no means evil and had always been very calm and gentle with her.

Now she was there, joining her hand with Jimin's, and emotion invaded her.

She paid no attention to the priest's words, the ritual they were performing was being handed down in the Bangtan band, it was the man who had to do everything, the bride simply had to say,

"Yes, I do."

It had been so easy to say it, no hesitation, no flash of fear, she looked at Jimin through the foolish eyes of love, he lowered himself onto her who discovered she was swept up in a fiery and electrifying cloud, when their lips touched Jimin held back no longer, he held her by the waist and pulled her into a deep and dead-end kiss, he was possessive and passionate and sought her out every time she tried to catch a breath.

The few guests applauded, giggling at the fierce hunger of the blond, who let her go only to gaze contentedly at those swollen, scarlet lips of kisses.

But it was not his intention to stop there.

They accepted the congratulations of the Bangtans and some of their relatives, Y/N met Taehyung's mother and father and found them a delightful couple, almost unable to believe it when the father said with some pride that he too had been a Bangtan before his son.

In contrast, there was no sign of Jimin's parents, probably not even knowing that their son was alive.... From what Jimin had confessed to her one night, his mother was a street prostitute and his father was a singer who toured the world, Jimin had been born by mistake.

Y/N had immediately rebuked him, he was not a mistake, he was her complex and sweet boyfriend, although he had not been a saint at first, now he was showing her that he was a caring partner and madly in love. Perhaps even too madly.

"Anyway, my husband and I wish you well and happy life together," trilled the woman, gently pinching the cheeks of the girl, who blushed under such motherly attention; now she understood why Taehyung was the most affectionate of his friends, he had not grown up with terrible parents.

"Treat her well, Jimin... it's not easy to find someone who understands and accepts our kind of life," he tapped the young man's shoulder with a hand that was anything but playful, despite the boxy smile his son had inherited.

"Oh, I'll treat her like a queen," he smiled sweetly, but Y/N saw the shadow of something more evil, something that manifested itself exactly forty minutes later, when everyone was now occupied with the banquet.

"W-We'll have to wait," stammered the girl, trembling under the velvety kisses the young man was leaving all along the portion of skin the cleavage had left, free to be cuddled and adored by him, "If you leave me marks they will show!"

Jimin laughed on her neck, "I won't leave you any marks, I just want to have a taste," he promised, licking down to the cleft between her breasts with his erection pressing into his pants.

He cast a glance at the girl and let out an approving cry, he had taken her in his arms making her sit on the sink, her back was resting against the large mirror behind her and her legs were held open, with the skirt pulled up over her hips and the white fishnet stockings on display, all for him and she was so sexy in his eyes...

"You've already had a taste this morning!" hissed Y/N, glancing occasionally at the bathroom door.

Jimin returned to leave moist trails of kisses on her chest, suddenly lowering her bodice and noticing to his pleasure that she was totally naked, Y/N gasped praying that nothing had been torn off, cast a reproachful glance at the man, melting away soon after, however.

Jimin's condition was no better, his once perfectly coiffed hair was now messy and scattered across his forehead, his tuxedo jacket had been tossed into some corner of the bathroom, and his dark, gleaming shirt had been opened by almost every button, which made her quietly admire the invitingly toned appearance of his abdomen, cased with deep attractive and manly lines, with her hand she followed one, entranced, to his waistband where a more than obvious bulge made her throat tighten.

Jimin licked his swollen lips stained with her lipstick, "I can't go back that way."

"No, you can't," murmured Y/N as she got off the shelf and knelt in front of him, who inhaled in eagerness to touch her.

She took off his leather belt and lowered the zipper of his smartly cut pants, watching raptly as his cock pushed against his boxers, there was already a wet spot staining the fabric, and she licked gently there, already finding the taste she now knew by heart and could no longer do without, Jimin clenched his fingers around the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white, with a small smile the girl also freed him of his men's underwear and finally took the swollen, heavy shaft into her mouth, standing still for a few moments, trying to get used to that girth once again.

"Fuck," breathed Jimin tremblingly, his balls clenched as he registered the image he was experiencing, "Oh, fuck, you're sucking me off in a wedding dress," he cursed, risking coming immediately, Y/N closed her eyes and holding her breath swallowed a few more inches until her nose brushed against the man's pubis and she felt her throat fill with his cock, she slid over the entire length again, licking insistently the sensitive frenulum area, her intimacy was on fire when she noticed the tremor in her husband's legs, giving him pleasure gave her pleasure, it was a sensation she had never experienced with anyone else. It made her feel powerful and weak at the same time.

Jimin moved his pelvis against her mouth, each discharge was a violent lash that he needed, the tone of his voice rose, and, they were both sure, if anyone passed by the bathroom door, they would hear a man enjoying thanks to a dreamy blowjob.

"Y/N, stop," he ordered in a guttural voice, but the woman sucked harder on his entire length, letting her saliva slowly slide all over his cock to make the job easier, in response Jimin grabbed her head, giving one last thrust that made her choke for a few seconds before releasing her completely, "Get up," he hissed, his taut and vibrating cock was already on the verge of releasing his cum.

The girl licked her lips with a sly smile, pleased that she had reduced Park Jimin to a quivering little thing, as if grappling with his first blowjob, but Jimin was not of the same opinion.

"You little bitch."

He made her turn, bending her over the sink and raising her glitzy skirt over her hips again, that position was the same as that night before everything went to hell, but she didn't feel the suffocating anxiety of the first few times, with time she had realized that Jimin would never hurt her again, and now she quivered every time she found herself bent over with Jimin behind her, watching her desire-laden body.

The blond man pulled her panties of the same color as her fishnet stockings, felt her intimacy with two fingers to see how wet it was and found it deliciously soaked and quivering, he hummed with satisfaction at that result and penetrated her lightly, Y/N opened her mouth sighing, her belly contracted recognizing that pleasurable stretch between her yielding flesh.

Jimin removed his fingers now soaked with her wetness and used them to gently caress her swollen, sensitive clitoris as he penetrated her all the way down, slowly sliding his cock into her who more than welcomed it, Y/N's head dangled forward as she responded to Jimin's rhythmic thrusts with hushed, choked moans, the fingers around her rosy bud amplified the sensations of the cock pinning her down in that bathroom, where everyone could have found out in a very few seconds what was going on.

"Oh God ... oh God ...!" she exclaimed unable to say anything else, Jimin went deeper with a sometimes desperate cry.

"My wife," he sighed in her ear, bending entirely over her with his hips clicking faster and rougher, "I'm fucking my wife," he gasped causing her walls to clench as they flickered in mad pleasure, with wide, glazed eyes she listened to Jimin repeat those words, she loved hearing him say them, her heart was swollen with love and pride, now no one would dare to hurt her, ever again.

The blond lifted her up against his chest, fixing his eyes straight into hers through the mirror that gave a sinful image of their bodies joining sensually, he held her tight like that as he intensified the rhythm of his thrusts, by now sinking into that slippery heat breathlessly, his hand worked under her skirt faster, Y/N moaned seeking his lips, Jimin also penetrated with his tongue into the young woman's mouth, pinching a florid nipple as a provocation.

It worked, with a shrill scream between their joined mouths Y/N came violently, clutching his cock that discharged moments later in her belly between thick boiling filaments, they continued to move in unison until the pleasure turned totally to discomfort due to overstimulation.

They sighed exhaustedly, but without moving.

"I told you not to leave marks on me, but you did worse," she laughed wordlessly, observing his devastated state, not that Jimin was any better off.

He kissed her neck gently, leaving her, who groaned annoyed at the loss.

"We have a valid excuse now."

"What excuse?"

"Well..." he helped her up her bodice by lacing it from behind, shooting her a mischievous look, "To get out of here without anyone noticing and finish in our room what we started."

Y/N widened her eyes, "We can't! They came here for us and then I'm too tired now to-" she could not finish the sentence, Jimin took her in his arms without any effort.

"It's our wedding, we can do what we like," he said with a smile that gave him a cheerful and absolutely adorable air, "And I want lots of children," he blew on her lips kissing her repeatedly, she laughed between their lips, unable to retort.

She did not know how exactly she had ended up trusting her fallen angel, but she was sure of the fact that she was now hopelessly in love with him, as he was with her.

[reelovesfictionalmen]

An Eternity Together Vampire!John Price x f!reader

My first dance with kink/spooktober. Smut will be under the cut! Also reader is in her mid 30's. Sorry kiddos.

Cream-Pie and Vampire

You had known John was a vampire from his files in the military, you were just a human who took care of the Armory and requisitions. You met with him regularly supplying his gear. Eventually he had asked you out and now 12 years later the two of you were stronger than ever. The problem with dating a vampire as a human is that you age and your partner does not. As you entered your mid 30's, this was something the two of you discussed at length and had decided that you marry each other. On your wedding night he would turn you during the throes of passion of your first time making love as husband and wife.

So here the two of you were in your wedding finery retiring to the hotel for your wedding night. You both were nervous, John more so, but he was good at hiding it. He knew turning you would not fail but at the same time there was a slight nagging thought in the back of his head that worried it would fail and he would lose you forever, long before he would have if you died of old age.

Once you both entered your room the two of you stood there awkwardly for a few moments, it was very unlike the two of you. You steeled yourself, stepping close to him, wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling his chest. His arms quickly came around you and held you tight to him, planting a kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly and grinning wildly down at you, the points of his fangs showing "Hello Mrs Price" he purred. You leaned up and kissed him softly "Hello Husband" you murmured against his lips.

The soft kisses soon turned heated, needy and desperate. You ran your hands up his chest and pushed at his suit jacket to signal you wanted him to take it off. He pulled away from you slightly flinging off his suit jacket, taking off his tie and pulling his dress shirt open and off with the buttons flying across the room. John fixed you with another toothy grin "Lets get you out of that dress, my love" gently turning you around, pulling the zipper down and then pushing the straps off your shoulders causing your dress to fall to the ground. Turning you to face him again he put his hands on your waist, stroking your sides before pressing kisses all over your face "I cant wait to spend the rest of eternity with you, Sweetheart. I never knew love before you and imagining myself spending my immortal life without you now seems worse than all the torture in the world" You took his face in your hands and kissed him deeply, running your tongue against his lips seeking entry, once granted you ran your tongue across his fangs and grinned "Well we had better get working on that, hmm?" With speed you unhooked your pretty lace bra, kicked off your heels and rid yourself of your panties before running to the bed, jumping on it, rolling on your back and sitting up smiling at him and his surprised face. "Come make me yours forever, John. Make love to me as your wife and make me like you" you beckoned with a hand stretched out to him. John let out a predatory growl that was far from human, toeing off his fancy shoes and essentially tearing his pants and tighty whities off his body.

He stalked towards you like a predator before standing in front of you and stroking your face "Lay back for me, My Love. I need you to cum on my face and stretch you open before we start. I don't want to rush this, we have all night" Laying back on the bed with your legs handing off the edge, you gingerly opened your legs for him, showing your already damp center of curls to him. You had wanted to shave bare down there but John for some reason liked when you had a bush. John kneeled at the edge of the bed, hooking arms around your hips and pulled you into his face. John took a deep breath against your center and groaned at your sweet scent. His heightened vampire senses thrummed at the heady scent, he dove in, licking a stripe between your lips and pressing his tongue and face in deeper to lap at your entrance where your wetness was oozing from. You moaned softly and relaxed bonelessly against the bed with your eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of your beloved feasting on you. Your bonelessness only lasted so long as John moved a hand down from your hip to start circling and flicking your clit in quick motions. Your body jolted and you cried out John's name but he let out a beastly growl, pressing you back down with the hand he had been using on your clit before resuming his fast circling and flicking of your clit. It didn't take you long to cum and John had no intentions of slowing down, he was starved for you. The fact he was now married to you and was about to turn you made him feel a primal surge he had not felt before. He moved his mouth from your entrance to your clit, sucking on it hard, flicking it with his tongue, before he could move his hand down to start fingering you you had already cum again. You were pulling at his hair and begging him to slow down. Looking up at you and your teary eyes he released your clit and murmured an apology and started to finger you slowly. As your body relaxed he added another finger and then another until 3 of his thick fingers were knuckle deep inside you. He pumped his fingers in and out of you at a reserved speed until you came around his fingers. John pulled his fingers out of you, licking them clean and rising to his feet. His hard cock bobbed in the air as he stood before you. "Move up the bed, Sweetheart" asked as he climbed onto the bed and crawled on top of you, caging you in with his arms and knees on either side of you.

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, John had never been so intense with your love making before, he held a glint in his eyes that was befitting to his vampire nature. It should have scared you but it honestly turned you on more than anything. Now you were here under him, his cock leaking precum on your stomach and him staring down at you and licking his lips like you are the finest meal he has ever seen. Wrapping your arms around his neck you pulled him down and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips, both of you groaning into the kiss. "Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want me to turn you? Theres no going back from this" He asked as he brushed strands of hair stuck to your sweat from your forehead. His heart thumped in his chest with nerves. "John, Sweetheart. We've been together 12 years. I cant imagine a future without you, I want to stay by your side for as long as you will have me and more. Please." you stroked his cheeks and kissed him again. To make sure your point was driven home, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him into you. John grunted as his hips fell into you, then chuckling and kissing you again.

Even though he had stretched you out before hand, when he pressed himself into you it was a stretch as always. Once hilted inside you he started to move, going slowly at first, drawing out completely before pressing back in. The moans he drew from you and his own moans spurred you both into a feverish pace, it wasn't long before you came on his cock and became even wetter around his cock. "'m not going to last much longer, Love. When I put my wrist to your lips, drink deep" He made sure to look you in the eyes and get your confirmation, a moan and a nod. John rolled his hips in a way that caught your g-spot with every thrust he could feel himself nearing his peak and knew you would too. He bit the vein on his wrist, pressing it to your mouth as he pounded into you hard. He felt you drink from him, he bit your neck and drank deeply from you. The sensations causing you both to erupt into an orgasm that felt like your body was aflame. John filled you with more seed than he knew he even had. His balls hurt from being so empty. The vampiric poison in his blood started to work, your body started to seize, you struggled to breathe. He pulled out of you, his cum dripping out of you all over the bed and his thighs as he cradled you in your arms as your human life came to an end. He laid you both down on your sides and held you tightly to him, stroking your hair, pressing kisses all over your face. Your body soon started to grow cold in his arms, your body was changing inside, you were becoming like him. After a few hours, where he kept you in his arms he heard your heart restart again. He whispered praises to you while stroking your body, your arms, your hair, pressing kisses everywhere he could reach.

With a gasp you regained consciousness, flailed in panic before being soothed by John. "It.. Did it work?" you asked staring up at him "It worked, My Love. How do you feel?" he offered smiling down at you with his signature smile, his fangs poking past his lips. "I feel.. I can feel, hear, smell.. so much. It's.." you shuddered feeling overwhelmed john stroked your head, pressing his lips to your forehead "mmm I know, Love. I'll teach you to get control of it all. Don't you worry" you reached between your legs and felt around, feeling the mess and the huge load he left inside you "Hey, can we have kids?" you asked "We can, but theres a lot of things that have to be done and the timing has to be right. We can focus on little kidlings in time. We have eternity, remember?" he sighed happily, drawing you back closer into his arms where the two of you remained cuddled up all night while you discussed anything and everything.

It was a wonderful wedding night and the beginning of a long long long life together.

wefjkwfejkwef I've never taken on a writing challenge before. I cant say I'll manage every day nor that they will all be COD characters. But I hope you guys like them. I worked hard on this one.

Tomorrow will be Friday the 13th and Against a Wall. Dunno who with yet lol.

[soulofapatrick]

Home Is Where The Heart Is - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: After a brutal fight against raiders with Ellie you feel like your bond with her and everyone in town is broken but Joel is there to show you otherwise

Words: 3k

Warnings; blood; injury

Notes: Platonic Ellie x reader too. I need more of this Joel; long salt and pepper hair and scruff cuz fuuuuckkk me man he looks fine af 

Y/N’s POV

People stop and stare as we make our way back into town, Ellie’s sat upon Indiana with the two kids, trotting behind us. One is cradled in her arms being only four and the other is behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist. She’s wild eyed and clinging to the four year old like a lifeline while I have the mother stumbling beside me, arm over my shoulder as I take most of her weight and Indiana’s reins are wrapped around my left arm so Ellie can keep the kids safe. We’re covered in blood, me the most as I may have gone on a killing rampage after finding the kids locked up in those cages. 

Tommy and Maria are rushing towards us, the gates slamming shut behind Indiana and causing the kids to cry out in fear, my heart breaking even more. Others are joining us, Jesse escorting the mother towards the makeshift hospital Jackson has with a promise her kids will be safe and reunited with her shortly but she needed medical care first. The reins are being taken from me and I’m stepping towards Ellie who is standing by Tommy, the kid still cradled in her arms, and she takes a step back. My world comes crashing down right then and there, the look of fear in her clover eyes when she sees me moving towards her, it draws a lump in my throat and I’m digging my nails into my palms to keep myself calm. Dina’s putting a hand on my arm, being one of the only people to know about my past and why I was so triggered by the raiders keeping this family hostage. 

I’m throwing a glance back at Ellie when Dina begins leading me away, watching how Tommy and Maria are tending to her and the kids until they disappear around a corner. Dina’s firm hand in mine being the only thing grounding me from breaking down right then and there in the snow as I don’t know if I want to cry or scream or both. I’m angry and I’m hurt and I’m not good with emotions so all I can do is focus on her tight grip on my hand as she leads me home. 

“N-no, Dina we can’t… Ellie-“ My voice cracks at Ellie’s name. She won’t want me being in the same house as her anymore. The look in her eyes said it all back there and I know… she won’t ever look at me the same way again let alone look at me.

“We need to wash the blood away and I’m sure Joel will want to know.” She steels me with a stern look as I pull against her hand, digging in my heels but somehow she’s overpowering me and pulling me up the porch steps. She doesn’t hesitate to dive a hand into my pockets and pull out my keys so she can let us in. Joel’s jumping up when he sees me covered in still drying blood, mouth open in protest but silenced by Dina holding a hand up to him before she turns back to me, “Shoes off and go run yourself a shower. Now.” 

I don’t argue, toeing off my boots and heading for the stairs, keeping my eyes down and shaking off Joel’s hand that reaches out to touch my shoulder lightly. The soft sound of emotional hurt he makes is another stab in my gut but this time they’ve twisted the knife and the floodgates of blood and tears all at once. I’m trying to hold in the sob as I sprint up the stairs, hearing the quiet mumbles of Joel and Dina and wanting to drown them out. My heart is pounding in my ears and I’m struggling to breathe, stumbling into the bathroom door before slipping to my knees inside. I’m having a panic attack and I try so hard to remember the tricks Tommy taught me, pressing the flat of my palms to the freezing porcelain, focusing on the contrast of temperature against my burning skin. Hands touch my shoulders and I’m spinning around, pinning them down until I realise it’s Dina. She doesn’t flinch and there’s no fear or hatred in her gaze and I’m falling, my cheek pressing to the cold floor as she watches. She leans over and brushes a strand of my blood-matted hair off my forehead and I’m squeezing my eyes shut to try and stop crying but it doesn’t work. 

Dina’s pulling herself to her feet and I wait to hear the bathroom door open and close but instead the sound of the shower being turned on reaches my ears and the heavy pounding of the water against the bottom of the bath seems to blur out any possibility of thoughts. The comforting sound of the water mixed with the cool tiles calms my heart rate enough to drag myself into a sitting position, eyes sliding open to see Dina watching me from where she’s sat atop the counter, waiting me patiently to come around. Her smile is soft, her curls more prominent in the steam the hot shower is producing and I want to cry again but I can’t. It’s not the time. 

“Ellie’s scared of me.” I croak, voice sounding wrecked and Dina’s gaze soften as she gently shakes her head, watching me pull myself to my feet, legs shaking from exhaustion. My hands tremble as I struggle with the buttons on my shirt until familiar hands are slapping mine away and deft fingers make quick work of it, helping me slide it off and it goes straight in the bin. I manage to kick my jeans off and Dina turns away so I slip out of my underwear and into the welcoming warmth of the shower. It draws a sound from my lips as my muscles begin to ache and the open wounds that adorn my skin let themselves knows. All I can focus my attention on is the way the water runs red, not stopping or fading back to clear until Dina’s sighing and she surprises me by stepping into the shower with me but fully dressed. 

I should be yelling at her, asking what the fuck she’s doing but I can’t muster the energy to. Jesse; Dina and I have a pretty chill friendship and we’ve had to look after each other after particularly tough patrols or raiders getting into Jackson. Jesse had to help Dina snap out of her shock one time after her first kill of a raider and the three of us just sat in the bathroom, Jesse cleaning the blood and mud from Dina while I had my back to the door. It was the first time I had truly felt comfortable around people and I trusted them with my life, loving to see how happy Jesse and Dian were together. I hope Jesse doesn’t kill me for this, I’m the one who’s naked not Dina but it still feels strangely intimate. Dina’s definitely pretty but I’m not one to swing that way, especially with the weird bond thing Joel and I have. 

“Joel?” I ask as Dina massages the shampoo into my scalp the water running even redder than before and my eyes are slamming shut because Ellie’s right. I am a monster. 

“He’s gone to talk to Tommy,” She coos soothingly before speaking up again, a smirk in her voice as she washes the shampoo out and moves onto the conditioner, “What was he doing waiting in your house anyway, with a key by the looks of it.” 

“I…” I have to actually pause as I’m not sure why Joel was waiting for me here. I usually come back from patrol, shower then head down the road to his for dinner, “I don’t know.” 

“Well, he was so worried, thought you were hurt,” She grinning, I can feel it without turning around, shivering when she rinses the conditioner out and runs her fingers through my hair to tease out any more knots clinging together. It hurts but I don’t even wince as I deserve it after what I did today, “Joel was ready to shove me aside and come up but I didn’t think you’d want him seeing you so vulnerable just yet.” 

The shower is turned off and Dina’s stepping out, leaving the room dripping wet head to toe before a towel is flung through a crack into door and I hear her race to the spare room as both her and Jesse keep spare clothes in mine. The privacy giving me time to dry myself and pad to my room, shutting the door behind me with a soft click as Dina’s footsteps can be heard on the steps before the familiar sound of the kettle boiling is following. 

“I’m staring at myself in the cracked mirror an ache in my chest as the person I once knew is not the person staring back at me. Instead, it’s someone with bags under her eyes and a heavy weight of the past crushing them, leaving their mouth constantly turned downwards, eyes dull and eyebrows always in a scowl, no brightness or warmth to any part of them. Staring back is a shell of the person you once used to be, learning to slowly adapt and love again within the safe confines of Jackson. The walls may keep me safe but seeing others, like the mother and sons in pain and danger, makes me feel selfish for trying to be happy and build a life when they’re getting tortured and killed everyday. The scar across my cheek reminds me that I was once the person chained up and tortured for information I didn’t have and I was the one being saved by Tommy like I did that family. Maybe… Just maybe there is a possibility I deserve love and-

The opening and closing of the front door has me shaking my head, grabbing the first clothes I find in my drawers and haphazardly pulling them on: it’s a pair of grey baggy sweatpants and a somewhat matching sweatshirt in a deep blue colour. I’m drawing my damp hair up into a ponytail and before I can even open the door to head downstairs and find out why Dina left my bedroom door is being pushed open. Crowding the doorway is an almost shy looking Joel, salt and pepper hair shining in the sunset pouring through my window, beard finally having joined his hair in colour over the last year, tanned skin warm and glowing and a light pink dusting his cheeks. He’s still got his brown winter jacket on and that worn baby blue scarf tucked into it and if I weren’t so worried about Ellie hating me and the family I brought in I’d be on my knees for him already. I haven’t got much resolve after today and the things this man and his large hands do to me is almost embarrassing. He’s holding a steaming mug of what smells like coffee and the mug looks tiny wrapped in his hand.

“I-I thought you might like some company?” Joel’s stuttering and blushing and I’m just nodding, moving to my bed and he follows, setting the cup on my bedside table. He’s moving back to close the bedroom door, shrugging off that jacket and scarf to put them across my desk chair before finally sitting on the edge of my bed. I don’t think twice about pulling him down so he’s laying on his back and slotting myself under his left arm, laying my head on his chest over his heart so I can feel it beating comfortingly against my ear, “I’ve got you.” He coos, fingers gently pulling the hair tie from my hair so he can card his fingers through it and my eyes are fluttering shut when his blunt nails massage my scalp. 

“Ellie hates me now, doesn’t she?” My voice shakes and I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to see his expression as he continues to soothe my hair and scalp. 

“She doesn’t hate you, she just needs some time to process. She’s never seen you…” He trails off, chest rumbling when I push a hand under his shirt, feeling his soft stomach rise and fall with every breath. He may not have a six pack but he is in no way unfit, his pecs well defined and if you run your hands over his chest you can feel the beginnings of six packs but he’s perfect the way he is: equal parts buff and soft. 

I’m gasping softly when the rough pads of his fingers ghost over my cheek, drawing me up to meet his gaze, honey eyes soft and warm as they search my face. Gentle fingers traces the scar down my cheek, nothing on his face but warmth and… love? It’s almost overwhelming and I’m letting my eyes slide shut, leaving into his warm palm that is now gripping my jaw, parting my lips when his thumb brushes over my bottom lip. His name tumbles from my lips in a broken whine and it’s as if the world is answering my prayers when plump lips meet mine in a soft kiss. My hands find the thick scruff of his beard, dragging my nails lightly through it and eliciting an addictive sound that I swallow. Moving my hands to tangle in his hair and pull lightly, deepening the kiss and opening my mouth for his searching tongue. Joel surrounds me in every way, his scent intoxicating, lips tasting of coffee as if he’d stolen a sip or two on his way up the stairs and his kisses leaving me dizzy with wanting more. 

He’s pulling back too soon, stopping my lips from chasing his like I want to and honey eyes darker as he whispers out, “Y/N stop, I…” He takes a deep breath, hand cupping my cheek and thumb rubbing my cheekbone, “I want this, you don’t know how crazy I am for you but you’ve just been through something big… I want to know your feelings back are real and not just… not just adrenaline.” 

“Stay the night?” I rush out, chest heaving with nerves and his eyes search my face again before he’s nodding and rearranging us so he’s spooning me. His left arm is under my neck, tucking it under my pillows so I can use both as a pillow and his right is resting on my hip but it’s not enough. I’m intertwining our fingers, pulling them to my lips to kiss his knuckles before letting our interlocked hands settle over my heart, a small smile on my lips when he presses a kiss to my neck and begins to whisper soothingly until my eyes are growing heavy. 

*

Rolling onto my back, stretching, I’m greeted by Joel watching me with a soft look in his eyes, propped up on his elbow and fingers moving to brush my hair out of my face as he speaks quietly, as if trying to not ruin the moment, “Hey there baby girl.” 

“Hey Joel,” I whisper back, raising myself to lean on my elbows, our lips a hair’s breadth away and his breath fanning over my face as I say the three words he wants to hear, “I meant it.” His lips are meeting mine in a gentle kiss, beard scraping against my chin and cheek but I would gladly suffer all the beard burn in the world to have him kissing me the way he is. He’s laying me back down and slotting himself over me, our bodies fitting together like a prefect jigsaw puzzle and the strangely comforting mix of burnt coffee, a woodsy musk I know is his cologne and something citrusy sweet has me reeling. I’m tugging at Joel’s bedhead, loving the longer look he has adopted over the last few months and my breath is being stolen with every push and pull of those tantalising lips. 

“Y/N!” The door flies open and Joel’s rolling to sit next to me as we jump apart, Ellie standing in the doorway. Her mouth is hung open as her clover eyes flit between me and Joel, my heart pounding so loud I think they both can hear it as Joel’s placing a calming hand over mine. Ellie’s face twists and soon enough she’s beaming as she yells, “FUCK YEAH I GET TO CALL Y/N MUM!”

Mum?

“You don’t hate me?” I ask quietly as she sits on the bottom of the bed, legs crossed and facing us. Guilt fills those bright eyes but she’s shaking her head and I’m yanking her into a hug that I really need. She laughs sweetly, throwing her arms around my shoulders and burying her face in the crook of my neck. 

“I could never hate you Mom. You mean too much to me, you were protecting us,” She pulls back, hand holding one of mine, “I was pretty badass the way you shot down every single one.” 

“I love you.” I whisper, glancing between her and Joel and they both smile. Before I can ask they’re both tackling me into a hug and I just relinquish any fight I was going to put up as this is what I want. Ellie’s curled up in my arms between me and Joel as he looks at me with one emotion I never thought I’d get from him: Love. 

It fills my chest with pride and I’m reaching out for Joel over Ellie’s now passed out form and he’s meeting me halfway, interlocking our fingers and pressing a kiss to my forehead over Ellie. This is really happening. I have to blink a few time in shock as yeah, Ellie is asleep between me and Joel and there’s a new found sense of place and belonging filling every corner of this house. Maybe things will be okay. They work out in the end. 

Always. 

-------------

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[jpat82]

Dearly Departed

Quickly I ducked under the edge of the storm drain, water trickled between my feet as I pressed myself as tight as I could against the side. The stench was the first thing I noticed, it was always there ever present, the smell of rotting flesh. You would think year after year of it somehow the senses would be deadened by it. Unfortunately no, whenever wind moved just right the all consuming smell rot would penetrate even the best of masks.

   My breath echoed down the culvert while my eyes tracked the bit of wilderness in front me. The soft groans coming from the once used road above mixed with the shuffling of feet. I reminded myself one or two, that was manageable. However once we started to the point I need both hands to count I was out.

  Gently pulling the hunting from its sheath at my hip, I breathed out slowly trying to keep my fears at bay. I reminded myself if I stayed quiet and kept hidden the odds were they would pass by none the wiser of little old me hiding underneath them. I was now living the highest stakes game of hide and seek... And it sucked.

   Was it a virus? A disease, a parasite? Hell maybe it was something the was bioengineered. Nobody knew. Just one day corpses rose from their resting point and decided the rest of us became a tasty snack. The world was already a shit storm anyway, this was just the nice little cherry on top of the cake. One day I was worried about making my electrical payment the next I was running from the dearly departed to keep from being eaten.

    Note to self, next apocalypse wear better shoes and a sports bra.

   There were days that I just wanted to give up, I wasn't going to fool myself. The idea of running from one place to the next, hoping to find food and water but just enough to keep me going not to much because you had to be light on your feet in case the dearly departed appeared out of no where. Just to get from one day to the next was enough to drive anyone to the point of insanity. On the other hand, laying down and giving up just to be feasted on and in turn become one of them wasn't appealing either. Who knew the end of world would actually make life interesting.

    I could hear the small herd slowly moving away, the moans and groan fading along with god forsaken shuffle shuffle of dead feet. Cautiously I took a step forward, a slight sloshing sound came from my soaked canvas shoes as I peered over the edge. Bits of tattered clothes, dirt and skin littered the asphalt like a gross version of a ticker-tack parade, but the ambling corpses seemed have kept going north which meant I wasn't.

   I stepped out of the shin deep creek, toes cold from being submerged in the water for as long as they had. I slipped my knife back into it's sheath when something cold wrapped around my ankle that was still under water. It pulled hard, pulling me from the slight embankment, muddy water cascaded up around me as a slimey figure lunged up out of the water.

   I braced my forearm against its throat, skin from its neck squished up exposing rotting neck muscles. Blackened teeth snapped at my face as I attempted to pull my knife back out, water sloshing up my own body in the process. The only hand it had reached up trying to pulled my arm down as I finally pulled my knife free of its encasement. Quickly I shoved the steel into the dead's temple hoping that in the process we didn't make enough noise to gather any other of their attention.

   The stinking corpse slid easily off my own body with a quick shove and climbed out of the stream as quickly as I could. I was soaked, cold and now annoyed I would spend the remaining of the day smelling like rotting flesh and fish. I stepped out on the road, my shoes squishing as I did and sighed heavily.

   "Stupid rotting pieces.." I trailed off as I rung out the bottom of my shirt. "Can I just catch a break, just a small one."

   I hung my head, taking a deep breath, one I was still lucky enough take. A bit of stream slime slipped down my elbow plopping on the black top next to my feet. It's not a bad day, just one craptastic moment,  I reminded myself heading in the opposite direction that the herd of dearly departed had went. After all it was maybe just shy of noon and I had the whole day ahead of me. Granted I still had to deal with not being eaten but in turn find food for myself and maybe, just maybe get lucky enough to find a safe place to hunker down for the night. Preferably dry.

   "So first thing on the agenda," I told myself. "Find some dry shoes, cleaner clothes then the one I am currently in."

   Having been on my own now, for god knows how long, I had taken up talking out loud. It was cathartic, it's not something one thinks about, how the lack of human to human conversation can effect ones mood. Being able to have that one on one connection, to share ideas, to express yourself, hell even to shoot the breeze and bull shit with your neighbor, humans needed it. We are a social creature, needing companionship like most other animals, we thrive on it. Though to be fair before the world was introduced to the new apex predator, the ones that never tired and would eat your face off fast than Florida man, I thought I could go the rest of my life never talking to another human. Now however, I would gladly even have the dullest conversation with a half brained inbred.

    The last time I was around another person, it only lasted a couple of months. She wasn't the brightist shade of grey, but at least it was better than talking to myself. She was already half mad went I met her, rattling on about how the dead spoke to her, calling her 'home' at least that was till she decided to have a one on one with a newly dearly departed.

   I hooked a left when I saw a dirt road leading off the asphalt street, deep ruts told me it had been used heavily and the lack of Mother Nature taking back over the path said it was used rather frequently. Both exciting and horrify at the same time. Before I met the her who thought the dead wanted to tell all their undead secrets I had a run across a group of rather unsavory individuals, the type you wouldn't want to come across at any type of day. Think the widest biker gang you can think of, double it and sprinkle in some hard core serial killers, that was them.

   Ducking into the brush that the forest provided, I kept the dirt road in my sight. The knife was already unsheathed and in hand, keeping my knees bent to avoid making anymore sound then I needed to I pressed forward. Somewhere in the distance a raven chortled and something scurried in the underbrush. Something moved on the other side of the road, shimmering from one tree to the next causing the hair on the nap of my wet neck to stand. I paused mid-step, taking in a deep breath to still my nerves.

   I took another step watching the trees across from me, sun filtered down through canopy casting an array of shadows. Another step forward and suddenly my world went upside down, leaves and branches flew around me. Pain seared its way through my ankle as I was pulled upward with enough force to not only knock the knife from my hand but also knock my brain against my skull.

   For a moment, just for moment, I was confused and disoriented. Once my brain stopped thudding against the inside of my head I realized the world around me was upside down and I was hanging by my left foot about four feet from the ground. Something came from around the trees on the other side of the dirt road but I didn't get a good look as I was not only upside down but spinning very slowly.

   "Seriously, you better not be one of the D.D.'s, otherwise I'm going to be really pissed." I half yelled trying to do a sit up in the air, finding it more difficult then it should of been.

   "Why you comin down this way?" A male voice almost bellowed back, heavy foot steps made their way to my direction.

   "On my way to the mall!" I yelled back, astonished to actually hear a voice and not the moans of the dead. I tried to whip myself around to see who was yelling at me but my own hair kept covering my own face and obscuring the view.

   "Smart ass comment like that ain't goin to get ya down." He snapped back as a hand grasped a hold of my wrist.

   "Well, to be fair that's a dumbass question, the hell do you I'm going?" I snapped back as a face came into view.

    Piercing blue eyes met mine, a small scar sat above his right eyebrow. Scruff surrounded a set of full lips and his shoulder length dirty blonde hair hung to his shoulder. His skin was tanned by what was no doubt years of being outside, in that moment I wondered how many of us still living would die of skin cancer rather than old age.

   "Think your funny, don't 'cha." He stated, before walking over to a nearby tree.

   "Don't know, haven't been around to many of the living these days, and considering the dead don't talk or laugh for that matter." I responded, watching him intently.

   "Mmm." He responded more as grunt rather then an actual response. With a flick of his wrist I came crashing back to the ground, extra rope pelting me on the face for good measure.

   "Thanks.. I think." Standing up and brushing myself off quickly, bits of forest floor sticking to me since my clothes were still wet from earlier. I spied my knife and swiped it up from the ground.

   "Why you head this way?" He asked me, this time without the yelling. His jeans were filthy and had holes throughout them, same as his grey colored shirt. Actually the ones thing not covered in holes was probably his leather jacket.

   "Well.." I took a deep breath. " I was on the hunt for food and dry clothes, saw the dirt road.. was hoping to find an old abandon house that maybe I could hole up in for the night."

   "You don't have any food?" He asked, staying the distance he was, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other a bit. I could tell he was sizing me up, just as I was doing the same.

   The man was dirty, he had definitely been out on his own a while. There was a large knife of some sort on his left hip, and a smaller one on the right. He didn't seem threatening, but looks were always deceiving anymore. As of now, I treated everyone as a threat until I learned otherwise.

   "What weapons you got?" He asked abruptly. I pulled the knife back from its rest point flipped it in my hand so the handle was facing towards him.

   "Just this." I said as I took a step forwards, his own hand instinctively went to his hip.

   "Just that one?" He asked, his eyes flicking down and then back up to me.

   "I travel light, makes it easier to run from the dearly departed." I responded solemnly, he chewed on his bottom lip and nodded.

   "Come on." He almost barked walking through the trees in the direction I had been walking before I went feet over head.

   "You going to kill and eat me?" I asked him, pausing for a moment. He paused for a moment and look over his shoulder.

   "What?"

    "Nothing, what's your name?" I asked him, putting the knife back in it's spot.

   "Derrick, yours?"

   "Amelia."

@kitkatkl @devilbat

[favouritefi]

Hi! I work on a ship and your recent post about initials reminded me of my life. We all have steel-toe boots we must wear for deck operations. We have to remove them when entering the mess, cabins, etc. so we write our initials on them since many look similar. Anyway one person has boots with different initials from her name so we have a running joke she murdered the real SW and took her shoes or she *is* SW and murdered someone else to take her place on the ship…

THIS IS SO CUTE AND FUNNYYYYYY thank you for sharing delightful story about ship life that makes complete sense now that you've explained it though i wouldve never thought to ask, neat!