#that one hit hard for me bc it just feels like. he should have known better | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

koqabear · 1 year ago

Text

「 Camera Shy 」

♫: Automatic, Red Velvet // Movie Star, CIX // Color Me, JUNNY // Kitty Cat, KISS OF LIFE

“You’ve always tried to live an honest and responsible life; never spending money on anything ridiculous, scoffing at the things other people would be so willing to drop their paycheck on. But when life gets hard, you’re bound to give into your guilty pleasures, right?”

camboy!Beomgyu x fem!reader

Genre: f2l, smut, pw/minimal plot

Word count: 14.4K (there’s like three different smut scenes here)

Warnings: gyu has a thing for glasses idk don’t question me, (mc wears glasses, not necessarily prescription), gyu is lowkey manipulative if u squint, slight possessiveness on his part? nothing toxic (i think), alcohol consumption, gyu has a tattoo..

smut warnings: gyu is a bit of a perv! mean dom!Beomgyu, sub!mc, masturbation (f&m), filmed sex, (consensual), dirty talk, degrading, use of toys (f&m rec.), exhibitionism, voyeurism technically, bit of a voice/hand kink? slight humiliation kink, mentions of safe words & subspace, mentions of squirting lmao, manhandling, spanking, pet names (princess, baby, etc.), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, marking, dry humping, handcuffing, biting, unprotected sex, dumbification, dacryphilia, creampie (lmk if i should add anything!)

Notes: lemme tell you. i wrote abt the tattoo before i stumbled upon that pic, when i tell you i was just ??? barely proof-read heehee. the thought of this au hit me like a that-so-raven vision, and I literally spent the whole day making sure I could finish this. enjoy bc i love camboy aus sm. (oh and pls, do me a favor and reblog— i have an ominous feeling about what’ll happen to this fic once i post it.)

Beomgyu has always found the idea of his work a bit ridiculous.

Day by day, he’s a normal college student— he spends his early mornings in classes, taking all the morning slots everyone was always reluctant to enroll in before he went off to work; he was known as that cute server amongst the women that visited the restaurant he worked at, able to upsell and gain tips with ease as he quickly became a favorite amongst his coworkers.

He liked the attention— of course he did, he needed to in order to thrive in the field of his actual job, his hours at the restaurant nothing but a side hustle compared to the hundreds he could make of a single stream.

Those hundreds could always breach into the thousands— but those were on especially good days, like his annual Valentine’s Day stream he always held for his lonely, single viewers.

Beomgyu was quite the sweet talker— he got the practice from his day-to-day shifts, watching girls his age and older fawn at his words and flutter their eyes playfully. It was clear they enjoyed the attention just as much as he did, a cute smile on his face as he faked a shy laugh whenever they would compliment him.

Your hair looks really nice today. You smell amazing. Do you work out? You have a really nice voice.

He got that last compliment a lot.

“Do I?” he would purr, a sultry smile crawling on his face each time, like a practiced action as he would tilt his head teasingly— the reaction would be positive each time, without fail, and he would always end up with a collection of napkins with scrawled phone numbers every time he would clock out— his coworkers would poke fun at him every time they watched him dump them all out apathetically.

You weren’t into that one person? Dude, the lady at table seven was so fucking hot.

Beomgyu never really paid mind to their teasing— he could care less for the men and women that tried to butter him up during his shifts, forced to act as though their shameless flirting didn’t make his stomach twist unpleasantly— instead, he would be forced to smile, laughing sheepishly before he would slip away with one last comment.

“I’m flattered, really— but, I have someone I’m interested in.”

That someone was you— the pretty girl that sat across from him during his ten am lecture, finding himself spacing out every time and staring off into your direction; though you never seemed to notice, much too caught up in taking notes as he watched the way your brows would furrow, biting at your lip and adjusting your glasses as you remained focused— whether those glasses were for reading, blue light, prescription, or even decoration, he didn’t care— all he cared about was how unnecessarily attractive you looked in them.

He thought about you more than he liked to admit— it was frustrating at first, his thoughts starting as nothing more than puppy love to something worse— it was only after you piqued his interest that he began streaming more.

This was both a good and bad thing; good because, well, he began to climb the ranks of popularity and earn more, but bad because he would find himself thinking of you. Each. And every. Time.

“Wish I could fuck you,” he would sigh out, his comments going too fast for him to keep up with as his eyes fluttered shut; leaning back against his headboard, he shifts, making sure everything but his lips remain out of frame before he’s back to closing his eyes, “would you let me make you feel good? God, I’d do anything just to feel you, taste you…”

As far as his audience knows, he’s speaking to them— the comments grow wild and tips flood in, all asking him to stop being a tease as they watch the way he palms himself through his sweatpants; grabbing at his length, stroking it slowly as he lets his imagination run wild.

He’s not wearing boxers; Beomgyu knows it drives his viewers mad, able to see as a wet spot begins to form on the light material, his tip leaking furiously as his other hand tugs the hem of his sweater over his chest— his vision is hazy as he reads the requests, laughing softly as he allows his fingers to trace along his chest absentmindedly— tracing over the muscle of his abdomen, circling his nipples slowly as he reads a comment under his breath.

Stop teasing and hurry up already !! >///<

The comment has him rolling his eyes— yet his usual tippers begin to request the same thing, and his hand is slowly tugging at the tied strings of his pants as he smiles, mocking and mean as he bites his lip.

“Hurry up? You want to command me while you’re over here throwing money at me like a whore? All just to watch me fuck myself, dreaming that it could be you?”

The comments start speeding up; it’s all a blur to him, but the sound of money coming in is enough to tell him that his usual audience is active again.

“Pathetic,” he sighs, his voice deep and grumbly as he reads over the requests that come in with the money: yes, i wish it were me there… please, can we see your cock?

“Desperate little sluts,” Beomgyu hums, tugging his waistband down and allowing his cock to spring up; it smacks against his stomach, and though the people in his comments attempt to regain his attention with dirty words and useless requests, he knows it’s all because of you— guiltily, he finds his thoughts straying the moment his hand wraps around his cock.

His streams have a certain formula to them; the more money, the better the show. Which is exactly why he ends up kneeling in front of the camera, fucking his cock into a clear flashlight as he listens to the sounds of tips coming in left and right— but his eyes remained shut, spilling enough filth to have his audience satisfied as he allows to let his imagination run wild.

In every stream, he cums to the thought of you; he has to bite his lip to not moan out your name like a pathetic bitch in heat, flooding his fleshlight with cum and continuing to fuck into it until his next orgasm.

In every stream, he finds himself thinking the same thought at least once— do you watch his streams?

»»»

The concept of camboys is ridiculous to you.

Why in the world would you spend all your money and emotions on a single person, when you can just go on Twitter and find the next best account that has yet to be suspended? Well, it’s not as though you find the idea of sex work appalling, but you don’t think you’d ever feel good about yourself spending a hard-earned paycheck because you were horny.

You’re not stupid; you know sex workers make bank, and you know that there are people in the world that love emptying out their bank accounts to such workers; whether it’s due to a kink or to feed into their parasocial relationship, you’re not sure.

You find that a good session on Twitter and your fingers usually does the trick— maybe a toy or two, if you find yourself feeling that needy.

Today’s session quickly becomes both disappointing and humbling; every account you try to look for has either been suspended or deleted, and every video you come across is something that’s not to your taste or something you’ve seen many, many times.

You feel weak as you come across the same account again; guiltypleasures— and he’s damn right, because you’re unable to resist the urge to click on his icon, feeling your thighs rub together with impatience as you sit back in bed— scrolling through, you’re surprised to see that he’s posted another video— without a second thought, you’re watching it.

“Fucking pathetic,” he sighs out, the familiar growled phrase making you gulp; you never found yourself to be too attracted to men who are extremely dominating and mean, but the man on your screen is somehow able to make it work as you find yourself getting wetter, “are you touching yourself right now? Don’t you wish I was there with you?”

And shit, you think you know why he’s able to make you come back to him every time, even if he’s posted nothing new and you’re forced to rewatch old videos most of the time; maybe it’s because of his hands, delicate and thin as they wrap around his favorite pocket pussy, or maybe it’s the way he slowly fucks into the said toy; stretching it out, his tip poking out and oozing enough cum that you can hear the wet squelching sounds that come from every thrust.

Or maybe, it’s his voice, deep and breathy and addicting as he mumbles out filthy things like it’s the only thing he knew how to do; his lips are red and swollen as he groans, hissing through his teeth as you watch the way his hands tighten around his toy.

“Shit, I’d fuck you so good,” he sighs out, hips rutting into the toy in his hands as he laughs; his head tilts, and though you’re only able to see his lips, you know his eyes are teasing as he looks into the camera, “fuck you so that you’d never want anyone else but me.”

His thrusts are picking up— you didn’t even realize the moment you began touching yourself, embarrassing whimpers and breaths falling from your lips as you keep your eyes honed in on his motions; you’re close, so close, your ministration speeding up as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“You’d be my good little cumdump, just for me to use— right?”

The video ends shortly after.

God damn it! your mind screams, the sudden cut-off catching you so off guard that you completely ruined your orgasm; you feel insanely embarrassed by how frustrated you feel, not realizing how short the clip he posted was until now. Clicking away, you feel as though your mood is ruined as you read the contents of his tweet.

A small clip from the stream. Watch the rest here: https://…..

Shit. Of course he would be a camboy. How did you not realize this sooner?

Honestly, if you sounded like that, you would be one too— and frustratingly enough, the brief cutoff is a damn good marketing strategy, because after a moment of thought, you’re clicking on the link.

You could just rewatch the video— you could also just go rewatch his previous videos, or even use your imagination to help you finish— but the idea of doing so is much more unpleasant than usual. (And humiliating, because you’ve found with horror that you’ve begun to memorize how his previous, equally as short, clips go.)

Your resolve begins to weaken the moment you click on his page— because of course, everything costs money— It costs to see his previous streams, costs to message him, and costs to get a fucking membership.

Who is paying for all this?!

You, apparently— because after some serious, slightly horny-impaired thought, you decide that getting a low-tier membership wouldn’t be too bad, right?

The cost is monthly (because of course it is, this website seems to want to charge you for just looking at his page) and you wince slightly as you watch your transaction go through.

Once you see the notification of your purchase pop up on your phone, you feel dreadfully sobered.

Because shit, being a low-tier subscriber only gets you a part of his most recent streams— about less than half of it, you notice— only able to get full access to streams prior to this month. It’s enough for now, but you can’t help but feel as though you’ve become the very thing you’ve despised as you lay back in your bed, staring at your ceiling for a moment before you’re sighing.

You’re still horny.

»»»

You think you can get behind the whole camboy thing. One may say you’ve been swayed, and quite honestly, you don’t think you could dispel such claims at this point.

Because it’s been a few months, and you’ve managed to stay through the whole thing. You’re surprised that you’ve begun to keep his streaming times in mind as you go about your day, ending your study sessions early or wondering if you’ll get home from work in time to watch his streams.

You always do. Maybe it’s a deity above making sure you get your money’s worth, or maybe it’s the fact that guiltypleasures is a human too, with a normal life and better shit to do than sit in front of a camera and jerk off all day.

The idea of following in his footsteps has crossed your mind more often than you expected; anything would be better than being a hostess at this god-awful job you have, forced to sit through the way people take out their anger on you and proceed to flirt with the servers— one of those servers being Beomgyu.

You were able to realize how popular Beomgyu was after your second shift— it didn’t take a genius to figure out why as you were left to deal with the way women of your age and older (mostly older. So many older women.) would creep up to you shyly, putting up a front of innocence as they asked you is Beomgyu here today? Could we sit in his area, please?

Seeing him rack up tips after a busy shift is always enough to have you wondering if you should switch to being a server— but then you see the way the women are treated, your stomach flipping in disgust at the way men leer and comment at them— you’ve even seen Beomgyu get cursed at plenty of times as well, shivering at the jealous partners and the way they’ve been blacklisted for threatening him.

Tonight is one of those nights. You’ve clocked out, shrugging on your jacket and gathering your belongings when you see Beomgyu storm in through the employee entrance; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him angry, but the sight has your eyes widening as you watch the way he frowns at his uniform, cursing angrily under his breath as he approaches the break table you stand by.

“Fuck,” he hisses, low and breathy and mean as he continues complaining, berating the customer that had the audacity to throw their drink at him— but you, in your very depraved state, remain stuck on the way he sounds, his voice far too attractive for a person who is spouting out filth.

This feels familiar.

“Hey, you okay?” you ask softly, feeling awkward as you mentally slap yourself for your train of thought; it seems as though Beomgyu hadn’t even realized you were there, his head snapping up as he stares at you like a deer caught in headlights— his mood is immediately shifting as he sends you a sweet smile, acting as though his clothes aren’t soaked as he waves you off causally.

“Yeah. Just some ridiculous customers,” he says, laughing softly as he grabs at a pile of napkins on the table; you wince as you watch him scrub roughly at the stains, unable to stop yourself as you jump to his aide.

“Here, you’ll only get the stains in deeper if you do that,” you say, taking the napkin from his hands as you begin to dab at his uniform without much thought; you’re much closer than you should be to someone you’ve never really talked to, but you don’t seem to realize it as Beomgyu practically forgets to breathe from your proximity.

Shit, how did he find himself in this situation? He might as well go back out and thank the jealous, “tough guy” boyfriend that threw his drink at Beomgyu, because he feels as though every guilty fantasy is coming back to mind as he takes in your concentrated expression, your hand placed firmly on his chest for support as the other dabs at the stains in his uniform.

You smell so good. Even though you’ve been in the restaurant just as long as him and have been around food this whole time, he’s still able to pick up on your scent with every shaky breath he takes.

You’re wearing your glasses, too.

Beomgyu’s mind is wandering off to dangerous places; he knows he needs to get himself under control, because the danger of him popping a boner just from how close you are is a higher probability than he’d like to admit. It seems as though you’re snapping out of your trance the moment he clears his throat, your face growing hot and slightly horrified as you jump back; Beomgyu can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips at the sight, finding your embarrassment oddly endearing.

“Sorry, got carried away,” you say, smiling shakily as you take in the way Beomgyu practically beams at you— always a sweet, nice guy, waving you off without a problem as he laughs softly.

“No, it seems to have helped,” he says, and you can’t help but notice how oddly charismatic he is even now, during this mundane interaction that has you stuttering over your words stupidly— but to be fair, how are you supposed to give him advice on how to get the stains out when he’s looking at you with the cutest god damn puppy eyes you’ve ever seen, his brown eyes round and sparkly as he listens intently to every word you say?

“I wouldn’t have thought to do that,” he smiles, his cheeks puffing up cutely and oh, is it weird that you want to coo at how cute he is and pinch his cheeks…?

Definitely weird, you decide, letting out a soft laugh as he tells you that he’ll try it as soon as he gets home.

“Speaking of which, I’ll let you go; you probably don’t want to be here longer than necessary,” Beomgyu is so kind and considerate even as you tell him it’s fine and that you didn’t have any plans after work anyway.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you as Beomgyu asks you to wish him luck, the smile he sports coy as you follow his command without any hesitation— you take this as your chance to leave before things get awkward, but a part of you itches to go back and talk to him more.

Beomgyu’s good, you realize as you’re exiting the building, a bewildered laugh escaping you as you realize that he managed to charm you just from that short interaction.

You get why he’s so popular.

»»»

Any plans to go to bed early and rest are immediately thrown out the minute your phone buzzes beside you.

You were just about to put your laptop away— just on the verge of falling asleep, until your eyes reluctantly drifted to read the words that take over your screen— it’s a Twitter notification, the username making your eyes widen as you’re scrambling to unlock your phone and read the rest.

guiltypleasures

had a shitty shift today, let me take it out on you? https://…….

Oh. oh, oh lord… you can feel the exhaustion lifted off in an instant; suddenly, you’re wide awake, eyes widening as you quickly copy the link of his tweet into your browser— while your mind scolds you for trying to stay up and possibly ruining your sleep schedule, the other, much more sinister part of it tells you that you’re paying for a reason.

The stream starts in five minutes.

While you wait anxiously in your room, your hands swiftly going to your nightstand to take out some toys— your trusty vibrator and a dildo you recently bought, all because of him— Beomgyu paces around his setup, gathering his own toys and changing into something that the viewers might like; today's ensemble is a bit more bothersome than usual, but he knows how much his viewers like when he dresses up and role plays a bit with them.

He was tired; today's shift took a toll on him, and he’d rather be fast asleep than putting on a stream— but after looking at today's earnings, he couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied with it all, deciding on impulse that he would put on a stream to make up for his lack of tips— instead, he’ll earn tips in another way.

“Hey,” he starts quietly, sitting back in his seat as he takes a glance at his monitor, making sure his face is out of frame. The viewer count rises and comments flood in no time, all of them freaking out about how good he looks in the suit he wears; the all-black ensemble feels stifling to him, but he knows taking it off will be worth it in the end.

Bad day today? Let us make you feel better :(

His top tippers are all begging for his attention, desperate and needy as always as they beg for him to get started— but he feels a lot more sluggish than usual, his gloved hands caressing his thighs slowly as he reads the comments out loud.

“Yeah, today’s shift wasn’t that great,” he speaks, his voice deep and sultry as he allows a moment to pass, reading all the comments that beg for him to use them, “I only thought about you though. Just wanted to see you.”

There he goes again— he’s no longer talking to his audience, but to you instead, closing his eyes and imagining a world where you’re in front of him, or even on the other side of this screen, one of the many faces that lusts over the way his cock begins to harden, the bulge becoming much more apparent as he lets his mind wander.

Unbeknownst to him, you are on the other side of your screen; a shy and flustered mess as you shift in your bed, watching the comments fly by as you wonder if you should join in— not that you could, anyway, your low-tier subscription excluding you from doing such things, as ridiculous as it is.

You’re practically devouring the man on your screen with your eyes; taking in the way he’s dressed, his pretty hands covered with leather gloves as he runs them slowly over his black trousers; stopping as they run back to his hips, a hand beginning to palm at his bulge as he spreads his legs a little wider in his chair— today's setup is a bit different, along with his attitude as he seems to sweet talk the audience more than usual.

“Seeing you is the only good part of my day,” he sighed, his free hand trailing up his chest before it stops at his tie— he’s tugging at it, loosening it and allowing it to hang around his neck as he continues, “Can’t stop thinking about how much I want you, how I’d fuck you until all you can remember is my name.”

The offer is tempting; you groan a little as you watch him begin to slide off his blazer, throwing it to the side before he’s unbuttoning his white shirt— he’s making quick work to become undressed, you notice, untucking the material and undoing his belt as the sounds of it jingling ring out in the room.

Yet, no one knows his name— no one knows anything about him, except the tattoo that runs across his side as he slides off his shirt, the sharp, elegant lines running all along his ribs, trailing down to his hip bones and disappearing under his pants— the rest of him remaining a mystery as you’re left to lust over a nameless, faceless stranger.

That’s probably where the appeal comes from; you’re able to imagine anything about him, from what his face looks like to what he may do when the cameras are off; you’re free to mold him into the perfect fantasy, using him and projecting onto him as you watch him slowly unzip his pants, a hand slipping under as he begins to jerk himself off teasingly, slow as always as he waits for the requests to come in— like clockwork, your eyes fall to the end of his tattoo, taking in the cute heart that rests by his hip bone, the ending of the elaborate piece that always has you wondering what it’d be like to see in person.

“Hmm? You want more?” he says, tilting his head slightly as he smiles; it’s mocking as always, biting into his lip as he begins to roll his hips into his hand— making a show out of it, throwing his head back and letting out a breathy moan that has you shivering.

“How about you show me just how much you want it,” he sighs out, smiling evilly as tips begin to come in left and right as a response; you find the way he’s able to manipulate the audience impressive, always able to get them to blow their money on him without hesitation.

He leans forward, towards the screen, and you’re able to admire his lips as he reads the comments, mouthing them as the lights cast a glow on his pretty, pouty mouth, his neck tempting and begging to be marked as you watch the way he displays it so teasingly.

“Good girl,” he laughs softly, your eyes flickering to the comment section for a moment; his top tipper has spent an egregious amount on him yet again, and you listen to the way he softly begins to fulfill her request, the rest of the audience momentarily disappearing as he begins to speak to her.

“Always such an obedient thing for me, hmm? Tell me, what do you want to see?”

His manipulation is seamless as he watches another tip flood in; all from the same person, the amount doubled in order to get his attention past all the others that blow a measly twenty on him, nothing compared to the three hundred that is highlighted in gold, the comment momentarily pinned for the man to read it.

I want you to fuck your favorite fleshlight and use a vibrator while you think of me. Can you moan my name please? It’s—

Her comment has your eyes widening for a second; it’s bold and demanding, and the idea of requesting such a thing from the camboy in front of you is daunting as you read her request over and over— your face feels hot and you’re already taking off your sweatpants from how needy you are, wondering if the man on your screen will accept such a request.

The first two are nothing to him— in fact, it’s more on the tamer side as he already finds himself reaching for the aforementioned toys.

The problem lies in the last request.

He’s not one to moan names on a live stream; he usually saves it for personal requests he gets, the videos much more personal and calculated as he gets to take his time with them— so for his top tipper to request such a thing on his livestream is a bit more difficult; especially when he spends this time thinking of you.

But then again, it’s three hundred dollars.

“Okay then, is that what you want? Hmm?” he teases softly, purring out her name at the end as he watches the way she tips him again; it has him laughing in amusement, sitting back in his chair before he’s crossing his arms over his chest, singing out her name with a soft lilt as he watches the way she continues to pour money at him like it’s nothing.

Soon enough, more requests come in; all with the same amount and request, hoping that they’ll be able to hear their names fall from his lips as he slowly begins to tug down his pants, raising his hips as he’s left in nothing but his underwear, the briefs straining painfully as his cock twitches, begging to be free.

“One at a time,” he murmurs sweetly, patronizing as he mumbles that it’s her turn now, watching the way she seems to react with every purr of her name.

The sudden trend of requests makes his stream slightly difficult; he’s always found himself to be a lot more into them when he’s mentally moaning out your name, lips ghosting over the syllables every time he’s coming undone. Instead, he’s forced to moan out the name of a stranger as he begins to palm himself slowly, even though his mind thinks back to you and the small interaction you had today.

He feels his cock twitch at the mere thought. It’s painfully hard and won’t stop leaking as he takes it out, not needing to use any lubricant as he begins stroking it slowly, hips jumping at the feeling of the leather against his skin— and though his lips moan another’s name, his eyes remain closed, thinking about you.

You and your meek personality, always letting guests take out their anger on you before they’re turning around and sucking up to Beomgyu— he’s always had to resist the urge to fuck them up as a response, knowing that you think no one else notices your sullied mood and your crestfallen gaze every time they seem to get away with it.

He’s never free to comfort you. You’re both far too busy to be around each other for longer than a few minutes, and today was like a blessing as he caught you at just the right time— he would have stayed the rest of his shift back there talking to you, if only he hadn’t been playing the part of a sweet, considerate guy.

He thinks back to how you felt against him. How, even though your actions were innocent and you were much more focused on taking out the stain of his uniform, he still felt the warmth of your hand against his chest, delicate and smaller than his as you leaned in close enough to allow himself to get a whiff of your sweet scent.

And those glasses.

He never thought he would find himself hung up on such an item, but the way they make your eyes look big and sparkly is practically enough to make him cum on the spot. Instead, he grabs a hold of his newest fleshlight, soft and tight, just how he imagines you would be.

It’s perverted, but as he slides his cock into the tight sleeve, groaning slightly at how he’s barely able to push through, he imagines that it’s you. His mind begins to wonder what it would be like if you were above him right now, your thighs encasing his and your pussy leaking onto his cock as he fucked into you without abandon.

As he turns on his vibrator, running it along his balls and letting out pathetic moans, he imagines what it would be like to use it on you while he fucked you, imagining the way your tits would bounce and your eyes would squeeze shut as he made you cum until you were unable to hold yourself up.

On the other side of the screen, you imagine the same thing. Your legs are shaking and you’re fighting to keep your eyes open as you follow the pace he’s set, pressing your vibrator firmly against your clit and letting out weak whimpers at the sensation. You try to ignore the way he calls out the same name over and over, wondering instead what it would be like to hear your name from his lips— the sound is ringing throughout your mind the moment you imagine it, burying your face into your pillow as you increase the intensity of your toy.

“Let me fill you up, want you dripping with my cum,” he growls out, the sloppy sounds of his thrusts only spurring you on as your thighs close around your hand, hips grinding into your dildo as you sink your teeth into your lip ruthlessly— it’s almost enough to draw blood as you watch the way he cums into his toy, hips continuing to rut into the it even long after he’s come, a white ring forming at the base as he turns the vibrator off from the overstimulation.

“_— Shit,” Beomgyu almost slipped up for a second, proceeding to moan out his requested name repeatedly as a distraction.

And you know you’re imagining it, but you’re briefly coming undone after that, your pussy tightening against your dildo and your legs shaking as you run your vibrator along your clit, imagining that it’s him inside you, that he’s currently spilling his load in your cunt— your mind swearing that you almost heard your name slip from his lips for a second— and it isn’t until you recover from your orgasm, the sound of another name leaving his lips repeatedly making you come to, that you realize it was your brain playing trick on you to help you get off.

But you weren’t imagining things.

Beomgyu hopes his audience didn’t pick up on his small mistake, but he’s relieved to see that they’re none the wiser as they continue to request to hear their name next.

“Let’s see…” he says, and you’re barely able to keep your eyes open as you watch the way he leans towards the camera again, reading requests off the monitor as he grinds his hips into his toy absentmindedly throughout it.

He’s barely getting started.

In turn, so are you.

»»»

Beomgyu is the sweetest guy you’ve ever met.

After your brief conversation at the restaurant, you quickly found yourself talking to him more often.

It turned into him sitting next to you during the one class you shared, your friendship growing stronger day by day as you got to know him better.

He acts like a puppy; he’s so sweet and kind, his voice soft and endearing every time he spoke to you— and, like a stark contrast to the flirty and outgoing guy you saw during your shifts at the restaurant, he was very shy, ever the gentleman as he always treated you with nothing but kindness.

“Good morning,” Beomgyu hums, sitting in the seat next to yours before he’s placing down a cup of coffee, “I got this for you. I already finished mine, but I thought you might like some too.”

Sweet gestures like these were common with him; despite your insistence that he really didn’t need to, he always did it anyway, ever the charming man as he sent you a cute smile that would have you unable to say no.

“Hey, I heard you’re friends with Yeonjun?” you ask, reluctantly accepting the drink after he insisted that you didn’t need to feel bad; your lips are curving into a small smile as you take a drink, stomach flipping at the realization that it was your usual order— you’re surprised he was able to remember it after the first time you got coffee together.

Beomgyu nods in confirmation. You’re a bit surprised by his answer, unable to see the two be friends due to their contrasting personalities. You can tell that he’s curious as to why you’re asking as he pouts slightly— a habit he always does when he’s confused— and you’re quick to swallow down your drink and give him context.

“He’s having a party this weekend. I was wondering if you’re going?” you say, and Beomgyu feels his stomach drop slightly; not because you were going— well, not entirely, at least— but because if you were going, you’d definitely end up seeing a different side of him. And after seeing how fond you are of his puppy-like behavior, he dreads seeing your reaction to a much more reckless side of him.

“I… think so,” he says sheepishly, wondering what kind of excuse he should make to not go— but he pauses, seeing the way you pout at him, grabbing his arm desperately as you lean into him as you plead.

“You should go— pleeeasee? Yeonjun’s parties are super over the top and he always invites hella people, I don’t wanna be there alone.”

You have this man wrapped around your finger; with one look at your face, your gaze sweet and pleading as you cutely pout at him expectantly, he finds himself agreeing, unable to fight back a smile as he watches the way you cheer triumphantly, quieting down the moment the lecture starts.

Beomgyu will definitely have to be careful this weekend— but seeing you will be worth it, even if he’s risking the chance of potentially changing the way you’ll view him forever.

»»»

You have yet to see Beomgyu.

The party started hours ago, yet you’ve only been present for a few as you’ve already both greeted and lost Yeonjun, forced to mingle with people you barely know as you all hang out in his backyard— because lord knows how packed and stuffy the place would’ve been if he held it inside.

You currently find yourself playing cup pong, teaming with the girl in your communications class as you go against two strangers— Yunjin is much friendlier and outgoing when she’s drunk, cheering you on and yelling triumphantly with every ball you get in— you’ve barely had anything to drink as a result, and Yunjin is eager to fix that as she hands you a small shot cup; you’re hesitant at first, only accepting it after she explains that it isn’t strong at all, the soju mixed in with other things as she tells you you’ll barely feel it.

It’s not that you’re a lightweight that would get drunk off one shot, but you’d rather not get shit-faced when you have yet to find Beomgyu; your eyes scan over the place once more after you take the shot, Yunjin’s cheers falling deaf onto your ears as you allow the team in front of you have their turn.

“Drinking already?”

Beomgyu has snuck up on you successfully— you’re flinching in surprise as you feel his hand fall gently on the small of your back, leaning in close so he’s properly able to speak to you over the music.

Beomgyu feels as though looking at you is a sin; he’s forcing himself to keep his eyes off you, listening to the way you ramble into his ear about how happy you are to see him, your head tilting back and exposing the column of your neck to him to get him to hear you.

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he comments, oddly hung up on it as he watches the way your smile only widens.

“Yeah, didn’t feel like it,” you say lightheartedly, leaning back against Beomgyu and finding comfort in the position that allows the two of you to speak over the booming music.

Unbeknownst to you, he takes this moment to drink in your appearance. The white, oversized button-up you wear is left completely open as it drapes over your figure, the light blue denim shorts entirely too tempting as they ride up your thighs, much too short to even cover you properly— but of course, that’s the look you were going for, leaving your bottoms unbuttoned and folded down as you allow your bikini to peek through— the color is flattering on your skin, and Beomgyu wonders if he’ll be strong enough to resist you, eyes flickering over to the pool that’s filled with plenty of people as a distraction.

“You wanna go in?” you ask, and Beomgyu realizes you’ve followed his line of sight, shaking his head quickly in response. You laugh, turning around briefly as you listen to the sounds of Yunjin telling you that you have to drink— you freely down the shot in the plastic cup this time, much more at ease now that Beomgyu is around— and turn back to him, pulling at his shirt slightly as you take in his attire.

“Come on, you’re definitely dressed for the part!”

And that much was true— though he realized halfway through his drive here that doing so would not be a good idea, especially if he wanted to keep up this cute, innocent act of his.

“It’s too full right now,” he says, his excuse valid as you study the pool for a moment— only to agree, turning back to the game as you tell Beomgyu to cheer for you with a cheeky smile.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to get tipsy— all because you made the mistake of trusting Yunjin to play properly during her turn, missing entirely and proceeding to get the two of you obliterated after she went against one of the guys on the opposite team (Jake, he later told you.)— but you’re quick to make sure to bring Beomgyu down with you, handing him every other shot you get as you tell him he’s now on your team.

What you don’t seem to realize is that Beomgyu is not a lightweight— far from it, watching with amusement as you slowly begin to get tipsy, your mouth loosening and your personality becoming much more outgoing after losing the game to Jake and his friend— three times in a row.

“Again?” you ask, laughing at the way Yunjin yells in agreement— Beomgyu has to tug on your shirt to get you away, telling you that it’s definitely not a good idea to go again, especially with someone as uncoordinated as Yunjin.

“Why didn’t you play with me then?” you say, leaning against him as you smile up at him prettily; he’s leading you away from the table and towards the grass, over to where a small campfire is lit, plenty of chairs scattered about as the music becomes louder in this area.

“You don’t like games?” you ask him, stumbling to a stop and tugging at his shirt to stop with you, just so he’s able to hear you better. Coyly, you smile, your eyes twinkling mischievously as you lean in to speak to him quietly, “Don’t you wanna play with me?”

Your words are fairly innocent— but your delivery is not, and it has Beomgyu sputtering in surprise as he wonders how he should respond to such a random advance— though he doesn’t need to in the end, watching as you break character and laugh at your own antics, perking up immediately as you listen to the song that’s playing.

“Oh, I love this song!”

You’re dancing carelessly to the song without a second thought, pulling Beomgyu in and laughing at the way he seems reluctant to let loose; it’s probably the alcohol in your system that’s making you act like such an idiot, leaning against him and smiling at the way he seems adamant to avoid your gaze.

“You know, I just realized that we’re matching!” you laugh, tugging at the collar of his white button-up before you’re glancing down; it’s tucked neatly into his denim shorts, and your smile is only growing wider as you look back up at him, “we look like a couple or something.”

Your words affect him much more than he’d like to admit— but he has no time to dwell on it, eyes looking past you and at Yeonjun, who walks straight toward the two of you with a grin stuck on his face.

“Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were here?” Yeonjun yells, grabbing your attention as you’re turning to greet Yeonjun; you’re bubbly and seem to find everything funny as you giggle slightly, waving at him happily before you’re stepping away from Beomgyu.

“I couldn’t find you,” Beomgyu mumbles, watching the way Yeonjun slings an arm around your shoulders casually— he feels oddly angered at the sight, unsure why it irritates him so much to see the two of you act so close.

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Yeonjun says, and he watches as you begin to ramble about your history with Beomgyu with a small smile— scanning your outfit, he frowns.

“You haven’t gotten in the pool yet?” Yeonjun asks, raising a brow at your entirely dry figure; you shake your head, which only makes him tilt his head in confusion, “I thought you said that’s the only reason you were coming?”

“Well, I just haven’t gotten the chance to,” you say sheepishly, the shy smile on your face quickly turning to one of confusion the moment Yeonjun hugs you; he’s got you tight, and you’re stumbling along with him as you begin questioning what he’s doing, your eyes widening the moment you peek over his shoulder— you’re heading straight to the pool, the volume of your yells rising significantly as you begin to struggle against your friend, yelling at Beomgyu to come to your rescue.

(It’s all for dramatic effect. Yeonjun laughs at the way you pretend to struggle against him, and he pretends he doesn’t hear your laugh of joy the moment he falls over the edge, letting go of you in time and forcing the two of you into the water.)

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that the water isn’t freezing; you personally thank Yeonjun’s heating system as you come up for air, wiping at your face and adjusting your hair as you begin to splash Yeonjun, insulting him for being such a bully.

Your movements are immediately stopping the moment you spot Beomgyu at the edge— Yeonjun is quick to leave, sending you a small wink (the term “wink” used loosely) before he’s off to find his next target—he’s taken his shoes off and he looks more than ready to jump in, and you can’t help but laugh sweetly at his concern before you realize that you should probably take off your shoes as well.

“You okay?” He asks you, watching the way you cringe as you take off your shoes, tossing them over the edge and leaving them to dry as you swim to where he stands.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you smile, watching the way he seems hesitant to do anything— to get in or leave, you’re unsure. A second passes before an evil thought pops into your head, taking notice of your equally soaked clothes that remain stuck on your body.

“Oh. Hey, could you hold this?” you begin, shedding off your shirt before you’re bundling it into a ball, holding out the fabric for him— he crouches down, arm reaching out for your shirt— and you seize your moment, both hands grabbing onto him and tugging as hard as you can.

And Beomgyu, in his unguarded state, falls in immediately.

The laugh you let out is pure evil as you watch him fall in, flailing for a second before he’s coming up for air— and honestly, Beomgyu can’t even be mad, at least not when you’re laughing so hard, your face lit up as you take in the way his hair is completely flat on his head.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it,” you say, but you don’t look sorry at all as you swim over to your shirt that’s now sunk into the bottom of the pool. You’re diving down to get it, quick to throw it over the edge and by your shoes before you’re tugging off your shorts. You’re glancing back at Beomgyu, relieved to see he doesn’t look angry at all, when you spot something peculiar.

“Woah, what’s that?” you ask, approaching Beomgyu eagerly as he’s quick to follow your gaze. His cheeks are on fire and his hands are quick to fly onto his ribs, turning away from your curious hands and even more curious gaze as he stutters out an excuse.

“It’s nothing.” That’s probably one of the lamest things Beomgyu has ever said, and you’re not believing him for a second as your eyes widen at his sudden change in behavior.

“Is it a tattoo?” you ask, trying to get a peek through the cracks of his fingers; but the water makes everything blurry, unable to get the details of it before you’re humming appreciatively. “Hmm. That’s cool— I didn’t know that was such a common spot to get tattooed.”

“Is it?” he asks, and suddenly, he doesn’t seem to want to hide it anymore. Your curious gaze and awed compliments have him smiling, raising a brow as he feels himself become more confident— the idea that you of all people would judge him seems ridiculous now.

“Who else do you know that has a tattoo here?” you’re late to process the question— only because your eyes are widening as he admits that it is a tattoo, the words flying out of your mouth before you can truly process if it’s a good idea.

“I don’t know. I’ve just seen it online, I guess.” Of course, this could mean many things— but it means one thing to you, and you’re practically biting your tongue from the sheer terror that you inadvertently admitted to a guilty, secret pleasure of yours.

“Online?” he asks, and you try to not look suspicious as you choose to simply remain quiet and nod.

“Yeah, like on Pinterest and stuff,” you add, hoping that it’s enough to prove your innocence (to yourself) as you watch Beomgyu nod along to your words.

“Aren’t your clothes weighing you down?” you ask, eyeing the way he’s barely moved with a small smile, “or like, are you not wearing anything underneath?”

Most of the people here came with their swimsuits underneath— some just opted to strip to their underwear, which is why you didn’t feel alarmed to find people stripping their layers in order to jump into the pool.

Though, now that you think about it, you feel a bit bad for forcing Beomgyu to get in without much of a warning. Your concerns are quickly soothed, however, when Beomgyu shakes his head, hands coming up to unbutton his shirt before he’s laughing softly at your words.

“I was wearing my shorts underneath these,” he confesses, your eyes widening as you find yourself going silent— because wow, was Beomgyu always this ripped?

You feel odd as you watch him strip, sliding off his shirt as most of his torso remains underwater; he’s slowly making his way to where you stand by the edge, and you can feel your heart stopping as you take in the look in his eyes.

Dark. Dangerous. Tempting. You think you’re imagining things as you look away, gulping heavily as you feel yourself sobering suddenly. He’s throwing his shirt in the direction that your pile of clothes lie, and you feel oddly embarrassed by the way you have to look away as he strips his bottoms off as well.

You’re only glancing back in time to see him hover out of the pool for a second, his upper body coming out of the water as he takes a moment to lay out both your clothing properly.

Holy shit.

Was it common for people to have the same tattoo? It surely was, right? Those are the only things that are going through your mind as you observe Beomgyu’s tattoo, taking in the familiarity of each line as your eyes drift down to his v-line— your eyes spot the small, perfect heart that rests right at his pubic bone.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god oh god, you think, trying your best to not lose your shit and melt in a puddle of horror and embarrassment as you realize that Beomgyu has the exact tattoo as guiltypleasures.

It had to be a popular tattoo. Or maybe it was a reference to something, or a drawing a tattoo artist put out to let other people use— anything, it had to be anything else than the conclusion your mind was terrified of making, meeting Beomgyu’s gaze shyly as you realize that he’s caught you staring, hard.

“It’s pretty,” you breathe out, unsure you can trust your voice as you watch Beomgyu sink back into the pool, “Is it… a reference to something?”

Please say yes. Please say yes.

“Thanks,” he starts, leaving you on edge as he takes a moment to inspect his tattoo— running his fingertips over it, tracing over the delicate lines in a way that has you gripping onto the edge of the pool, “and no, it’s not. I designed it myself.”

You’re gonna pass out.

“Really?” you grit out, hoping he can’t pick up on the tension of your voice as you smile, albeit forced, “Like, it’s one of a kind?”

“Yup,” he grins, staring down at his tattoo with a proud look on his face, “One of a kind. My tattoo artist didn’t even post it, upon my request.”

You’re gonna cry. Maybe you’ll scream, or even sink into the pool and try to drown yourself.

Because Choi Beomgyu, your closest friend for the past few months and the man you may or may have not been beginning to crush on, is guiltypleasures, the man you lust after every night and fucking pay to watch.

You know they say that quiet guys are the freakiest, but this is too fucking much.

“That’s so cool,” you say, sinking into the pool so the water is up to your mouth, hoping that you won’t blurt out any more stupidities as you stare off into the distance, attempting to let this new information settle in.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, and you hate how attentive Beomgyu has become— even more because everything is starting to click, his husky and deep voice a replica of your stupid camboy’s, your body reacting involuntarily to the sound of it as you simply nod softly.

“Mhmm,” you hum out, coming out of the water a bit so you can speak, “I think those drinks from earlier fucked up my stomach— I should go home.”

“Oh,” Beomgyu says, and you feel awful for the way he’s become confused at your sudden shift in mood, “Are you sure you’ll be okay driving—?”

“I Ubered here,” you mumble, oddly embarrassed at your words, “cause I knew I’d probably drink a lot.”

“Well then let me take you home,” he insists, ever the gentleman as you try to say that he shouldn’t, that he should just stay and enjoy the party.

“It’s dangerous to call an Uber at this hour though,” he continues, his stupid fucking puppy eyes taking a toll on your resolve as you bite your lip, “Plus, I only really came to this party because of you.”

God, what the hell was this behavior?! This innocent, shy, and sweet Beomgyu was a complete one-eighty— scratch that— was an entirely different fucking person than the one that always talked down at you at night, spilling filth like it was in his nature and treating you like you were worthless.

It was a bit terrifying as you watched the way he remained entirely oblivious to the Earth-shattering realization, getting out of the pool and reaching out to help you out with a sweet smile.

After a second, you take it.

You feel so awkward as you gather your clothes; you’re jumpy and you’re sure Beomgyu has picked up on it as he eyes you from time to time, watching as you wring out your clothes as much as you can before you’re slipping on your shirt, your shorts left in your hand as you avoid Beomgyu’s eyes entirely.

“I have a few blankets in my car— you should use those to keep yourself warm,” he says softly, looking back at you and frowning at the way you only nod with a tense smile.

Was he wrong about you? Were you lying when you reacted positively to his tattoo? Beomgyu has no idea why something as simple as a tattoo would change the way you treat him entirely, but he’s determined to get to the bottom of this as you enter his car, entirely stiff as you wrap one of his aforementioned blankets around yourself.

“Hey, did something happen tonight?” He asks you halfway through his drive, licking his lips nervously as he watches the way you jump in your seat, not expecting his question at all as you remain silent for a second.

“Uhm, no?” you say, though you seem unsure of your own answer as you wrap the blankets a little tighter around yourself, “I’m telling you, it was probably the drinks— I didn’t think my stomach would be so sensitive tonight.”

Your explanation is entirely plausible, but Beomgyu doesn’t believe it as he watches the way you remain tense, his car slowing to a stop as the two of you wait at the stoplight in an awkward silence.

“You’re lying,” Beomgyu says, deciding that it’s better to just be bold instead of tiptoeing around the subject, “Is it because of my tattoo?”

Your lips press together.

“It is,” he says, and he feels an unexpected wave of disappointment and anger wash over him, “did something that small put you off that much?”

“That’s not it,” you say, your heart pounding against your chest and your body heating up as you realize that you’ve upset him— and greatly, because you’re able to see the way his brows knit together and his hand tightens on the steering wheel as he begins to drive again.

Did he think you were judging him? That you thought less of him because of such a small thing?

“Then what is it?” he insists, and you’re mortified to see that you’re stuck in traffic, victim to Beomgyu’s sharp gaze that demands answers, “Cause you’ve been acting weird since I showed it to you.”

“I’ve seen it before,” you mutter quietly, sinking into your seat from the humiliation, “I recognized it. Your tattoo.”

Beomgyu pauses. Then he thinks of the many times he’s had his shirt ride up when he’s around you, from stretching to taking off his hoodie and having his undershirt get pulled up along with it.

“Okay?”

“Like. Online.”

That’s enough to leave him silent. Stupefied, even. One glance at you and your body language is enough to confirm that it’s exactly what he’s thinking, your posture so small that you look like you wish you could disappear.

“You’ve—“ he swallows, wondering what else to say as traffic begins moving again, “like… Twitter—?”

“Your streams.”

Fuck. Fuck, oh fuck, Beomgyu needs to get the fuck out of the car this instant, because his dick is already hardening and he can feel his brain short-circuiting at your words— you watch his streams.

In your mind, you feel as though you’ve completely dug a hole for yourself— Beomgyu is probably horrified at your confession, but it’s not as though you knew it was him, or that you had any malicious intent, or that—!

All Beomgyu can think of is how he shouldn’t park the car in the middle of the road and fuck you stupid.

“Did you watch them a lot?” he asks you, his voice eerily quiet and stable, and oh no he’s interrogating you right now, this is the end for you.

“Yeah,” you say, deciding to be completely transparent now that you’ve decided to tell the truth, “I’m sorry.”

Is it possible to come untouched like this? Beomgyu might just find out, because the way your voice is so meek and shy and guilty has him biting down on his lip, his mind growing foggier and his foot pressing down on the gas pedal a little harder as he begins to weave through lanes.

“You were a subscriber then,” he says calmly, and you feel as though he’s trying to humiliate you on purpose as you nod your head in admittance— unbeknownst to you, that’s exactly what he’s doing, enjoying the way he’s breaking you down from just a few questions with sick pleasure.

“How much money did you spend on me then?” You’re finding his line of questioning a bit odd at this point, but you refuse to look up from your lap as you find yourself answering anyways.

“I was just a low-tier subscriber…” you say, and it feels even more humiliating to admit that you cheaped out on him— what the hell was wrong with you?

“Low-tier? Not even a single tip?” he repeats, and you don’t seem to register the way he pouts at you until it’s far too late.

Stopping at a red light, he grabs your chin, turning your face roughly so you’re looking at him— and he’s back, the man behind the screen, except this time you can see the sheer pity that fills his gaze as he speaks to you as though you’re lower than him.

“How are you gonna make it up to me now?”

»»»

God. Fuck. Are you dreaming? You think you might pass out.

“I know, I know I said I wouldn’t stream tonight— shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here?”

Your stomach is twisted in knots and you feel small as you attempt to take in everything properly— Beomgyu’s setup, the same room you’ve seen countless times before— you’re able to see it all, from his large computer monitors, his filming camera, to his grandiose bed and the insane amount of toys he keeps on standby.

You shift restlessly on your feet, entirely bare save for a shirt that Beomgyu let you borrow— another white button-up, the very same one that he loved to wear when he dressed up, now hanging from your figure as he allowed the two of you to freshen up the moment you got to his home.

Nervously, you had left the shirt completely buttoned up; you watched from behind his camera as he continued to sweet talk his viewers, dressed comfortably in a sweater and sweats, his attire a complete contrast to your own.

“You’re happy to see me? I don’t believe you,” he smiles, and you feel as though you’re back to being a faceless member of his stream as you press your thighs together, able to hear the way notifications pop up on his computer, all of them signifying a new tip.

“You know, today’s a pretty special occasion actually,” he begins, pausing to see his comments and the reactions within them, “you’re curious? Do you wanna try something new with me?”

Yes. It’s the only thing he sees in his comments, and he lets out a soft laugh before he’s turning back to his camera.

Then, he’s looking past it.

“Come here, baby.”

You knew this was coming— you agreed to this, for crying out loud, but you still feel as though your legs are made of jello as you hesitate, biting your lip before your eyes are widening nervously, the safe word the two of you established beforehand running through your mind like a mantra you mustn’t forget.

“Come on, you don’t want to keep them waiting, do you?” he asks, eyes flickering over to his screen, watching the way everyone seems to go haywire from his words, “See? They’re curious, they want to see you.”

You’re taking your first step towards the camera— then another, and another, until you’re walking past the setup, your back facing the camera as you make your way to where he sits at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do as you remain frozen in front of him.

“What, are you nervous?” he asks, and he’s only able to let out a mean laugh the moment you’re nodding in response, unable to use your voice properly— that’ll change soon, he thinks, reaching for your hands and guiding them to his shoulders.

“Don’t be,” he whispers, aiming for your thighs next as he’s tugging at them, pleased with the way you let him mold you to his desired position, your thighs on either side of his as you hover over him pathetically, “I know they’ll love you.”

Neither of your full faces can be seen— but the audience can definitely see the way he captures your lips in a harsh kiss, filled with nothing but pure need as he finally gets to feel you properly— you feel as though you’re about to run out air when he finally pulls away, laughing as he feels the way you buttoned every single button of the shirt he gave you.

“Now why would you do that?” he whispers against your lips, and your fingers dig into his shoulders pathetically as you watch him rip it open— the viewers are going wild at the sight, tipping ridiculous amounts of money just so they can get Beomgyu to see their requests; curiously your eyes drift to his monitor.

You practically collapse at the things you read on the screen.

Finger her. Eat her out. Use a vibrator on her, tie her up, breed her until she can’t walk straight, use a dildo on her—

The horror comes from the fact that Beomgyu is clearly considering doing all of it.

“What do you think baby?” he asks you, pressing his hand on the small of your back and forcing you to arch into him, your ass perking out and your cunt left to be entirely displayed as he trails his hand up your back, lifting your shirt along with it as he allows the viewers to get a good look at you.

“Anything that piques your interest?” he whispers, your head buried in his shoulder as you shake from the embarrassment of it all, “or…”

You jolt at the way his hand lands a sharp smack on your ass. He’s quick to soothe the area, smiling at the way he takes in the small whimper you let out, burying your face deeper into his shoulder and arching more in response. He lands another one, much more harsher than the last as his hand immediately drifts to your pussy, spreading you for the camera and watching the way you practically glisten under the light.

“Should I decide how I get to use you for myself?”

He’s a bit surprised to find that you’re quick to nod at his second request, much too shy to even lift your head from where it rests as your fingers dig into his skin.

He smiles, his eyes drifting back to the monitor as he begins reading over their requests.

“Hmm, are you shy, princess?” he asks, fingers trailing along your slit, feeling the way your hole flutters at the feeling, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside as you whine quietly, nodding at his words.

“But you’re so fucking wet, and we haven’t even done anything,” slowly, his fingers slip inside— you’re both moaning at the feeling, and Beomgyu thinks that he might just be the one to cum as he feels the way you stretch around his fingers.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, beginning to test out the waters by scissoring you— spreading you out for the camera, watching over your shoulder as your arousal practically leaks out; he gulps, unable to keep his eyes away from the sight as he sighs.

“Feels so soft and warm,” he mutters, placing a kiss on your temple before he’s reaching for something off-screen— the box of toys, you realize, forced to keep your face buried in his shoulder in an attempt to not show your face to his audience.

“Just like I thought you would be,” he says, smiling against your skin as he murmurs the words into your ear— just for you to hear, not for the thousands of people who are currently watching the stream.

“Do you know what I thought about every time I went live?” he asks, sitting up and shifting so that you’re back in position, shaking your head softly as you feel his fingers begin to circle your entrance.

“You.” the stretch you suddenly feel has you moaning pathetically, the first sound the viewers are able to hear as the comments begin to fly past— your legs are shaking at the feeling of him slowly pushing the silicone dildo into your pussy, thick and long as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling tears prick at your eyes from how full you feel.

“I thought of you. Every time.”

Beomgyu’s eyes are dark as his hand grabs at your ass, spreading your cheeks and showing off the way the dildo begins disappearing into your tight cunt, your arousal already beginning to drip down the toy with every slow thrust of his.

“Wished you were there every time I would stream. I thought about fucking you the way I would fuck my toys,” his thrusts begin speeding up; you’re a moaning mess against him as you push your ass back, showcasing yourself perfectly and pushing up against the toy that he continues to ram into you— you’re jolting back into him with every thrust, your hands beginning to cramp with how hard you’re holding on to him.

“I would always moan your name too, did you ever notice?”

Your mind goes back to the time you thought you heard it— and, unexpectedly, you’re coming undone, reaching your peak as you respond with a pathetic yes…! The realization that it had all been real much more overwhelming than you thought.

Beomgyu continues to fuck the toy into you even long after you’re done coming; you’re a whimpering, crying mess against him, the stimulation making your mind muddled as you quietly attempt to get him to stop.

“Hmm? What do you want baby?” he asks, lips trailing down your neck and to your shoulders, where he begins to slip off your shirt so that you’re more exposed. He remains fully clothed as he begins sucking bruises into your skin, following one of his requests to mark up your pretty skin— his hair falls over his face, covering him momentarily as he begins drifting along your body carelessly.

It’s too much— yet, it’s not enough to have you using your safe word, and the fact makes Beomgyu smile as he bottoms out the toy inside you, grinding it into your pathetic pussy as he watches the way a ring of your cum begins to form around the base.

“Come on, talk to me. We’re waiting,” you’re hesitant to speak— that much is clear, especially when you know how much traction this stream is currently getting, the sound of tips constant as you shake your head in defeat.

“No? Okay then,” your shirt is being slipped off, leaving you naked as you wince slightly at the feeling of your garment being removed. Once again, Beomgyu is moving you around, and you’re facing the camera now as your legs are pried open by his own, the toy still stuffed inside you as you sit on Beomgyu’s lap— right on his hard cock, whining softly as you feel him begin to hold your hips down, grinding into you for some release.

“Don’t wanna use your words? Don’t wanna say anything to me or the viewers?” he tries again, eyes narrowing at the way you remain disobedient and shake your head, laying back against him as you pant softly.

“You’re not gonna thank our viewers for wanting me to please you, you fucking whore?” his hands are swift, and before you realize what he’s doing, your hands are cuffed behind your back, the fuzzy feeling reminding you of the cuffs he uses on himself sometimes.

“Fine. You wanna be ungrateful, stay quiet?” every sound that leaves your lips is unsure and soft, barely able to reach the microphone of the camera as Beomgyu scoffs at you. “Then stay fucking quiet. I don’t wanna hear a single word from you, understand?”

He doesn’t let you respond— of course he wouldn’t let you— but the way your mouth falls open suggests that you almost went against his command, the vibrator that he now pressed onto your clit making your legs shake with the sudden stimulation, threatening to close before Beomgyu’s own pried you back open swiftly.

“Look at you. Like a bitch in heat, only thinking about yourself,” he growls, his other hand beginning to thrust the toy back into you at a harsh pace, listening to the sounds of your arousal and the toy smacking against your skin with a satisfied groan, “Do you have any idea how many people wish they were in your place, wish they could be getting fucked stupid instead of having to sit and watch as I do it to you?”

He pauses. Then, he turns up the intensity of the vibrator with a cruel laugh.

“You would fucking know,” he seethes, taking in the way you writhe against him pathetically, biting at your lip to keep quiet as your hands struggle behind your back, “shit, can’t you hear how pathetic you sound? I bet you were a lot louder when you watched me, just another of my useless viewers that wish that I would fuck you— that I would even fucking acknowledge you.”

Everything that happens next is all a blur— your mind is foggy and you’re coming undone as you feel Beomgyu bite down on your neck, unable to hold back the pure keen of pleasure that rips through you, a string of unintelligible sounds flowing out of you desperately as you cream around the toy, feeling tears sting your eyes the moment Beomgyu decides to turn the intensity up again.

“Take it. I know you can,” he laughs purely because he knows that you have yet to use your safe word. It’s even worse because he’s right, the overstimulation fogging your mind and making you melt in his arms, still able to trust him even if your mind isn’t entirely there.

After a moment, the vibrator is turned off— you can hear him toss it to the side before he’s pulling the dildo out of your aching cunt, your body twitching at the sudden feeling before your cum is oozing out, dripping all over Beomgyu’s sweats and onto his sheets as he merely laughs at you.

You’re being turned around again— you feel woozy as you cling to Beomgyu, barely capable of hovering over him as he simply looks up at you, his eyes holding that same, innocent puppy-like look that got you trapped in his clutches in the first place.

“I feel so stuffy,” he pouts, tilting his head up at you as you simply whine incoherently in response, “I know baby. Won’t you help me out?”

It takes you a second to even register his request, your hands suddenly freed by him before you finally realize what he asked; your hands are slow and clumsy as you reach for the hem of his sweater, barely able to tug it up before he’s helping you out— your hands land on his shoulders once more for stability, your gaze falling on his chest and trailing down curiously.

And there it is. The very tattoo that got you into this mess, though this time you’re free to gawk at it, not paying attention to the way Beomgyu realized he caught you staring until he’s grabbing your hand, placing it on his chest and trailing it down, allowing you to feel him up as he shudders slightly at the feeling.

Your fingers trace over the tattoo. All the way down, following every elaborate line until you’re stopped by the hem of his pants, hands immediately slipping under before you’re tugging them off, pulling off his boxers too as you feel him lift his hips, left just as bare as you before he smiles.

You feel his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he begins to rub it against your slit; teasing you with the tip, looking over your shoulder to see what his viewers may be saying.

“What do you think?” He asks, pushing his tip into your cunt before he’s pulling back out. The action has you whining hopelessly, and Beomgyu has to take a second to recollect his resolve, pausing all movements in order to not come then and there.

“Should I fuck her? Does she deserve it?” He asks, looking over at you, cooing softly at the way your eyes remain glassy and fucked out, “Don’t cry. You don’t deserve to cry, not when you’ve been so ungrateful to our viewers.”

A tip catches his attention, and he’s briefly scanning over the amount and request before he’s biting back a smile.

“See? Even though you haven’t said a word to them, they still want to see me fuck you,” he says, taking your hands off his shoulders and leaving you to wobble momentarily as he places your cuffs back on.

“Aren’t they the sweetest?”

You’re barely able to process what’s going on— all you know is that your position changes within seconds, and your face is buried into the mattress while your ass is up in the air, your legs shaky as you’re barely able to hold yourself up; luckily for you, Beomgyu is there to help, hands grabbing onto your hips before he’s making you lean back.

His cock is poking at your entrance, and he’s already able to feel the way your cunt tries to suck him in as he passes his tip along your entrance, left entranced with the way you look under him, a complete, ruined mess as you quietly whine out to him, your voice muffled from where your face remained in his sheets.

It’s cute, really, the way you’re able to focus so hard on keeping your face hidden— if you lifted your head now, every single viewer on his screen would be able to drink up your expression as he fucked you— the thought irritates Beomgyu.

He’ll just have to make sure to fuck you until you’re too weak to move.

“God, you’re such a brat,” he groans out, entering you slowly and feeling the way you clamp onto him dangerously; even with how wet you are, he finds it difficult to fuck you, gritting his teeth and taking a moment where he merely concentrates on not coming inside you then and there.

“Stop fucking squeezing like that— ah— shit—,” it seems as though your pussy has him going stupid, unable to form a coherent sentence as he slowly pulls out— the whine you let out is long and lethal, so desperate and carnal that Beomgyu finds himself losing control; tightening his hold on your hips, he begins to fuck into you without a care.

“Such a good little pussy,” he grits out, watching the way your ass bounces against him with every thrust, “fuck, wish you’d let me fuck you sooner— would’ve made you mine, wouldn’t be able to get enough of you— god, fuck—!”

The way you tighten at his words is dangerous. He’s cursing and talking down like he always does, but this time, it’s just for you. The very thought is enough to have you clenching around him again, mouth agape and drooling against his sheets as your sounds get louder.

Another tip rings through— the same person from before, repeating the only part of their previous request that Beomgyu has yet to fulfill.

Won’t she say thank you?

The words have him stuttering out a laugh, unable to help the way he moans in between. His thrusts slow, and he’s bottoming out inside you before his motions are nothing but a slow grind, rutting his hips into your aching pussy while he reaches for something off-screen.

Your whines and soft complaints at the sudden change of pace are brief— because soon after a familiar buzzing sound is filling your ears, and before you can react, the same vibrator form before is pressed against your clit on the highest setting.

“Gyuuuuu…!” you whine out, long and desperate and incoherent as Beomgyu grabs at your cuffs, using them as leverage to make you slam back into him. His thrusts are brutal and the sound of skin against skin is enough rivalry to the buzzing of the toy as he begins to use the last of his energy to fuck you to your orgasm, watching as the chat buzzes with excitement from your sudden word.

What? What’d she say?? Was that his name? omg?!

“Do you think you deserve to come?” he sneers, his voice gruff as you shake your head, knowing damn well that you haven’t been perfectly compliant to him like he wanted you to be, especially now that you may have just slipped up and let out a personal fact about him.

“Exactly,” he continues, his thrusts toning down in speed, but not intensity— he pulls out to the tip with every thrust, only to slam back into you and have you jolt forward from the harshness of his pace; the vibrator that was once relentless on your clit is now hovering mere centimeters from you, taunting you as all stimulation becomes insignificant to what it was before.

“Maybe, if you’re good for me, I’ll let you come,” he begins, watching the way you can only nod eagerly against the sheets, your hands struggling against your cuffs— he’s holding your hand at the sight, fingers interlocking as he watches you grip onto his hand with both of yours tightly.

“Will you be good for me? Are you gonna listen to whatever the fuck I ask you to do?” he says, his voice hardening at the end as he looks at you expectantly— a second passes before you’re nodding again.

“My viewers have been so patient with you. The only reason you got all this was because they wanted it— if it were up to me, I would’ve dumped my load in you already and left.”

That’s a lie— the biggest fucking lie Beomgyu has ever told, knowing damn well that he would’ve done all this and more to you any day, entirely unprovoked. But he knows his viewers love it, and so do you, because your cunt squeezes him so tightly he’s afraid he might just come early.

“Aren’t you grateful they loved you so much? Hmm?” you’re barely registering his words anymore. But you’re nodding nonetheless, your thighs beginning to shake from the sheer pleasure of feeling Beomgyu rut into your cunt throughout all this.

“Tell them thank you,” he says sweetly, not giving you enough time to speak before he’s back to fucking you wildly; his pace picking up, aiming for that specific spot that leaves you dumb and drooly as he places the vibrator back on your clit— any chances of sounding sane are thrown out the window as he begins tugging on your cuffs, bouncing you back against him as the wet sounds of his thrusts ring out through the room.

“Did you hear me—?” he asks, landing a smack to your ass before he’s soothing the area, slowing down so he can smack you again, “I said say thank you. Do you think you’re above us, pretty?”

Your first attempt to speak is a garbled mess.

“Come on, I know you can do better than that. Or— do you just wanna be a cute little cumdump for me—? Ah, let me use you every time I stream… don’t need any fucking toys when I have my pretty doll for me— right—?” His own sentences are becoming more incoherent the longer he fucks you, addicted to the way your pussy practically sucks him in deeper in response.

“Try again,” he growls, feeling his own orgasm approaching slowly, “show me you’re not a— shit, a fucking brat, and maybe I’ll let you… ugh, let you come.”

Beomgyu swore he got rid of his habit of rambling like this long ago. But, you seem to be able to bring it out of him, his calm and collected speeches crumbling like paper in his mind as he takes in the way both your arousals are smeared over skin and dripping down your thighs, forming a ring around Beomgyu’s cock as he feels his resolve beginning to crumble— he begins to fuck you carelessly, not able to think about anything else but reaching his high as he waits for your response.

“Mmh��! ugh… fuck…” your voice is increasing in volume, the shy person from before long gone as you begin to chase your orgasm, much too afraid to lose it as you try to form a single, coherent thought.

“Thank…. thank you…” you whine out, but it’s all too slurred and quiet and pathetic to Beomgyu as he growls out a sharp what? His hand pressing down on the small of your back as he glues your hands to your skin, forced to take the way he fucks you as you moan out uncontrollably.

“Thank you..! Thank you thank you, oh, fuck—!” holy shit, you’re full on crying right now, reduced to nothing but a mess of moans and tears as you ramble on repeatedly, only able to remember those limited words as you feel Beomgyu come inside you— warm and deep, stilling for just a moment before he’s back to fucking you, his own moans becoming much more needy at the feeling of overstimulation.

“Thank you thank you thank youuuu, fuck, fuck fuck mmh—!” you feel stupid. You’ve definitely been fucked stupid, moaning out those stupid thank you’s like a prayer as you feel yourself slumping completely, a boneless, gooey mess as you rely on Beomgyu to hold you up.

He continues to fuck into you slowly, even after you’ve gone entirely still; he thinks you might’ve passed out, but it’s only for a minute before he sees you shifting again, burying your head into the mattress as he hears the distant sound of you sniffling.

Beomgyu feels concerned for a second, ready to check up on you and end the stream before you’re grabbing his hand again; then you’re clenching around him, mumbling his name so sweetly while you try to press yourself against him.

You’re straight up gone, he realizes, stilling for a moment and waiting for you to use your safe word— but you don’t, and he sees you peeking subtly at his monitor before you’re burying your face back into his sheets.

“You got a new tip.”

The words are barely audible to him, but he’s quick to glance at it upon your request; he almost chokes as he sees the five-hundred dollars that have been sent to him, his eyes reading over the request a few times before he’s looking back at you.

Could you try to make her squirt ?

“It’s five hundred dollars,” you mutter, and all Beomgyu can do is let out a bewildered laugh, leaning down to place a kiss on your shoulder before he’s whispering in your ear if you’re okay to continue— the small nod you give him is enough to have his cock hardening inside you.

Fuck, he’s gonna give you the aftercare of the century after this.

#txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt fluff #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu ff #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu oneshot

2K notes · View notes

tearsofastraeax · 10 months ago

Note

hiii i just love ur stories and i was wondering, could u write a story where a lot of girls flirt with ghost (cause he's just so hot tbh) and we're crying and feeling bad bcs we're scared he'll find better since he dosen't reject or ignore them??

ty a lot and take care <3

thank u anon ♡ i had so much fun writing a lil angst

sorry it took me longer than expected to wrap up your request, the creative juices are not flowing these days, but i hope you enjoy ♡₊ ⊹

It's no surprise to you that going out with an incredibly fine piece of man is going to come with some jealous feelings here and there.

Just a couple weeks after you started to hang out with Ghost, you noticed women staring at him. But you didn't blame them, how could they not stare? Ghost just naturally attracts women, with his broad shoulders, his veiny arms, those giant hands ... you could go on and on forever.

But you never expected to find yourself sitting in your bedroom, hiding underneath the blanket and silently sobbing into your pillow because of it.

Earlier that day when you were out with Ghost for a drink it really hit you. You had barely left for a minute to head to the bathroom, but when you came back you saw a beautiful woman standing next to him. Inching closer and closer to him, her hand on his shoulder and a flirty smirk on her face. And it didn't look like he was opposed to it in the slightest. His body was slightly angled towards her, his face covered in mystery behind his mask, but you could feel his smile, you just knew.

Your heart felt like it was about to drop, break apart, stop beating all together. Your stomach was in knots. Your thoughts ran a mile a minute, you had no right to be jealous, right? You were only seeing the man for a couple of weeks now, nothing serious... only, at one point, unbeknownst to you, your little heart had accepted him in and made it serious. You were fucked, royally fucked.

To feign calmness you took a slow breath, in and out. Before you made your way back to Simon and the woman still plastered to his side. You coughed uncomfortably to make them both aware of your presence.

It took him a moment to take his eyes off the woman, before he turned to you.

"Oh, this is my friend, y/n," he looked back towards her, gesturing to you.

You all but managed to swallow the big lump that had formed in your throat. His friend? Is that all you were? A friend? Nothing more? Did it only take one beautiful woman to suddenly make you nothing but a friend to him? You should have known this, it was just too good to be true. Of course he would find someone better than you. You felt your eyes begin to water, but you aggressively blinked the tears away. No, you were better than this.

"Yea, his friend", you pressed out, a tight and obviously fake smile on your lips. "Who is just about to leave actually. Have fun."

You grabbed the jacket haphazardly thrown over the seat next to the one you were just sitting on and turned around. Your legs carrying you out of the bar, you couldn't wait to get out of there, to just get away, as far as possible.

What you didn't see was Ghost's slightly confused expression as he watched you leave. But what you did know was he didn't follow you. Didn't he notice how upset you were? Did he just not care?

You huffed out an annoyed sigh, at yourself, at him, at the world, at everything.

You had barely made it home, slamming the door behind you, before the tears came. They welled up, making everything blurry, and then they came crashing over you like a wave, making it hard to breathe, harder to see and impossible to do anything but slide down against the door and sob into your hands.

And there you were, laying in bed, an hour later, still fucking pissed and sad and helpless and jealous and ...

Your phone vibrated next to you, Simons name popping up on your screen. You tried to ignore the call but he immediately called again. Deciding to pick it up you heard a low growl in your ear, the hairs on your neck standing up, a slight shiver running down your back.

“Open the fucking door, y/n.”

The edge in his tone made you immediately jump off the bed. For a quick moment though you stopped in your tracks, hating how he could command you and make you feel, how he had so much power over you when clearly he didn't feel the same about you.

But you heard him pounding on your door, so you hurried to open it. The door swung open and his eyes immediately bore into yours. You swallowed down a thick lump in your throat as he crowded into you, effectively pushing the two of you into the apartment. He slammed the door behind him shut and stared down at you, never breaking eye contact.

"What the fuck was that?" He growled. You couldn’t fucking believe his attitude, weren’t you the one that was supposed to be angry?

You took in a deep breath before you answered, "well, I wasn't the one flirting with some chick..."

You meant for the words to come out more powerful, maybe even as aggressive as his. To make him understand that he had no fucking right to barge in here like this and act as if he had the right to demand answers.

"You...", his gaze softened then, shifting into ... surprise? "You're jealous?"

All you could do was shrug, feeling too raw from crying to vocalise your feelings. But to your surprise, he didn't say another word, his hand softly cradling your cheek. Your skin underneath his felt hot to the touch as you looked up to him. His eyes seemed so soft and gentle then, making your breath hitch in your throat. The feeling of him wrapped around you like a warm blanket was overwhelming. His gesture nearly stitching your heart back together all by itself.

"I'm sorry... I-", was all he could say before his lips pressed onto yours, so harsh and hurried, yet somehow gentle and sweet.

His hands slowly travelled down your body, once he reached your ass, he lifted you up so effortlessly, your legs immediately wrapping around his, as he carried you to the bedroom.

He gently whispered between kisses, "I'm gonna make it up to you, I promise."

#Simon Riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #Simon Riley angst #ghost angst #request #✧･ﾟ⊹ astra writes 📖

934 notes · View notes

howlett-n-morgan · 2 months ago

Text

Take Me Home

5. Blood Stains

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: HEY GUYS I AM BACK WITH A DOOSIE. okay so my fashion show was fantastic, let me know if y'all wanna see a video of my collection i think it turned out pretty damn good. anyways, wrote this while crocked off my ass on Benadryl bc allergy season is hitting very very hard right now so if it's not perfect we are all going to collectively blame the Benadryl, okay? okay.

Summary: An accident in the laundry causes chaos in the camp, and secrets are revealed sooner than expected. With everyone else acting like the world is caving in, Arthur steps up as usual.

Warnings: misogyny, major gender role tropes, a little bit of personal violation, but very minor. Susan is a bitch in this chapter (we love Susan). Blood plays a lot into this chapter, and so do menstrual cycles, so if you're uncomfortable with those mentions, this may be a skippable chapter for you. There's also like some sexual implications but nothing inherently sexual happens. I think that's it, let me know if I missed anything.

WC: 7.8k

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet. You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip. “Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?”

In the weeks since John’s disappearance, you’ve noticed three things:

One, Dutch hasn’t barely been seen in the camp, and when he makes his presence known, it’s either angry or forlorn. Two, the entire gang has been very quiet, not wanting to set off Dutch, or make anyone else upset with the matter. Three, Arthur has done as he said he would, becoming closer with Abigail, and helping nightly with Jack.

It shouldn’t break your heart, because you had no right for it to. You shouldn’t be distancing yourself from the both of them, they didn’t do anything to deserve it, but the way your chest tightened by watching them, watching Arthur gently place a hand on her shoulder as he watched Jack squirm in her arms was far too miserable. Abigail won’t speak of it, knowing that everyone has been on edge since her former lover left, but she missed the talks and conversations you held. You understood her, and though she didn’t exactly know the truth as to why, she was still partially in grief over that bond, too.

Arthur takes immediate notice, but doesn’t say anything. Hosea had mentioned your run in with John the evening he took off. He figured you needed time to cope with the situation, even if you didn’t know John all that well, or even like him for that matter. Everyone in camp was dealing with it differently, so why should he judge the way you handled yourself?

It was only when you stopped talking to him altogether that he became slightly concerned, and he wasn’t the only one.

When Dutch first brought you into the gang, he knew there was some subtle competition with you and Arthur. The two fastest guns in the west, hell, maybe even the world… but you butted heads often. He didn’t know why it had suddenly stopped, but his concern grew from being in both your presences at the same time, and the icy feeling he got just from standing between you, running over job details in a tent.

It was like Arthur didn’t exist to you anymore. Everything you said and did was conveyed to the people around him, but never to him. You would even give news to a big group of people to avoid telling Arthur directly.

Dutch knew there was something wrong, because he could have sworn you both were inches away from getting along, but now it was worse than square one. It was after a successful job that he said something about it. After you had deliberately handed Arthur’s cut to Javier and told him to give it to the next man over.

You’d ridden back, safe and sound, but Dutch held you back, nodding the others away from the horse troughs.

“Talk with me for a bit, will ya son?” He tried to approach the situation gently. This couldn’t have been a gradual thing.

“F’course,” you muttered, hands resting on your gun belt as you followed him into the center of camp.

“I’ve been noticing some… strange behavior from you towards Arthur. Only lately…” he scratched his head, looking at you expectantly. “You can tell me if he did somethin’ to piss you off, I’ll speak with him about it.”

You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “He didn’t do nothin’ to piss me off… I’ve just always been better off on my own, don’t wanna rely on anyone.”

“I can understand that sentiment, but it doesn’t make any damn sense as to why you’re givin’ him the cold shoulder,” he furthered his point, and you didn’t have any choice but to make something else up. Something that could actually be worth what you were doing to Arthur. Your head told you that the truth of ‘I’m actually a young woman and I’m catching feelings for your gang enforcer’ wouldn’t help you.

“He’s been tryna hold me back,” you sighed out, as if revealing some huge secret. It was partially true, but you’d grown more relaxed about the protection Arthur had been trying to provide. Still, you kept on the charade, knowing it would get you out of this situation free and clear. “M’tired of him thinkin’ I can’t keep up, tired of feelin’ like a helpless kid next to ‘im.”

Dutch let out a breath and narrowed his eyes. “I see… and so you figured it best to keep him out of arm’s reach, is that it?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged, leaning against the pole of his big tent.

And then it seemed that Dutch saw this as a teaching moment, because he nodded for you to sit down on one of the cross latch boxes, across from where he stood. He had a whole spiel oncoming, and you were almost sure you knew what it would contain. Something about the camp being a family, everyone sticking together and more nonsense of the like.

“You don’t understand this now, because you’ve never had a time of need in this gang… but that day will come,” he paused, and you perhaps had it all wrong, listening intently now. He pointed in the direction of Arthur’s camp set up, and you glanced over, not for the first time that day. He was tired, hunched over his cot and leaning in exhaustion, running his hand over his face. “And when you are in that time of need, there is no better man to have in your corner than Arthur Morgan.”

You nodded in understanding, a small frown on your face. You wanted to protect yourself, but if what Dutch says is true, you’re only setting yourself up for failure.

“He’s been here a long time, and no matter your opinion of him, no matter the things you do or the things you say, he’s loyal. It ain’t up to me what you decide to do, but you should know, he’s the best ally you’re ever gonna have.”

And just like that, you regretted the past weeks. Everything you did to avoid him, getting up early to grab some of the coffee before he came by. Going out and hunting without letting anyone know, just so that he didn’t have a chance to come with you. Even going as far as to mend your own clothing and do your own laundry, knowing he might catch you at one of the girl’s stations while picking up your weekly wears. You felt awful. You remembered at least four times he tried to approach you before he just gave up. At the time you were grateful, because you thought it was making things easier for you, but in actuality, the things Dutch said were true. You needed him in your corner. There would be a time of need, and Arthur was the best ally to have when that time would come, whatever it may be.

“I think I oughta go set things right, then,” you let out, your ego deflating slightly when your eyes met Dutch again.

“If you think it’s best,” he nodded, switching places with you and watching you walk over to his favored outlaw, the man he called his son. He called you son, too. You wondered if that would hold up if he ever found out about you.

Arthur was on the verge of sleep, but you were doing this now. You could apologize later.

“You look like shit,” you tried to be nonchalant, and not bring any emotion into this.

When he looked up, he was slightly annoyed, but his face softened once he looked at you for a moment.

“Feel like shit,” he grumbled, trying to understand what you were doing here. You didn’t exactly give him reason to believe he was important to you anymore. “Did you need something?”

You kicked the dirt beneath your boot, trying to keep yourself composed, but you weren’t too good at these things, and the amount of shear stiffness in your body wasn’t helping you to relax about it.

“I think I owe you an apology,” you started, and he tilted his head in slight confusion. Sure, he knew what you were apologizing for, but he didn’t know why. “I’ve been avoidin’ you, n’ I shouldn’t have.”

He nodded in thanks, accepting your words. You stood awkwardly, unsure if you should say more or just leave, but when you turned your boot to walk, he stopped you.

“Did I piss you off or somethin’?”

Why was everyone asking that?

“No, ain’t nothing you did. Just my own stupid ass and things that don’t matter,” you told him. You felt even worse now, because you’d made both him and Dutch think that it was something he did wrong. He could rarely do any wrong in your eyes, which made this whole ordeal that much worse.

“Matters enough, you stopped talking to me. Couldn’t even get you to look my way.”

You didn’t want him to know anything else. With him and Abigail rapidly forming a blossoming relationship, it wasn’t for you to stand in their way. Jack needed a father figure, and Arthur was the perfect candidate.

“I’m sorry about it. I swear it won’t happen again,” you really wanted to leave this time, unsure of how far it may go in the event of a deep conversation… but he caught your wrist and gently tugged it back towards where he sat as soon as you started turning away again.

“You gotta give me somethin’, Red. I’ve waited weeks just to ask you,” he pleaded, his tired eyes looking through you and trying to enter your mind. You caved just as soon as you saw how badly this affected him. You hurt him. He might be big, burly, and dangerous… but he bleeds, and his heart can be wounded as easily as anyone else’s.

“I’ve been going through some things, and you’ve had a lot on your plate with Jack and Abigail. It’s not fair of me to make my burdens your burdens… I was tryna keep you out of it,” you admitted, which was only half true. The partial truths of the night were stacking up, but fortunately he couldn’t tell the difference right now, too tired and unfocused to really study your features and what you were hiding.

“Red,” he sighed, not yet prying for more information, but giving you one last glance. “You can tell me things. Remember that.”

You nodded, smiling at him for the first time since John left. “Alright.”

You stopped avoiding and ignoring Arthur, but things were still distant. You’d been getting close right after Jack was born, but going into his third month in the world, you two were miles apart. Still, it was better than the stone cold facade you’d been turning to him before.

“Got any laundry?” Susan asked, breaking you out of your trance as you watched the sun setting. You weren’t really paying much attention, but nodded, reaching behind you into your tent for a sheet full of worn out and dirty clothing. You should have looked it over, but you didn’t, too caught up in your own mind. “You can ask the girls about getting it back tomorrow, they’ve been going stir crazy for things to do.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded, tipping your hat and leaning back against your small tent’s middle pole. You had half a mind to slide your hat over your eyes for a nap, but that didn’t seem like it would fly, especially if one of the others needed you for something.

You could definitely use a nap, you were cramping like crazy. You swore if Bill came up to you and asked for any more favors with the damn horses this week you’d kill him, but only because you were feeling grumpy.

You wanted so badly to confide in Arthur about these things, the troubles of womanhood that you couldn’t share with anyone else but him. You wondered if he would ever tell anyone, since it’s been almost five months of your residence and you have yet to reveal your secrets to everyone else. Maybe you were being paranoid, but the closer he got to Abigail and the further you pushed him away, you thought he might care less about the agreement you both made. After all, spilling your secret to Dutch would gain him loyalty points, and Dutch seemed all too happy to be giving them out since John left.

It was about an hour later when there was a shriek at the other side of camp, and many ran over to see what the trouble was.

Tilly had been sitting by her wash bin, but had pulled her hands out on account of one thing.

“What’s the matter, Tilly?” you heard Sean over your shoulder, and when you finally saw the trouble your eyes widened and you muttered a single word under your breath.

“Shit.”

“What’s shit?” Arthur’s voice was also heard beside you now, and you turned to him ever so slightly with a whisper.

“Me, I’m in deep shit.”

Tilly showed everyone the water, with some clothing swirling around, but it was all tinted red.

“I think someone’s been hurt,” she said, waving over Mrs. Grimshaw to show her the problem. “There’s blood in the water.”

You tried to casually back up slowly, hoping that it wouldn’t get traced back to you, after all, the clothing in the bin was yours, and Mrs. Grimshaw had just picked up the pile from you. You were just stupid enough to leave your monthly attire in with it, and during your monthly time, too. You were only two days into the cycle, meaning there had been a lot of blood.

Grimshaw, being the stern and impatient woman she was, rolled her sleeves up and dug around in the water, looking for clothing with holes to indicate a stab or bullet wound… but she only found:

“A sanitary apron?” She furrowed her brows. She was pretty in tune with the women of the camp, and hadn’t been aware that someone was menstruating right now.

“You better run, kid,” Arthur caught on, nudging your shoulder. You’d already started getting further away from the scene, but it seemed Grimshaw already came to a conclusion before you could make a break for it.

“I picked these up from…” she trailed, her brow now seemingly angry and strewn together in a stressful manner. She marched over to you, grabbing your lanky wrist harshly and tugging you away from the scene. “You better not be hidin’ what I think you’re hidin’!”

You held onto your hat as she practically ran you into the nearest tent. It wasn’t hers or yours but that didn’t matter, her urgency was all too apparent.

“Miss Grimshaw, what’s this all about?”

“I have had my suspicions about you since you arrived here,” she spoke intensely, pulling you forward by your belt buckle and doing her best to undo it.

“Hey, hey! What’re ya doin’?!” You tried to protest, but her nimble hands were too persistent, and she finally got your pants loose enough to take a brief peek at what she needed to see. “What the hell, would you stop?!”

“I knew it!” she yelled, a finger pointed in the air.

And just like that, you knew you were screwed.

She quickly ran out of the tent, and you tried to follow her, making a quick attempt at putting your belt back together on the way out.

Arthur ran a hand over his face when first he saw you, and the state you were in. He knew the jig was up, too.

“Where is that man when you need him?” Susan was turning every which way, a mess of herself just trying to frantically look for the camp leader.

“Dutch? He’s in town with Hosea, what’s the problem?” Bill sauntered up, dusting his hands from the work he’d paused.

Pearson and Javier all of a sudden made an appearance, and when you thought nothing could make this worse, the rest of the camp zoned in on the chaos, having had nothing better to do this whole day. It was slow, and there were no jobs to be done, so the boredom consumed minds jumped on the first sign of entertainment they could find, and boy was it something.

“We have an imposter in our midst!” She yelled, her arms waving around wildly.

“Hold on, now…” You tried to interject, but Arthur shot you a look, shaking his head. Don’t do it, kid. Just shut up.

“What do you mean an imposter?” Pearson crossed his arms. He was never one to give bad news of any kind to, because he had a tendency to blow it out of proportion. “Who?”

“That,” she pointed at you, her voice raised to the highest decibel count you knew was humanly possible. “Is not an eighteen year old boy! She has been fooling us all. Who even knows where she comes from, what her real name is!”

“What the hell are you even talking about?”

“The kid?”

“Ain’t no way…”

The rapid responses coming forward almost eased your mind, except for the fact that Susan did in fact have up close and personal proof from what she saw.

Arthur stepped forward, and as the murmurs grew louder, and Miss Grimshaw was prepared to go on another rant, he did all he could to calm the situation.

“Let’s not make any rash judgements right now,” he gave you a look, trying to let you see he was attempting to help, but that you needed to leave. “We’ll just wait until Dutch and Hosea get back.”

You took that as a cue to leave, awkwardly making way for your tent.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Susan tried to chase after you, but Arthur held her back.

“Wait for Dutch,” he said, his arm blocking her path. Who knows what she’d do in this state? She’d been known to whip some of the boys into compliance before, who knows what she’d do to someone she viewed as an imposter.

Sitting with the flaps closed, you could still hear everything that was occurring outside, and it nerved you far more than being in the middle of it all.

“It doesn’t make any sense…” and “Do you think it’s true?” could be heard from separate conversations, and you wished more than anything that you’d just done your own damn laundry.

Your face fell in your hands, and you started going over all the things that could happen. Dutch could hate you for lying to him, and kick you out, banishing you as far as you could go. Or, since you were a newbie, and didn’t have the trust factor built yet, maybe they would just shoot you dead. That may have been an extreme idea, but with your rapidly beating heart and increasing worry, things like that were bound to spill in. Not like you’d been in a gang before, you didn’t exactly get an etiquette and rule book when you arrived. Who knew what would happen to you. Nothing good, that you knew.

When Arthur finally opened the flap and leaned down inside the small dwelling, you knew it was time to face the music.

“Dutch is back, Susan’s tellin’ him everything,” he sighed, looking over your face and feeling a sense of guilt that he didn’t do anything to stop all of this. When you first arrived he thought maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal, but having experienced this much drama in just the past hour has most definitely led him to believe he was wrong.

When you stayed silent, and didn’t really give him a reaction of any kind, he could tell you were hit hard with the anxiety and shock of it all. He couldn’t ever get you to shut up, and he often didn’t want to, most of all now when you looked like a scared animal.

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em hurt ya, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You shook your head, and against your hardest efforts, tears were backing your eyes, looking for ways to escape. He hadn’t ever seen you like this, and it wasn’t pleasant.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted. You liked it here. You weren’t lonely here, and you had a family… or at least you did an hour ago. You didn’t know where you stood with half of these people.

He couldn’t speak for Dutch or Hosea, or anyone else really, but he could speak for himself.

“I don’t want you to, either…”

When Arthur heard his name called, he leaned back, looking in the direction of his father figure, looking angrier than a pack of hungry wolves.

“Yeah?”

“Tell Brooks to see me, now.”

You didn’t even need the message relayed. You stood up, and followed Arthur out of the tent, your head down as you made the distance to the center tent, the big one you’d been at only a bit ago with council from your leader. You only hoped he’d be so forgiving when he found out you lied to him.

Arthur got into the tent first, mumbling a few things you were a little distracted to hear. You did catch the small ‘don’t be too hard on her’ fall from his mouth, though.

You sat down on the box chest, close to the exit of the tent, just in case things went south and you had to run. Not that you were thinking about running, but again, a million scenarios crossed your mind.

“Arthur, wait outside.”

You grew more tense as soon as those words were uttered, and so did Arthur it would seem.

“Dutch, I think I should-”

“Wait. Outside.”

He reluctantly did as he was told, walking far enough away that he wouldn’t be reprimanded, but still in your eye-line so he could keep an eye on you. He trusted Dutch with the gang members, but if he was considering kicking you out, that made you fair game.

“I’m gonna cut to the chase,” he took a long drag of the cigar he held between his fingers, blowing the smoke out when he turned his head to the side. “You know why you’re here.”

“I reckon I do,” you answered quietly, trying to keep an ounce of confidence though your entire body felt like it would start shaking in fear.

“I could have you stripped for the whole camp to see, but for propriety’s sake I’m only going to ask you this once… is it true?” He asked, his tone less stern but still eager.

“Yes.”

He sighed, having heard the softness in your voice since you came in, he already knew. You’d never shown this side of yourself to the camp before. You were always confident, sure of yourself, cocky even. To think it was an act boiled his skin… but he wanted to take his time with this. You still had capabilities the likes he’s never seen, and if he wasn’t careful they could one day be used against him. You didn’t know about the O’Driscolls yet, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have you running off and joining them. It would be the death of the Van Der Linde gang, of that he was certain.

“I’m gonna decide what to do with you, but until then, you stay out of my sight.”

He pointed outside of the tent, and you were honestly surprised that this was the extent of his questioning. Nothing about the lies? About the history? About anything at all?

You gave him a double glance, but scurried away in fears he might change his mind and tear you to shreds on the spot. You walked hastily towards Arthur, your face gaining more color to it once you were out of the line of danger.

“You alright?” He asked, his furrowed brows reflecting his concern.

“No,” you let out with a dramatic scoff. Your flare for over exaggeration was sometimes quite amusing to him. He just dropped his head and chuckled.

“You’re fine,” he patted your shoulder before stepping past you and going to talk to Dutch. What he knows is that Susan Grimshaw spilled every nasty detail of this afternoon to the camp leader, but he also knows that he hasn’t had his say yet, and when it comes down to it, Dutch will side with his loyal enforcer over a disgruntled Miss Grimshaw.

Dutch was stretching out his arms, sore from the ride in and out of town. It was a scouting trip, really, but it was enough to make him ache when all the stress was added.

“First John leaving, now this. I can’t seem to catch a break, can I?” Dutch sighed out after his words, the toll they took on his mind caused him to shake his head of so many thoughts.

“This ain’t so bad,” Arthur began, tilting his head from side to side.

“How could you possibly think that?”

Arthur shrugged, reasoning with himself a few options before saying them out loud.

“S’not like she did any harm. Only thing that’s come of it is a bit of surprise to everyone…” he trailed, sitting across from the man he called his father figure and his friend. The tension seemed to ease up the second he neared the man, but there was more to be done to diffuse the situation, and he was all too happy to insert himself as the cause of said diffusion.

“She lied about who she is, for all we know she could be working with local law, or worse, the pinkertons.”

Dutch’s raised concerns nearly made Arthur chuckle. When you first got here, facade or not, you were still just lost and looking for somewhere to call home. There were never any motives behind your gang participation other than needing a family.

“We haven’t had them on our trail in ages. Coming here, we finally put a stop to their sniffin’ around. Besides, she’s been the reason for our successful jobs lately… she’s been loyal enough to save my life despite our differences.”

“But she lied to us,” Dutch kept driving his point. A liar’s a liar, and they lie about other things.

“She’s a scared kid, Dutch. She just wants a place to be,” Arthur defended, his arguments becoming more close and personal, which led Dutch to connect some other dots.

He sighed, looking at Arthur and coming to an understanding of what he knew were past events.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

Arthur dropped his head into a subtle nod, not yet meeting Dutch’s eyes for his fear of a bad reaction.

“Since the week she got here.”

Dutch had to laugh, because of course he did. Arthur was more in tune with the members of camp than he could ever be, and more than they could be with each other. He was like Hosea that way, his ability to connect and grow relationships with others was just a natural gift. He often thought it stemmed from Arthur’s great love of the unknown, and his endless curiosity.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“I didn’t, until I found some uh… rather feminine items in her saddle bag. She fessed up pretty quickly to me,” Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his nerves settling when he knew he wouldn’t be in any trouble.

“Well,” Dutch started, coming to the edge of his open tent, looking for the troubled recruit among the busy movement of the camp. “We’ve taken in much worse, and it’s always been in our favor. And you’re right… She's just a scared kid. A scared kid with the quickest hands I’ve ever seen.”

There was a moment, and then Arthur smiled.

“So… She’s free n’ clear?” He asked, his tone hopeful, which Dutch noticed. Perhaps Red had made amends after all, and just as Dutch promised, Arthur was in her corner. This wasn’t her time of need, per se, but he knew she would have him when it arrived.

“I suppose so, although… I’m not going to be responsible for the court of public opinion,” he gestured to everyone in the camp, frantically working around just to keep themselves busy. With all the chaos going on, it’s the only thing they can do not to sit and gossip, which they do anyway.

“I reckon I better keep her away from Susan?”

“With a ten foot pole, preferably,” Dutch rolled his eyes. That woman was full of determination, and it could be both a great strength, as well as her worst weakness.

Arthur smiled, ready to go make good on a promise he’d been waiting on for some time. “I’ll catch you later then.”

“Alright, Arthur.”

You didn’t know if Arthur’s conversation with Dutch would benefit you or condemn you, but you didn’t stick around to find out. He’d found you saddling your horse, just in case a hasty escape needed to be made. Yes, perhaps your delusions were getting a bit out of hand.

“Where you goin’?”

“Depends,” you started, “How mad is he?”

Arthur huffed and grabbed your wrist, stilling your movements. “He ain’t mad.”

“No?” You could hardly believe it. “He seemed riled up to me.”

“I talked to him,” he explained, but gave no further intel.

“You got magic words or somethin’?” You chuckled, slightly more relaxed since the news came better than you hoped, and Arthur wasn’t dragging you back to be punished or anything. “What’d you tell him?”

“That you were gonna be loyal… and that you’d been scared.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, trying to play off his last words like they weren’t true. “I ain’t scared.”

“Really? You were about to run, weren’t you?” He pointed to your full saddle bag and stocked up horse, ready to disappear at a moment’s notice.

You caved.

“He gave me a little fright is all,” you toed your boot into the dirt as you spoke, looking back up to find him nodding at your horse.

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet.

You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip.

“Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?”

It was just a joke, but he was getting tired of the overly dramatic interactions. He wasn’t sure what all transpired in your past, albeit knowing more than everyone else… even still, he figured there had to be something that gave you your theatrical touch.

“Knock it off, would ya?”

“Sorry.”

The ride wasn’t long, but the sun was down when you both tied your horses to the poll in front of the general store. You’d been in here a few times, and the man behind the counter always cowered in fear of Texas Red the unkillable. No matter your manners or gentility, that’s just how it was.

“What’re we doin’ here?” You adjusted your hat, wiping some sweat off your forehead and following him up the front steps.

“I remember sayin’ I’d get you a dress a while back, we’re here to make good on it.”

You stopped in your tracks, a wide smile blossoming on your face when you heard him say it. He’d remembered, and been waiting for it since the night he uttered the words.

He noticed you weren’t close behind him, and turned, catching the sweet expression you wore, but brushing it off with a sideways smile.

“C’mon now, gotta pick it out.”

You followed after him, and once inside, the man behind the counter seemed to be nervous, as usual. He didn’t seem to be weary of having you both in, just a bit anxious. Arthur knew his presence held power, but he figured with your reputation in this town, and others around… your presence was bound to hold more.

“What can I do for you? Need more socks?” The man asked you kindly, and you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you.

“No, we’re uh… we’re here to get a dress for my wife,” Arthur spoke evenly, his confidence showing through when he had to put on a show.

Your head snapped to him, and though you knew he was intending to buy the dress for you, a thought sprang into your mind. Abigail. She was going to be his wife.

This sweet little moment, with Arthur keeping his promise, and making a big to-do over your acceptance into camp, was all part of your own little fantasy. It wouldn’t last, and when you returned to camp, he’d be with her again, helping with Jack. You tried to shake the thought from your mind, wanting to enjoy this sliver of time with him.

“Of course! I’ve got a new selection,” he pulled out the catalog, and opened the pages to a section with different types of skirts, petticoats, chemises, and corsets. All were beautiful, but your eye was drawn to a more simple style. It was a work dress, which would be far more practical for you than any of the other ones.

“I’m not too good with all this. What do you think, Red? Which one would she like best?” He tossed you a smirk, leaning his elbow on the counter while he let you browse over the pages a bit longer, turning them over with a furrowed brow of focus.

“What color does this one come in?” You asked the man over the counter, keeping your act up, but letting your hints of excitement show through.

“That one is a nice pale blue, perfect for spring and summer time,” he spoke firmly, becoming more relaxed the longer you both were in the store. Yes, he’d heard the whispers, and for you, he’d actually seen your acts of a quick trigger. But here, you didn’t seem like a threat, so he stopped acting like you were.

“Blue, huh… Might bring out her eyes a bit, hey Arthur?” Now it was your turn to smirk, and he chuckled, nodding back to you and tapping the page twice with a heavy finger.

“You’re right it would, make em’ look like crystal,” he played along, making you blush under the brim of your hat, unbeknownst to the man behind the counter.

“It’s gotta be that one, then.”

Arthur chuckled, counting out the cash that the dress price was listed under, tossing it down on the counter and nodding to the man.

“You heard the kid, we’ll take that one,” he spoke in a playful tone, ignoring the movements of the man as he scurried to the back rooms, getting your dress pieces together.

Arthur lifted the brim of your hat, and smiled genuinely at the look on your face. It was excited, sweet, and grateful. He wanted to buy you the entire stock of the store just to ensure that look stayed on your face, no matter the irrationality of it. He’d become quite accustomed to giving you his time and his efforts, and this was no different. The only difference is that now he wanted to, wholeheartedly. The deal you’d struck with him, the one where you were going to teach him your methods of shooting faster, were now null and void. He didn’t want to take anything from you, he just wanted to give.

When the store worker returned with a large box in hand, Arthur thanked him for his time, carrying the thing over his shoulder and heading for the door, which you opened for him.

Getting outside, you went for the horses, but he stopped you with a swat of your hand away from the reins.

“Can’t go back yet, gotta see how this looks on ya,” he insisted, nodding for you to follow him yet again. He walked for a bit before coming up on the shed with a small lantern inside. It looked like it only housed tools and ropes and things of the like, but there was space enough to change in. “Came across this when I was out one day. Took a whole nap before someone realized I was in here.”

“How convenient,” you teased, taking the box from his hands and eagerly walking into the confined space.

“I’ll be out here,” he mumbled as you shut the door, putting a shovel against it since it didn’t really even close all the way.

You knew he wasn’t the peeping type, so you began tearing away at your clothes, the ones that had been worn completely through by now and needed replacing anyway. You had more back at camp, but you had always missed dresses. This would be the first of many you would probably buy for yourself, but it was going to remain your favorite, because of who it came from.

It was just like clock work, muscle memory helping you to remember all the little ties and snaps that needed to be in place, the corset laces that needed to be pulled enough to fit the outer fabrics. You knew you probably needed a good hair brushing and face washing to actually look like a young woman again, but for now, the dress was doing wonders on your self esteem… or at least it did until you realized you couldn’t finish putting it on by yourself. The buttons on the back went up higher than your shoulder blades, and sat in a near impossible spot to reach. If there was a mirror, you could probably just contort yourself enough to get it together, but in a dark, barely lit tool shed, your options were limited.

You sighed, pulling the shovel away from the door and peaking your head outside. Arthur had nearly gone through an entire cigarette in the time you took to change.

“Arthur?” You asked timidly.

“M’here, you alright?”

“I can’t reach the back,” you admitted, just slightly embarrassed. “Can you give me a hand?”

He was all too happy to comply, stomping out the cigarette on the ground and taking quick steps to reach you. “Turn around.”

You did as he told you, turning so he had access to the open back of the dress. He couldn’t see you all too well in this light, but even from what he could see, a few words entered his mind from a past conversation you had with him.

I used to be quite the stunner… and he surely believed it.

His fingers caressed the exposed skin of your back before buttoning the fabric closed, smoothing it down over your shoulders and watching the way it fit you perfectly.

“Don’t mention this to Abigail,” you joked, turning back around and trying to keep the mood light. It was beginning to feel too intimate, and you knew you couldn’t allow yourself to feel that way with Arthur anymore.

“Why?”

“Well, I might be a bit old fashioned, but isn’t it frowned upon for a taken man to be helping another woman with her dress?”

It was just another joke, but he seemed to be completely thrown off by the implications.

“I ain’t a taken man,” he confessed, looking at you with a stare that was all too deep, and all too consuming. He needed to stop that, but you didn’t have the heart to make him.

“Not yet,” you corrected, but again it was you in the wrong.

“No,” he shook his head, trying to bring a serious tone to the conversation. “I’m not gonna marry Abigail.”

Your face screwed up in confusion, thinking about all the times when he collapsed in her tent with Jack, just to get up and help him in the night. He was Jack’s new father, wasn’t he? That was the deal he made.

“Why not? I thought that you were- well since you were helping with Jack and… what about your deal?”

“I said I was gonna do right by this boy, and I am… But Abigail won’t have me,” he shrugged, admitting to the rejection she gave of his offer. “She’s still in love with John, n’ I can understand it.”

It should have made you feel a bit of sadness, to know that even with all that Arthur was, someone would turn him away like that. ‘Abigial won’t have me’ sounded like perhaps he thought himself not good enough, just as he always does. Despite all of this, you didn’t feel sorrow, you felt an abundance of joy. A wide smile spread across your cheeks, and he furrowed his brow.

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

“Nothing,” you dropped the smile and shook it off, running a hand up his arm and giving it a sincere squeeze. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I know you’ve meant well.”

“S’alright. Hosea’s been tellin’ me since Jack was born that I shouldn’t have offered. He doesn’t think we’re right for one another, somethin’ like that.”

“I agree, you’re not right for each other,” you spoke out loud, though that thought was meant only for your head.

Arthur seemed to be catching on slightly to your behavior, stepping a bit closer and staring downwards at you.

“Yeah? And who am I right for?” He teased, watching the redness of your cheeks spread down your neck and shoulders with every breath you took.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out,” you did your best to counter his taunts, stepping away from him and going to collect your old clothes from the shed. Once they were in hand you turned back to the opening of the alley, making way for the horses. “You coming?”

And of course, he followed, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath.

The next day fared better than you thought it would, if you’re being honest.

You didn’t really know why, if Dutch had said anything, or if Hosea did, but after you returned to camp the previous night, everyone seemed to be acting just fine. They treated you differently for sure, but not badly. In fact, you noticed the men had a certain kind of reverence to you that they never held before. The same they did with the other women.

Maybe it was just the beautiful dress that Arthur bought for you, the light and pure color of it giving you a sense of being ethereal, having finally exposed the raw feminine beauty that was hiding for so long. You reckon you’d even start growing out your hair again, as the short style coming to your chin was not how you preferred to have it in the first place.

You still went to work doing the same tasks you normally did, but were careful not to rip your dress or over-exert yourself, given you were still in the same physical condition as the day before.

“Charl- I mean, Miss Brooks?”

You heard a voice chirp softly from beside you, and you dropped the wagon supplies for now to walk over to the owner of said voice, Tilly.

“Yes, Miss Tilly?” You extended a smile, and she smiled back, albeit a tight and awkward one from where she was sitting. You took a step or two closer, and she had to shake her head after getting a better look at you.

“I just-” she cut herself short on account of the words already jumbling in her head. “I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us.”

You furrowed your brow to her, unsure of what she could have possibly meant.

“Why would there be?”

“Well, if you can recall,” she started, a nervous chuckle in her speech. “I tried to make some… advances towards you. Back when I thought you were uh… a young man.”

You smiled again and ducked your head, a scoff of laughter and a nod of your head brought about less tension. It was no big deal.

“Don’t worry yourself, Miss Tilly. I was the one who tricked ya, I oughta be apologizing. Probably should to Abigail, too.”

“Abigail?”

You tilted your head, recalling the scene. About two weeks before Jack was born. You’d done the same thing Arthur did, with not a care of revealing yourself in the future.

“Before John even left, I offered her to be Jack’s ‘father’ when he was born. I guess I was pretty certain at the time no one was gonna find out,” you explained, leaning against the wagon she sat by, mending a shirt that looked like Arthur’s. You could tell by the wear and tear around the shoulders, where his broadness likely just caused the fabric to break down faster.

“Could you really have gone on like that?”

“I don’t know,” you pondered, another small laugh escaping you. “Maybe not, since I had to tell everyone I was eighteen just for them to believe it.”

“You aren’t eighteen?” She seemed surprised. Maybe you just had a young face.

“No, ma’am. Twenty two nearing twenty three as a matter of fact.”

“I’ll say,” she tutted, throwing down the shirt she was finished with, and picking up a new one. “You had us all convinced. Makes me wonder where you really came from.”

You thought about telling her, but the story was long and today was a busier day than before. There was actual work to be done in preparing for the next job, a few days ahead.

“Some place I didn’t wanna be,” you chided, stepping away from the wagon, nodding to her in thanks for the small chat. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Alright. I’ll catch you around,” she spoke sweetly, a kind look of relaxation on her face, now that she knew where she stood.

You went back to work, making sure that neither Dutch nor Hosea saw you with idle hands today. You wanted to make sure that no matter what happened now, you wouldn’t be cast aside. You still had the abilities they needed, but with a skirt on your hips, they saw you differently, and it was up to you to show them you were not going to be ignored when it came to jobs in the future.

You hated that the rest of the women in camp were just seen as stationary helpers, only capable of mending clothes or cleaning up the camp, or even just laying the groundwork in town for the men to actually pull jobs. You’ve seen Abigail in action, she was smart and cunning and had a great way with words, she could be the difference in things staying civil or having a shoot out during a quiet robbery, but the men overlook her gifts. You know the women in this camp have great potential, and perhaps if they let you continue as you have been, they will open the opportunities for the others as well.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo @hollyskjlap

#arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x you

88 notes · View notes

wilbursprincess · 10 months ago

Text

“You’re Mine, and I Own You”

Simpbur x Female Reader

Warnings: Oral sex (F & M recieving), Dom!Simpbur, Sub!Reader, reader is a bit of a brat, edging (if you squint), fingering

Hi 😅 I pulled this fic out my ass and hope it’s not too bad for my first post I’ve written myself! I really liked the idea of writing a bratty reader (definitely not based off myself) and now you have this fic. Enjoy the first time Simpbur has ever been dominant.

SMUT UNDER THE CUT!!!

I’m woken up from my dozing on the sofa to my phone buzzing in the pocket of my hoodie. Through eyes blurry from sleep, I see some messages from Wilbur, who, last I saw, was in our bedroom.

Will: hey

Will: you should definitely wake up

Will: bc look what i woke up with

Will: Attachment: 1 Video

I open what looks like an innocent video, the thumbnail black, expecting to see one of our cats curled against his shoulder or his bedhead. However, it’s far from innocent.

The video opens with Wilbur’s body from the stomach down under our duvet, and he reaches down to pull the covers off. He’s rock hard through his sweats, reaching down to palm at himself through the fabric, and the sight makes me press my thighs together.

Will: if you don’t wake up soon

Will: then i’ll have to take matters into my own hands

Will: Attachment: 1 Video

I almost drop my phone in my hurry to open the second video, groaning out loud as I watch Wilbur pull his waistband down just enough to get his cock out. Slowly, he strokes up and down his shaft, letting out a tiny moan as his thumb twists over the tip.

My phone clatters to the floor as I leap off the couch, sprinting down the hallway and flinging open the bedroom door. Wilbur’s tucking himself back into his sweats as I enter, giving me a knowing grin.

“All it takes to wake you up is my rock-hard cock, huh?” He says smugly, folding his arms over his bare chest. “Should’ve known better than to fall asleep in grey sweatpants-”

Wilbur cuts himself off as I climb onto his lap, oversized shirt I stole from him falling off my shoulder and panty-covered pussy sat directly on his boner. We groan in unison, sloppy kisses on each other’s mouths as I slowly rub myself along his clothed shaft.

“Take your panties off,” he murmurs between heated kisses. “Want you in nothing but my t-shirt.”

I oblige.

“Good girl,” Wilbur coos, running his fingers through my drenched folds. “All bare and pretty, just for me.”

Two fingers slide inside me, curling to hit the perfect spot, with his thumb roughly rubbing on my clit. I cry out, burying my face in his shoulder, pleasure so intense that starts practically swirl in my vision.

“Gonna come for me, princess?” Wilbur teases, swirling around my clit and speeding up his fingers. “Got you all worked up just from seeing my cock?”

I nod.

“Words, darling.”

“Yes, Will-” I manage, cutting off with a gasp. “I’m- I’m gonna-”

He softly snickers. “You’re gonna cum, huh? Gonna make a mess out of my fingers and pretend they’re my cock?”

The familiar feeling builds in my core, pleasure tightening and swirling, and just as the climax is about to rip through me, Wilbur stops.

“Will!”

“You really thought I was going to let you cum before me, darling?” He says, smooth voice lit with a teasing note. “On your knees and wrap those pretty lips around my cock for me?”

With a voice like his, I’d do anything.

The hard wooden floor stings my knees as I drop down, looking up at Wilbur to see him licking my arousal off his fingers. Reaching into his sweats, I tug his cock out and give the tip a few kitten-licks, salty pre-cum shining on my lips.

“Open your mouth.”

I blink up at him with expectant eyes, mouth open and waiting. Wilbur taps his cock on my tongue a few times before grabbing a fistful of my hair, gently guiding my head down to take his length into my mouth.

“You know what to do, darling.”

Eagerly, I start to bob my head, letting him slide his way deeper into my throat. When he’s as deep as I can take him, I really get to work, stroking where my mouth can’t reach as my tongue drags lazily up and down his cock.

Wilbur groans, eyes softly closed and head tilted back. “So good, baby,” he murmurs, caressing my cheek as he praises me. “Such a good girl for me.”

I pull back to give my jaw a rest for a moment, gently circling the very tip with my thumb while the other hand keeps giving him long, slow strokes.

“Tell me you’re mine, and I own you,” Wilbur teases, a smirk lighting up his face.

I give him my best bratty grin. “You’re mine, and I own you.”

“I should’ve remembered how bratty you can get,” he says, narrowing his eyes playfully. “Can’t talk back when you’ve got your mouth stuffed full of my cock, can you?”

I open my mouth to reply, but before I can, Wilbur forces his length back into my mouth, stopping just before I gag. “That’s better,” he murmurs, clearly pleased with himself. “Back to work for me.”

As much as I love being under the covers with him, there’s something otherworldly about Wilbur loosing his dominant side the closer and closer he gets to cumming. His hands clenched into shaky fists, swallowed moans and feeling him resist thrusting into my mouth is something I’ll never get sick of.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, cock twitching on my tongue. Wilbur’s hips jump up, and he almost whimpers when I take him even deeper. “I’m so close.”

I don’t let up my pace one bit as he pushes into his orgasm, not bothering to stop the moans dripping from his mouth as he spills down my throat. He tugs me off his cock with a fistful of my hair, both of us panting and sweaty.

“Get on the bed,” Wilbur pants with a nod of his head as he tucks himself back into his pants. “Need my face buried in that dripping pussy.”

It’s his turn to kneel on the floor, half-hard cock pressing at his sweats as he presses kisses onto my inner thighs, giving me one long, slow lick right up my slit. My hands grasp his slightly damp curls and tug, urging him silently to keep going.

After my ruined climax earlier, every tiny lick or touch from him feels like pure escasty. My legs are tossed over Wilbur’s shoulders, day-old stubble scratching at the soft skin.

For the second time that day, my orgasm builds up, and I’m crying out his name as I expect to be pushed over into my blissful release. But he stops. Again.

“Will!” I groan, trying to grind onto his tongue, still chasing my high. “Why?”

He gives my clit the tiniest lick, and I almost scream. “Don’t you remember being bratty to me earlier? That’s what you get.” Just to rub it in further, another tiny lick. “You have to remember you’re mine.”

I’m in for a long night.

#princesswrites #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot smut #wilbur x reader #wilbur smut #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x you #pulled this out my ass #smut #mcyt smut #princessfics

215 notes · View notes

julianalvarez9 · 2 years ago

Text

i think he knows / ruben dias

summary: ruben knows exactly what you're thinking -because he's thinking about it too, has been thinking about it for so long. but he wants you to do something about it. until you do.

warnings: bold and italic text = song lyrics (i think he knows, by taylor swift). again, badly traslated portuguese (sorry, ruben anon, didn't want to bother you 😭). mentions of alcohol and the consumption of. use of john and jack as plot devices bc they do almost nothing jajajaj. like, one mention of "inappropriate" dancing??? don't know if i've forgotten anything else.

wc: 1.3k words.

i think he knows his footprints on the sidewalk lead to where i can't stop, go there every night.

"ruben, you need to stop bringing me to these places", you huff, annoyed, while holding the jacket he draped over your shoulders to try and keep you warm in the cold, manchester night. the walk from his car to the club's entrance wasn't that long, but you didn't want to go out in the first place: only accompanying your best friend because he asked you to.

once he closes the passenger side door behind you, he places his warm hand against your small back, and you start walking by his side, hoping the cold hair hitting your face helps to freeze the heat inundating your cheeks. "who would i bring if not you, meu anjo?" (my angel), he asks, tilting his head like a confused dog. ruben had the widest smile on his face, and it's the same grin that had you agreeing with him to come in the first place. you curse under your breath for having a best friend so charming. after announcing your names to the employee at the door, they let you two inside the club, his hand finding yours instantly when the sea of people gets too hard to navigate.

his height proves to be of great advantage when he needs to find his teammates in the multitude. it's easier for him, just looking ahead and seeing john's fluffy hair sticking out like a sore thumb in the bar, his laugh too almost being heard through the loud music when you eventually get to them.

"ah, there they are!" city's number five starts clapping when he sees you two, approaching to greet you two: ruben, with a side hug and a pat on the back, you, with a barely-there kiss on the cheek. "i thought you two weren't coming", jack laughs from behind him, and you greet him with a confused look. "why? i thought ruben had confirmed with you".

"well, you look very pretty tonight, maybe ruben had finally-".

the winger learns to keep his mouth shut when ruben glares at him, already knowing what his mate would have said if he hadn't intercepted the sentence: "maybe ruben had finally grown a pair". it wasn't a secret to anyone, much less his teammates that heard him talking about you everyday, that he was whipped. and ruben was quite certain that you wanted him too, at least in some way, but for whatever reason, he couldn't do anything about it.

being scared wasn't an excuse. he prided himself on it, on being fearless: it's what being a defender requires, he always says. but maybe he feared more being rejected by you, and thus, losing your friendship, than getting a ball aimed directly at his face. he was sure that missing you would definitely hurt more than a black eye or a broken nose.

"a pint, yeah?" he asks, directly in your ear, once he has come back to his senses. you nod approvingly, but before he drops your hand to go find your drink, he feels your slightly smaller hand tightening over his: your silent way of asking him if he was okay. ruben only hums in affirmation, only to realize you can’t actually hear him, so he just smiles before planting a kiss on your temple, and running away.

i think he knows his hands around a cold glass make me wanna know that body like it's mine.

the drinks keep flowing for everyone, except ruben. he’s known for not drinking alcohol, and keeping his uptight appearance at all times: that’s where his teammates balance the matter out.

“i think you should go check over your friend there,” said jack in an overly animated tone when the music subsided a little, and you turned to set your eyes on the table where ruben was seated. he had his elbows resting over the table, forearms on show due to him rolling his long sleeved white shirt up. the top buttons were messily undone, but he still looked like he was sculpted by angels. his hands were occupied by a cold glass containing some form of non-alcoholic beverage, for sure, and although it wasn’t a sight that you hadn’t seen before, it made you feel warm inside.

he divided his attention from john, who was the one keeping him company, before searching for someone in the sea of people. he stopped when he found you, but his demeanor changed when he saw jack holding tightly to your waist. the glass suddenly looked like it could burst at any minute by the amount of force he was gripping it with, and his eyebrows frowned in confusion at the thought of jack being the one holding you like that, and not him.

ruben didn’t have to think twice before downing his drink in one go, like it could provide him some kind of liquid confidence -the one that only alcohol could give you-, before standing up and making a beeline towards his teammate and you.

poor man, if he only knew that little grealish wasn’t trying to make a move on you, but rather, trying to keep his balance after having, certainly, too much to drink, his feet wouldn't have carried him to you so quickly, almost like a bull seeing red.

“john needs you over there, mate”.

wanna see what's under that attitude. like, i want you, bless my soul.

if you didn’t know your best friend so well, you might have missed the cues. but even now, while having certainly too many pints, you can recognise he’s mad.

“why are you angry?”.

he’s perplexed, like he isn’t expecting you to see right through him. in a second, his jaw unclenches, and he’s back to his usual persona: the ruben you know, the one you love. “wasn’t angry, anjo (angel), just missed you,” he says. and even if it’s not the whole truth, it’s half of it, and you try to hide the heat flowing to your cheeks by turning, his chest now flushed against you back. “dance with me, then,” you jokingly said, taking his hands into yours to settle them in your waist.

at first, he’s unsure. his hands only rest at your side, and he’s barely moving, though you keep on trying to press your body against his, even if he’s intended to keep his distance. normally, you loved this part about him, how he’s always so respectful, so caring, just so unically him. but not tonight. whether it is because of the alcohol you consumed, the place being so hot or the indecent thoughts you had about him all night -that appeared to come out of nowhere-, tonight you want to rile him up.

“god, you’re no fun. jack’s a better dancer than you”.

it seems to light something in him, because his grip tightens, and suddenly he doesn’t care about you moving your ass directly onto his crotch. instead, his body's impossibly closer to yours, at the point where you can feel his breath on your neck, fuelling the goosebumps that erupt on your skin. ruben seems to know what you're doing, or what you're trying to do, because he whispers it in your ear. "meu anjo se transformou em um demônio esta noite, não é certo?". (my angel turned into a devil tonight, isn't that right?).

when you turn to look at ruben, his eyes are the darkest you've ever seen them. even with the low and coloured lights at the club, which difficult your vision, you can feel his piercing stare. your arms go in the air, before wrapping them around his neck like it was second nature, and his hands find their home in your waist, holding you flush against him. you hope your doe eyes made him understand, without you having to verbally tell him, that you want him to take you home. and magically, it seems like the case, when he grins, his million dollar smile before taking your hand in his and dragging you towards the exit, without turning around to tell your friends -his teammates, about your sudden departure.

i ain't gotta tell him, i think he knows.

#football imagines #football imagine #football x you #football x reader #football x y/n #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x you #ruben dias x y/n

461 notes · View notes

echobx · 7 months ago

Text

the one with the letter - JJ Maybank × ex!fem!reader

summary: you have to figure out if your love for JJ is stronger than what the world throws at you

warnings: Luke..., hurt/comfort, angsty, happy ending

word count: 2k

author's note: part 3 bc I had to. it didn't feel right to let you guys hanging. and no matter how much I try to write a JJ fic that doesn't have a happy ending, it just doesn't work. he always finds a way. he's one persistent bbg.

part 1 | part 2

The two days that you are supposed to stay in bed and focus on getting better feel like a month to you.

Going back to school feels even worse. Everyone seems to have their eyes pinned on you, to the point where you find yourself hiding in the photo lab to avoid everyone and everything for just the half hour that is your lunchtime.

But yet again you aren't granted the simplicity of loneliness when you need it most.

“Jesus, y/n!” Pope jumps and nearly drops his camera in the process. “What are you doing here?”

“Hiding,” you reply, looking up at him and his sad smile.

“Why?”

“Because everyone hates me. I get it. I'd hate myself too,” you whisper, and he crouches down by your side.

“I don't hate you,” he shakes his head, and you close your eyes to focus. He should hate you. You keep on hurting his best friend. He should definitely hate you.

He places the camera on the floor next to him before sighing. “Love's messy.”

“No, that's just me,” you say, picking at your nails. “I'm the problem.”

“You're allowed to feel sad or hurt or anything,” he whispers and takes your hand in his. “I'm glad you're better. JJ was losing his mind when your mom kicked him out. And he's not much better now either. Refused to come to school because you didn't reply to his letter.”

Your head perks up, and you furrow your brows, blinking a few times. “Letter?”

“Yeah, the letter he left you at the hospital,” Pope explains, but your confused expression lets it dawn on him that you had never known about a letter.

“There's no letter. I don't have a letter,” you insist, and he runs his hand over his face.

“Shit,” he hisses silently, and you stand up, heart pounding when you reach for your bag and pull it over your shoulder.

“I have to go,” you mumble, and even though he tries to stop you, you won't let him.

You curse your mom on the whole way down to the Cut, and it's a long way, but you don't stop. You can't.

When you arrive at the Shack, you can hear them screaming, it's not unlike what you had witnessed before. But this time you don't stop and wait for it to die down a little before walking in.

“You're an ungrateful bastard!” Luke yells, but as soon as he sees you, he stops and a mean smile plays on his face. “Haven't seen that one in a while. Why are you here? He knock you up?” Luke taunts and you swallow hard.

“Don't talk about her like that,” JJ snaps at him, taking a step closer to his dad. His fists are balled and the knuckles bruised.

“She's a bitch just like her mama,” Luke spits and JJ lunges forward, but he's pushed back instantly. You try to focus on your breathing to not lose yourself in the pain that is flooding your body as you watch him get hurt.

“Let go!” you scream from the top of your lungs, and for some reason they stop to look at you. One step forward as you glare at Luke, and he drops JJ to the floor, a shallow thump tells you that his head hit the wood not so softly. But you can't drag your eyes off Luke, if you do, he wins.

“You don't get to tell me what to do in my own house, Missy,” he glares, but you take another step closer, your eye twitching.

“I'm not afraid of you,” you hiss, and he scoffs, but you don't give him enough time to come up with a comment. “You're nothing but a drunk, child beating asshole. You don't deserve him. And it's baffling to me how someone like you was capable of fucking up so massively, but he still turned out better than anyone I've ever met. And I know I don't deserve him either, but at least I don't make him feel like shit just for being born.”

Luke swallows, looking down at JJ. “If she's not gone by the time I get back, you can look for a new home, boy.”

It feels like a million tons are lifted off your chest when you hear the screen door hit against the wood and the engine of his truck start and drive off.

“You shouldn't have done that,” JJ shakes his head as you turn to him. He has a cut on his lip and his right eye is starting to slowly swell up.

“You're hurt,” you whisper and reach up to touch his cheek, but he turns away.

“Why are you here? Wanna rip my heart out a third time?” There's resentment in his voice, but you get stuck on his counting. What was the second time?

“I came to ask something. Something important,” you whisper, but it has escaped your mind. The condition he is in feels worse to you than before. It's like a repetitive gut punch paired with slaps to your face, but your pain wasn't physical, it was all in your head.

“Can I please take care of you?” you beg, and he swallows but nods.

The bathroom is a mess, just like the whole house, but you don't care, you never did. It makes sense to you. It was one of the reasons why JJ had always felt more at home at your home than his own. It was the reason, why you rather stayed at the Château together than at his or at yours, where you'd always run the risk of your mom kicking him out.

You clean his cuts and softly press the cold, wet washcloth to his eye. Although you haven't patched him up in months, it feels like no time has passed since the last time.

“Thank you,” JJ whispers and takes the washcloth from your hand to hold onto it by himself.

“Why did you say I was going to break your heart a third time?” you ask tentatively, sitting down on the closed toilet opposite of him, while his hand clasps around the edge of the tub he's sitting on.

“I didn't wanna make you feel worse about it. It wasn't my choice to make. And it was too late already, so it didn't matter. But it hurt, it still hurts,” he mumbles without looking at you. “I keep having this nightmare- it's not really a nightmare, I guess. But when I wake up, I feel worse, and I wish the dream was real instead of my actual life.”

“What happens in your dream?” you whisper.

“You never leave me, we- we have the kid, and it's not easy, but it's happy. It feels warm and it doesn't hurt. And then I wake up, and it's just painful. It hurts so much, y/n.”

“I'm sorry,” you apologize, but you know it's not enough. You know it won't undo all the pain you caused him.

“And now you're here to tell me what? That I need to move on? Find someone better?” JJ's eyes find yours, and it feels like getting stabbed while someone keeps twisting the knife.

“Pope said you wrote me a letter,” you start, and he rolls his eyes.

“So you talk to him but not me?”

“JJ, listen to me,” you grab his face with both of your hands, forcing him to look at you. “I never got it. I was alone, and she said she told you to leave, and then you didn't text me. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me after that night, that's why I didn't text you either. But I don't know about any letter. I mean, I didn't even know it existed before Pope found me in the photo lab and told me, and then I ran here immediately. I'm sorry.” You take a deep breath, and he searches your face, and for once you're not even lying to yourself anymore.

“I was scared is all, that's why I wrote it,” he shrugs his shoulders, and you drop your hands down to your thighs.

“What did it say?”

“That I wish I could turn back time and make you feel more loved than I did. That I hate seeing you smile at that jerk. That I- That I don't want to ever lose you again. You scared me so much, and I don't know why you ran after him, and then you fell, and I wasn't fast enough, I couldn't stop your fall. And I felt like I lost you for good, forever, and John B drove like a maniac, and it wasn't fast enough. And then they didn't let me stay with you at first, and I had to sit there while they did all those tests, and they didn't tell me shit. I wanted to stay, wait until you woke up but- Your mom said it was my fault, and I believed her. Because it's always my fault. So I wrote it down, how much I do love you but that it's not gonna work because it can't be, she's right. And I asked her to give it to you. I promised to stay away if she would just give you the letter. Because I couldn't- I thought you were dead, and I was ready to end it too, if it meant I could be with you. I know that's stupid, but that's how I felt. And now you know, and you can leave, because you should leave. I'm not good for you, I never was, and you knew that, that's why you left me,” he finishes his venting, but you have no words left in you. There was nothing you could say that would make it better because words were not enough to encompass how you feel.

You lean forward, brushing the palm of your hand over his cheek before holding onto it and placing a soft kiss on his lips. He tastes like beer and blood, a weird mix, but a familiar one at that.

“What are you doing?” JJ whispers against your lips, but you kiss him again. And he kisses you back, cautiously slow.

“I'm not gonna leave ever again, I promise,” you whisper, and he looks into your eyes, pain and anxiety still prevalent in his own.

“Are you sure?” he asks, brushing through your hair with his free hand.

“Positive. We can get our own place, just you and me. Maybe that'll make it easier,” you smile and he nods. “I'm very sorry for what I did,” you apologize again.

“I made Kie write those notes. She didn't want to. Said you don't deserve it after all,” he mumbles. “They don't know about- You know…”

“I didn't tell anyone either,” you admit and he nods.

“You stood up to my dad,” JJ chuckles. “That was incredibly stupid, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, but he deserves it,” you press your face into his chest. His bed, his arms, all of it makes you feel more alive than anything you had done the past months.

“You really don't think you deserve me? You know I'm nothing but a weed smoking delinquent, right?”

“Who said that?” you pull away to look at him.

“Guess,” he snorts, and you furrow your brows in anger.

“I hate her. That's the only thing he was right about. She is a bitch,” you exhale the anger over your own mother.

“What'ya think happened between them two?” JJ wonders and you sigh.

“My mom being my mom, and Luke being Luke…, I'm guessing nothing pretty.”

“I love you, y/n. And I don't think I'll ever stop, no matter how hard it gets,” JJ whispers and kisses the top of your head.

“It's gonna be pretty hard, knowing you,” you giggle, and he fakes a gasp.

“I see how it is. First, you steal my heart, then my jokes.”

“I learned from the best,” you grin at him and he kisses you. It feels like the very first time. Exciting and with millions of butterflies in your stomach, and at the same time it's a forever kiss. It's a promise that you won't break, because you finally understand that you can't be without him.

“I love you, too, J,” you hush against his lips, and he smiles into another kiss.

taglist: @ijustwantttoread @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @princessmaybank @kys4-20 @drwstarkeyy @immyowndefender @julczimozart

#jj maybank #obx #my writing #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #obx fanfiction #~fanfiction #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank hurt/comfort

92 notes · View notes

crybaby-bkg · 4 months ago

Text

I smell roses on your neck

Choso x reader Synopsis: While running from your toxic ex boyfriend, you stay at a small motel in an even smaller town. There, you meet Choso, seemingly the only worker there, who also, coincidentally never seems to sleep, either. He's nice for the most part, if not a little weird due to the fact that he's a vampire. Warnings: unedited bc I feel like poo 😭, vampire choso so vampy things of that nature such as biting, blood drinking, murder (not to reader!), reader receives oral sex and there is blood involved but not period sex, unprotected sex, riding, abusive unnamed ex boyfriend and I think that's all. please let me know if I missed anything and please enjoy!! Word Count: 10k Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI! Also available on Ao3

When it started to absolutely downpour, you could only sigh quietly to yourself with a shake of your head. It was late, your car was running out of gas, and there wouldn’t be another gas station for a few more miles. Fuck, why did everything have to go so wrong so quickly? If you just had a couple more days to prepare, to pack your bags, to leave without him ever seeing you, you wouldn’t be in the shitshow you’re in now.

Your ex was a bit…clingy. Fuck that, he was an insecure, manipulative, controlling piece of shit and you were tired of it. After years and years of putting up with his shit, isolating yourself from everyone you’ve ever known, messing up every relationship with too many people, you finally decided to put your foot down. Get your shit, sneak out quietly in the night, start afresh in a new town with the money you, perhaps, hypothetically speaking, drained from his account.

Except that he had come flying home the moment you took a single cent from his account, catching you in the middle of loading your car. There was a fight, there were tears on his end, eye rolls on yours, before he began screaming and threatening you. You had managed to escape when a concerned neighbor came out to your aid, and you flew down the street of the suffocating neighborhood he had kept you in.

He gave chase for a little bit, and you realize that he knew where you were due to the tracker you’re pretty sure he put on your phone. So you chucked that out of the window, stopped a few towns over to liquidize all of the money in your account, insistent on carrying untraceable cash.

It had done you some good for the first week, but the money was already starting to dwindle (fuck inflation, honestly). So you find yourself, now, at two in the morning looking for anything that’ll help you in the current moment.

And almost like some forgotten god heard your prayer, you see the flashing lights of a motel just a quarter of a mile ahead. You lower your head in thanks, a heavy sigh leaving your lips before you start to veer off in the direction of the motel. It didn’t have to be perfect; as long as it was cheap and there weren’t any weird Bates Motel shenanigans going on, that was fine with you.

Pulling up to the motel, the first thing you note is how vacant it is. There’s only one other car in the parking lot, and you’re not sure if thats for the employee or another customer. The emptiness should alarm you that something must be amiss, but you’re too tired, too run down, finally out of adrenaline, to care much. You grab your bags, two stuffed to capacity, and your purse before hopping out of your car, locking it behind you. You try to peek in at through the shabby blinds of the first-most area, where the receptionist desk resides, but its hard with how the rain begins to pour down even harder. You can’t see much beyond the silhouette of a single person sitting behind the desk, and you can only hope that they don’t hit your head too much in pricing.

You dart into the receptionist area, cold and wetted by the rain, your hair a mess, the cold instantly seeping through your clothes. You wipe your face a few times to clear the rain, setting your luggage down by the front door when you finally look up. You’re greeted by a single man behind the desk, who stood the moment you slammed the door behind you. He’s tall, his form slightly lanky by the way he curves in on himself. His skin is pale and his eyes are dark, rings circling them, a thick tattooed line across his nose, his black hair pulled back into a bun at the base of his scalp.

His thin eyebrows dart up at the sight of you, but he doesn’t move to help you. Just keeps staring at the way rainwater clings to your lashes, the hollow of your throat with every shake breath you take from your run from the car, how you clutch your purse tighter under your arm. Something about him unnerves you, and you don’t know if its because you’re here all alone in the middle of the night with this silent stranger, or if its something deeper, something primal, that’s telling you to run.

“Hello,” you greet first, taking a tentative step toward the front desk that the man stands behind. “Are any rooms available?”

The man, Choso, his name tag reads, doesn’t say anything for a long while. Just continues to stare at you with this almost wide eyed look. He inhales deeply once, twice, licking his lips before he glances down at the sign in book in front of him. He picks up a pen in a lone cup, sliding it toward you with a nod of his head.

“Yes, we have available rooms.” He says, clipped, short, before he takes a step back, digging at something under the desk. You frown, wondering if the rainwater’s made you stink already, smell of mold and mildew. But you shake it off, gripping your purse a little tighter under your arm as you step up until you’re right at the front desk to look down at the sign-in book in front of you.

“How many?” Choso asks, suddenly right across from you, when you could’ve sworn that he had started to venture toward the back office. Your head whips in surprise, his dark, plum eyes staring right into yours. It takes you aback for a second, the intensity of his gaze, how it seems he hasn’t blinked since you stepped foot into the lobby. You let out a nervous little giggle, feeling a little delirious from your lack of sleep over the past week.

As you stare at the dark haired man, he raises a single eyebrow in question, glancing down to the book in front of you. You realize he had asked you a question and shake your head, a tinge embarrassed at how you were surveying him so unabashedly.

“How many what?” You ask with a cock of your head, twiddling with the pen in your hands. Should you sign now? Should you wait? Do you pay first? Gods, you wished he would speak more instead of just looking at you with that inquisitive look, his eyebrows drawn and his mouth tight.

“How many will be staying in the room?” He clarifies, his gaze fixed on your eyes, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the softness of your jaw. He takes you in, quietly, observationally, as if he were trying to memorize each and every line of your face. It makes you fidget where you stand, wonder if you should lie, say a friend is joining you, your husband, some lie that you’re not alone.

But maybe you’re just being ridiculously paranoid after dealing with such a control freak for so goddamn long, that you’re wary of any and everybody. Chewing your lip for a second as you consider what you should tell the front desk worker, he takes in the silkiness of your mouth, your pink tongue that darts out to lick where your teeth had just dug into. He swallows thickly, inhaling once more when you flutter your eyes up to his own, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

“Just me,” you admit quietly, hope you’re not sealing your own death sentence, that you won’t end up with some shitty movie about your life of trusting the motel worker who eventually killed you. But instead of leering at you, of trying to advance from behind the desk, snatch you, Choso simply nods and gestures to the open book in front of you.

“Please put your information down. Will you be paying with cash or card?” He asks smoothly, as he takes a few steps away from the desk to a little further where you can’t much see. You hear the jangle of keys and he emerges from the darkness that shadows the lobby holding up a key for you. You quickly sign your name in the book and put the date down, before you look up at the worker once more.

“Cash. How much is a night’s stay?” You ask him, already starting to dig around in your purse for the money.

“Forty per night.” He states, his voice low and quiet, almost drowned out by the pitter patter of rain against the roof of the building. You pause as you try to do the math in your head; this place is as cheap as you’re sure you’ll get, so you should stay here a little longer, right? At least a week, and you can scout the area out, find a new phone, look for some apartments to rent nearby, and you’ll only be spending about two-eighty for the time being, not including food. You can manage, you’re pretty sure.

“I’ll just pay for the week.” You mumble, counting the cash in hand before sliding it over to Choso. His hands are thin, fingers long, the pale skin seemingly luminescent in the darkness of the room. He doesn’t count the cash after he picks it up, just slides all of the twenties into a single drawer. Only then does he slide the keys over to you, his finger lingering on the cool metal before he releases them, when you snatch them up.

“You’re in Room 2. Enjoy your stay.” Choso says, his voice dropping into something low, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You nod to him in thanks, trying to scurry out of there as soon as possible, but you’re stopped when he’s suddenly beside you again. You jump back with a small yelp, your eyes big as you blink at him, acutely aware of the fact that he’s now blocking your path to the door.

“My apologies for scaring you,” he says softly, nodding his head once. “I was just going to take your bags to your room for you.” He motions to your belongings that sit right beside the door, and you realize with a sigh that he wasn’t trying to trap you in the same space. You smile at him, tiny, before waving him off with a hand.

“Oh, no, its okay. I’ve got it.” You reassure softly, going to pick up your bags when he steps in front of you again, a slight frown on his face.

“I insist.” He says, voice firm as he picks up your bags in each hand. “It’s raining out, and you wouldn’t want to set these on the ground as you open the door.”

Choso doesn’t take no for an answer after that, as he opens the door and waits for you to exit. You can only stand there in slight shock at his forwardness, wonder if it was a mistake to stop here and not just sleep in your car for the night. But you bite the bullet, too tired to put up much of a fight and lead him to your room, although you’re sure he doesn’t need much guidance.

You unlock your door and turn around, ready to take your bags from him, but Choso slides his way into your room, easily and gracefully, as if you hadn’t been standing there at all. You can only sputter at him as he sets your bags down carefully at the foot of your bed, flicking your lamp on that spills a yellowed light into the room before he meets you back at the door.

“Have a goodnight.” He says, finality lacing his tone, as he makes his way back to the office. You can only stand there in shock at his audacity, before you simply shake your head and walk into your room. You deadbolt the door that night, and put an extra door stopper you had carried with you, just to be safe.

You collapse onto the too hard bed, spreading out, only able to kick your shoes off before the tiredness of the last week catches up to you. The rain lulls you into a sleep that’s more peaceful than you’ve had in a long time, with dreams of pale skin, violet eyes, and an aura that is all encompassing.

…

The next day, you start early with getting your life back on track. You peel out of your still soggy clothes with a groan, hop in the shower and take your time getting ready. Your outfit of the day is simple, and you’re ready to go, when you realize that you don’t know jack shit about the town you’ve stopped in. But you quickly decide that asking Choso, as he seems to be the only soul around, is your best option for the time being.

He’s still there, as if he never left the previous night. He’s already looking at you by the time you enter, like he heard you from the moment you first closed the door to your room. He cocks his head in question at you, as he stands from his seat to greet you.

“You’ve been here all night?” You ask him, expecting there to have been a shift change. But Choso only nods once, his fingers curled on the desk beneath him as he knocks his knuckles against the dingy wood.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “My coworker is out sick at the moment.”

“Oh,” you frown, glancing around the bare space. “What happens if you have an emergency and have to leave?” Choso only shrugs at you.

“There won’t be.” He says, his tone final, leaves no room for extra questions. You just glance at his hard stare, how he takes every piece of you in, inhales deep before letting out the air through his soft looking lips.

“What can I help you with?” He asks when you stand there quietly for another few beats of silence. You perk up at the question, remembering why you even left your room in the first place.

“A few things, actually.” You say, before rattling off all the places you need to go and find; a gas station, somewhere you can buy a new phone, a grocery or convenience store, clothing stores. Choso writes all the places down for you and their addresses on a piece of paper, his handwriting light and thin and cursive, a lot better than your chicken scratch, and you’re on your way after that.

The gas station is, thankfully, not too far, and you’re able to get a full tank of gas before your car completely breaks down on you. There’s a convenience store right around the corner from there, and you do a bit of grocery shopping, stocking up on a lot of snacks and instant meals for when you don’t want to leave out of your motel room.

From there, you spend the day shopping, a bit of a fuck you to your ex and all the money he’s been hoarding, despite telling you that he didn’t have enough to get you the nice things he would promise emptily to you. You don’t go crazy though, aware that the money is bound to run out, but that you’ll have a job and a place to stay soon enough to earn everything back.

By the time you’re pulling back up to the motel, you take note of the diner just across the street. You were too tired to pay much mind to it the night before, but now, your stomach growls at the mere sight of it, aware that you hadn’t eaten much today besides a pack of noodles in the convenience store. You pull up in the spot right in front of your room, unloading your bags for the day, tucking in the new phone you had just purchased into your back pocket all the while. While it wasn’t the latest phone, it managed well enough.

You’re finished loading up your room with your belongings, when you close and lock the door behind you, ready to step over to the dinner, when you catch a glimpse of Choso about to enter into the front office. He catches your eye and nods once to you in greeting, one foot in the door, when you get an impulsive idea you’re sure you’re going to regret later on down the road.

“Hey,” you call out to him, making him pause in his movements to turn toward you. “Wanna join me for dinner?” His whole body freezes before his eyebrows turn down in question, his body shifting toward you as he comes the door to lean against it.

“I thought you went to the convenience store?” Choso asks, glancing over to your car where your empty cup of noodles still sits on the dash in front of the passenger seat. You only shrug at him, fiddling with your fingernails as you take him in in the light of day. His clothes are baggy on his tall form, as he adorns a cream colored hoodie with a logo you don’t recognize on the front despite the heat of the day, a pair of black sweats, thick sneakers, and a baseball cap that shadows most of his face. Just looking at him makes sweat start to trickle down the back of your neck, or maybe its the way he seems to keep licking his lips long enough at the sight of you?

You shake away the thought, stuffing your hands in the back pockets of your jean shorts as you nod your head over to the diner.

“Yeah, I did.” You reply softly, turning your body to face his the same way he does to you. “Still doesn’t mean I feel like cooking, though.” You say cheekily, smiling at him all the while. But he doesn’t reciprocate the action, instead seemingly frowns more at you, as he shoves his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, eyes glancing from you, the diner, to the chair he must always sit in behind the front desk.

“Uh, I don’t know. I still have to man the front desk.” Choso says, his voice unsure, as he tilts his head at you. Your skin seemingly glistens in the softness of the setting sun, pinks and oranges casting a slight hue to your skin, to the veins in your neck, to the swell of your plump bottom lip that curves into a smile once more.

“Be real, Choso.” You roll your eyes at him, saying his name for the first time since you’ve met, unaware of how the sound of it rolling off of your tongue physically pains him like no other. “No one’s coming anytime soon. And if they do, we can get a seat near the window so you can watch the front door.”

You’re not sure why you’re trying to persuade him to eat with you. You don’t even know the guy, just barely met him less than twenty-four hours ago. But its something about him that interests you as much as it unnerves you. Maybe its a piece of you that wants to better understand why he seems to call you into him like a siren enticing a man, as he simultaneously makes every ounce of hair on your body stand at attention.

Choso just stands there for a while, his heavy lidded eyes so low as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. He seems to be contemplating his next words, makes you want to shrivel up on the inside, take back everything you’ve said to him in the last few minutes.

“Why are you asking me out to dinner?” He finally asks after a while, his head tilted to the side just so. You shuffle on your feet, feeling suddenly so exposed, so wide open to why you really crave the presence of a man you barely know.

“Because, I hate to admit this, but I would like some company.” You utter softly, a faint smile on your face as you start to bare yourself to this strange man, ever so slightly. “Can’t remember the last time I got to sit down with someone that actually could fucking stand to be around, and just eat. Plus, you seem lonely cooped up in here all day and night.” You tease him, winking once, as he laughs softly through his nose, just a simple gust of air. When he doesn’t say anything, you hold a hand up, backtracking.

“You don’t have to join me though, its fine.” You tack on, body turning away from him as you get ready to haul ass with your tail tucked between your legs. You hadn’t made the first move with anyone in so long, so used to your ex always being so overbearing, taking without ever asking, considering your feelings. Used to every relationship you’ve ever had with anyone in your life slowly dissipating into nothing, so reaching out first has become foreign on your tongue like an undiscovered language.

“No—no, I think I’d actually like that.” Choso says, stops you in your tracks when you turn to leave. Your face lights up instantly at the barest hint of his smile, your own cracking your face as you turn to him once more. The blue and red neon lights of the diner across the street make him look even paler in the setting sun’s light, cast an almost eerie glow to the darkness of his eyes, the soft slope of his nose.

“Really?” You ask in disbelief before gesturing him to the diner across the street when he nods once. “Great. C’mon then.”

You both walk in silence as you cross the street. Choso holds a hand out in front of you when you go to cross, unaware of a quickly speeding car. He stops you, gently, before placing a hand on your back to urge you forward when the roads are clear. Your face is warm at the feeling of his cold, large palm still placed on the expanse of your back, and try not to deflate when he pulls away to open the door for you.

You’re seated instantly in the damn near empty diner, which isn’t much of a surprise to you. Your waitress is an older lady who looks a little warily at Choso before she turns to you, taking both of your orders down. She scurries away as soon as your order leaves your lips, and you fix Choso with a questioning look that he only shrugs at. You two sit in silence for a few beats, before your curiosity gets the better of you.

“So,” you start as you fold your hands together on the table, resting your chest on them as you look at Choso from under your lashes. “What’s your story?”

He only cocks an eyebrow to you in question, as he leans back in his squeaky seat. He shifts again, arms folded in front of himself, as he twists his mouth this way and that. His eyes, shadowed by thick black lashes, take you in, his gaze slow, predatory. You shiver in your seat.

“What do you mean?” He asks after a while, his head tilted to the side. You shrug, sitting back when the waitress comes fluttering back to your table and sets your milkshake and burger and fries down in front of you, and Choso’s lone soda in front of him.

“You know,” you mutter around a fry, gaze on the table between you two, feeling as though it’s an entire world apart. Something about him feels so…out of reach, like he’s somehow floating above you by merely sitting in your presence, like you’ll always be his inferior. But the way he smiles so faintly at you, urging you to continue talking, yanks him down to sitting right in front of you; normal; human.

“Who are you?” You ask with a shrug as you pick up your burger. “Where did you come from? What are your parents like; do you have any siblings; how old are you; how’d you end up with a job in a town like this?”

Choso sits there for a long while, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. You look at the soda in front of him that he still hasn’t taken a sip of, and he finally does at your look. Leans forward, wraps pale pink lips around the clear straw, suck just the tiniest bit. He licks the dribble of it from his bottom lip when he pulls away, and you look away guiltily when he clears his throat ever so softly.

“Those are a lot of questions.” Is all he says after a few beats of silence. You snort with a roll of your eyes, drinking your milkshake as you narrow your eyes at him.

“Question for a question?” You offer, but Choso only raises an eyebrow for further elaboration. “You ask me a question and I’ll answer, and in return I get to ask you a question that you’ll answer.”

At that, Choso seemingly considers your offer, but he ultimately shakes his head at you. You try not to deflate too visibly, your fries suddenly soggy in your mouth.

“I’ll answer your questions, but I only have one for you.” Choso says, his voice velvet under the rickety crooning from the old jukebox in the corner of the diner. You perk up at that, eyebrows raised in question as you nod to him, pulling your milkshake over to sip from.

“Go right ahead,” you nod to him, pushing your drink away as you fold your hands on the table once more to give him your full attention. Choso mirrors your position, his thin brows pulling down as he frowns at you, makes your heart begin to sink at just the sight.

“What are you running from?” He asks, his tone dropping as he leans in even closer to you. You freeze at that, heart suddenly in your throat as an image of your furious ex chasing you down the highway emerge in the forefront of your mind. You swallow thickly, the food in your belly suddenly souring at the thought.

With the corners of your mouth pulling down, do you push away your plate. Choso glances at it, but his gaze remains locked on you for the time being. You shift uncomfortably in your seat as you ponder your answer, try to figure out the best and simplest way to put it.

“Not so much of a what, really, as a who.” You start, settling back in your seat as you begin to fiddle with your hangnails. “My ex boyfriend was a piece of shit, plain and simple. Controlling; manipulative; insecure; jealous. I got tired of his bullshit and isolation, drained his account and ran for the hills.”

It feels good to admit, even if you’re technically incriminating yourself of theft. But you sigh, slumping into your seat as you snatch a fry from your plate, chewing a little too aggressively. But Choso’s deep chuckle pulls you out of your stupor of what you’ve done, and when you look to him, it’s the first time you’ve seen an actual grin on his face, white teeth on display and all.

“Admirable.” Choso states plainly, tipping his head to you. Before you can ask him to elaborate, he starts to rattle off what you soon realizes is answers to your previous questions.

“My name is Choso Kamo. I grew up in a lonely house with my father and four brothers, and when I became of age, I fled. I do, however, still regret leaving my little brother behind, but I thought it was best at that moment.” A melancholy kind of look crosses his face for a brief second, before he gazes back up to you, his hands splayed on the table in between you two.

“My father was an asshole, never knew my mother. Been on my own for a long while now, and I guess I never believed I could go much farther in life than an overnight job as a motel clerk.” Choso pauses there, and you both know that there’s still a lingering question that he has not answered yet. When he doesn’t seem to cough it up, do you ask once more.

“And your age?” You murmur around your straw, soft lips wrapped around warm plastic. Choso licks his own lips at the sight before he glances up to meet your eyes.

“I’ve been twenty-seven for a while now.” He answers after a beat too long, the response raising one too many red flags in your mind. But you don’t pry, only share your own information in return, even though he never asked.

“Do you have a partner?” You ask when the night runs late, and you’ve had two milkshakes now, and he’s still on that same soda from earlier. Does his mouth not run dry with all the talking you two have been doing? Choso only shakes his head, mouth pursed as he tucks a stray raven-black lock behind his ear.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone.” He murmurs, eyes lowered before they meet your own once more, his gaze shifted, his look predacious. “Is that question for your own personal sake, to know whether or not you should flirt with me?”

The question catches you off guard so much that you bark out a laugh. A few lingering patrons look over their shoulder at your loudness, and you feel your face begin to heat up in embarrassment. You cover your face with your hands, smiling, before you flip him the bird. You hear the softest chuckle emit from his thin mouth.

“Am I that obvious?” You question jokingly before running a hand down your face to settle into your lap. “No, I’m just curious. Didn’t know how you’d manage with a partner if you’re cooped up in that motel lobby twenty-four-seven.”

At that, Choso shrugs. He sinks back into his seat as he stuffs his hands into his hoodie pockets, his joking demeanor diminishing second by second. His eyes get this glazed over look, the black line across his nose scrunching ever so slightly when he furrows his brows. His face becomes contemplative, and you wonder if you’ve unknowingly crossed a line. You reach out to take back your words, but Choso speaks before you can.

“It’s not a lifestyle everyone can easily adjust to.” He says softly, his eyes sharp, focused on the condensation that slides down the second milkshake you’ve acquired. His words feel packed with something deeper, something you’re not sure you’ll ever truly wrap your mind around. But you’d like to find out.

You go to ask him what he means, what this lifestyle entails, if you’d be able to adjust, to join him, but he stands before you can. Declares that he’s going to pay the tab, despite you trying to refuse. He steps off before you can, leaving you sitting there with a twisting feeling in your gut, your hands wringing in front of you.

Choso walks you to your doorstep afterwards. He’s gotten quiet since he paid for dinner, and you feel guilty for getting so much while he only had a barely sipped on soda.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say slowly, your door ajar as you pull your key out, gaze low on his face, around his soft mouth. “I needed that.”

You don’t specify what you mean, but he seems to understand either way. Choso nods at you, hands shoved in his pockets as he begins to back away.

“Anytime.” He promises, never turning his back until you nod at him in return. You step into your room, pausing when he calls your name once. You look over your shoulder, hopeful of—of something more, hopeful for the night to not end just yet.

“Call me if you need anything, yeah?” Is all Choso says. You deflate ever so slightly before you nod once more, scurrying into your room, embarrassed of the hope that was surely bleeding into your eyes.

You go through the motions of getting unready from the day, stepping in the shower, putting on the new pajamas you brought from the store today. You turn on the television, mindlessly watch some new alien sci-fi show on one of the few channels available in the motel rooms.

When that gets boring, do you finally turn off the lamp, turn down the tv, and go to lay in bed. It’s squeaky and hard and uncomfortable, but it’s the best you can get at the moment, you suppose. You just wished these rooms had beds that had just a bit more of a spring to them.

You pause. An idea pops into your head that might be a terrible one, but you’ve been much bolder since you liquified your exes account and ran off with everything in tow. So you roll over on your side until you can grasp the lone telephone on the nightstand by the bed, dialing the number to the front desk. He picks up on the first ring.

“Hello?” Choso’s voice is pure sin over the phone, a low kind of rasp that makes impure thoughts run through your head. You squeeze your eyes shut when he calls out your name, wonder how he knew it was you just from your breathing.

“I need you.” You say simply, voice breathy, soft. Choso doesn’t respond for a long while, and before you know it, he hangs up. You don’t have time to feel much embarrassment or frustration when there’s a knock on your door, one that you quickly answer.

He stands there, his stature unnervingly still, as if he waits for a simple command to bleed from your lips. You only gesture him in, arms wrapped around your body as you realize your state of undress, clad in only a knee length nightgown, damn near see through.

Choso’s thick lashes flutter when you unwrap your arms from yourself, closing the door roughly behind him with a kick of his thick boot. You instead place your arms around his neck, gently, wordlessly. His skin is cold against the warmth of your own, makes goosebumps raise along the flesh.

His gaze is unending, the violet in his eyes swirling, fighting against devouring you. He wraps his arms around your waist until your front is pressed directly against his, makes a breath get caught in your throat at the proximity, the eye contact, the shift in the atmosphere around you.

“Kiss me.” You demand, softly, gently, as if the words seal a fate you’ll never be able to return from. And maybe it’s too soon to be kissing other people after such a messy breakup, when you’re still on the run, still in hiding from your ex that wants everything about you back into his wicked claws.

But you can’t be damned to think much about that when Choso lowers his lips to yours, slow, achingly slow. His eyes flutter close only when the soft skin of his lips have skimmed yours, a groan so deep emitting from his chest that it rattles your rib cage where it presses against him. He holds you to him so tightly that you couldn’t escape if you tried, and you don’t think you ever want to leave his embrace, not when he kisses you like this.

All encompassing. Overwhelming. Gentle. Sweet. Too much. Not nearly enough for how much you crave him. There’s an allure to his mouth on yours, makes something primal in you scream, and you’re not sure what message it’s trying to send.

Flee. Stay. Make a home within the confines of his skin. Run for your life. Pull him close. Protect your flesh. Preserve your heart. Meld with him. Become one. Flee. Flee. Flee.

But you find yourself pulling him closer, thighs spreading ever so slightly to allow him to slot his knee between yours. His teeth graze the plumpness of your lips, his hands dip down to cup the globes of your ass, his tongue darting out to taste the whine from your throat.

“Choso,” you whimper out when his knee presses against you just right, your voice breathy. That seems to snap him out of whatever trance he’s been put in, making him pull away from you entirely too soon.

Choso takes a step back, untangling himself from you. You’re cold now without him, your nipples hardening at the sudden frigidity that floods the room, the way his face hardens. You reach for him, but Choso only takes another step back and another until his back is against the door. He has a wild look in his eye, cups his hand to his mouth as if in shock at the act of kissing you. Your chest squeezes a little more than you’d like at the subtle regret that lingers on the creases of his mouth.

“I have to go.” Choso announces suddenly, his face wild, his hands flexing and stretching with every passing second. You step to him, go to ask if he’s okay, if he’s feeling unwell, but he flees from your room before you can. The only thing he leaves in his absence is the crisp bite of the wind when he slams your door shut.

…

You go two days without seeing much of Choso, too busy holed up inside of your room, sulking. You try to look for jobs and apartments that are in your budget all the while as a means to distract yourself from the hurt that still lingers in your chest.

What had you done wrong? Did he think you were moving too fast, as you had just admitted to running from your ex? Did he fear that he was simply a rebound?

So many questions wrack your brain as the day bleeds into night, the air unusually cold for it to still be summer. You can only wrap yourself in the thin blanket tucked into your bed, refusing to go to Choso to ask for something extra, something thicker, afraid of how he might look at you. If he might have that same face that he did after he kissed you. The thought makes your throat tighten up in shame, and you dig yourself deeper into the cocoon of your bed.

You start to doze off after a while, eyelids heavy from scrolling nonstop in your search for a new life, when theres a sudden slam of a car door. It doesn’t bother you much, your eyes briefly opening before they flutter shut once more. Its not until you hear the familiar grating voice of your ex that your eyes fly open, your heart suddenly sinking into the abyss of your belly.

How? How could he have found you? After you liquified all of the money at some random ATM in a convenience store five towns over, you were sure that there was no trace of you. So how had he caught up to you?

There’s a yell of your name first. You lay as still as humanly possible, despite the fact it feels as though your heart may beat out of your chest, may bulldoze right through your ribcage and roll and splatter on the dirty motel floor beneath you. You barely breathe, a hand cupped over your mouth as if he could hear your very breath if you shuddered too loudly.

“Cmon, babe!” Your ex’s screeching voice cracks almost maniacally. “I just wanna talk. I’ll forgive you for stealing from me, if you just come back home with me.”

His voice edges closer. You don’t think he knows which room you’re in, so he tries every room he sees. There are eight, and you’re in the second one. It won’t take him long to realize that the other rooms are empty, save for one more, and you’re sure he’s already spotted your car parked between rooms two and three. Fuck.

You try not to screech when theres a sudden banging on your door. He calls your name again, loud and unhinged, his voice nearing something that makes primal fear start to curl into your spine, make your body stiff with panic and fear that you’ve been caught, captured, cornered.

“Just fucking come out already!” He yells, kicking the door so hard you fear that it’ll come flying right off of its hinges. You’re tempted to get up, to just appease him as you’ve always done, when theres suddenly a deeper, much more controlled voice that rings out.

Choso. Fuck, you don’t want him to get caught in your mess. You knew your ex was crazy, most likely carrying a weapon in order to scare you into going back with him. You couldn’t let Choso get caught up in your bullshit trying to play savior.

So you spring up from bed as fast as you can, steps as silent as you can manage them, as you peek out from the corner of the dingy curtains, ready to signal Choso to just back off. But instead, you watch the pale man grab your ex by his nape, his nails suddenly much longer than you remember them being, as he begins to drag him around the motel, beyond the front desk. You freeze, mind reeling with a thousand possibilities of what Choso could be doing, what kind of strength he must have to haul your ex off without so much as a single hair out of place.

You find yourself jerking awake from your own imagination of the horrors your ex might bring upon Choso, despite being the one scuffed at the current moment. You couldn’t put a thing past him. So you throw on your flip flops by the door and a stray jacket, your legs instantly getting goosebumps from your exposed nightgown when you swing open your door.

You hiss out your exes name first, and then Choso’s, arms wrapped around yourself as you try to bite back a shiver. You don’t see either one of them, and you’re sure that Choso must have dragged your ex to behind the motel. You only hope that the dark haired man isn’t injured too badly.

You try to creep as quietly as you could around the building, fearing the sight that you might come across, the fight that is bound to have been happening at the current moment. But when you turn the corner, you freeze. Every hair on your body stands at attention, your gut screaming at you that you’re in danger, that you must be prey and that you have to flee to save yourself lest you be forgotten in the belly of the beast that stands in front of you.

There, Choso holds your ex up by his shoulders, pinning him to the wall of the back of the motel, his mouth on his neck. Choso’s eyes are closed in bliss, as your exes eyes roll into the back of his head, a soundless scream gasping from his mouth as he tries to put up a fight against Choso, his legs kicking uselessly.

You watch as the life drains from his face, as the tanned skin of his cheeks suddenly becomes devoid of color, his eyes blank, white and lifeless, his body limp. Choso drops him without further preamble, his body falling into a heap on the dirty concrete, his bones crunching from the force of it. At the sound, you can’t help the scream that tumbles from your mouth, instantly alerting Choso of your presence.

His head whips over to your direction and the only word that comes to mind is predator. His canines are elongated, reach past his bottom lip, his mouth stained in red drips that slither down the curve of his throat. Rivulets of it stain the white of his hoodie, the one he wore to dinner with you the other day, makes you think about how that could’ve been your crimson that creates patterns on the previously untainted material.

“Don’t be scared,” Choso whispers after a second, holding a hand to you in surrender, his nails curved and yellowed and long. The sight shakes you, makes you take a step back and then another until you’re bolting around the building. You trip over your own feet without ever falling, breath heavy in your chest as you make your way to your room, looking over your shoulder all the while. You don’t see Choso, and you fear that when you turn around, he’ll be there.

You make it to your room, hands shaking as you grapple with the slipper doorknob, cursing at yourself for taking so fucking long when there was a predator right behind you, lurking, somewhere in the shadows. You rip open the door after what feels like hours, damn near take it off of its hinges, pressing your back to it when you slam it shut. You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, gather your nerves as you try to figure out what your next move should be.

“I’m sorry that you had to witness that.” Choso says suddenly, making a scream rip violently from your throat as you shake all over, eyes wide. He’s in your room, somehow, even though you didn’t see him behind you and he couldn’t have outran you when you took off running and the fucking door was locked behind you.

“How the fuck did you get in here if I didn’t invite you?” You ask him shakily, body frozen in pure panic against the door, as you blink at him from where he sits on your bed. The bottom half of his face is still bloody, his pale pink lips still painted vermillion, his fangs still resting heavily on his bottom lip. Choso has the nerve to look like a kicked puppy left out in the rain, pathetic and small, despite the fact that you just witnessed him rip away a mans life through a vein in his throat.

“I own the building, so I technically don’t need permission to enter any of the rooms here,” he mutters, his lip pouted ever so slightly as he looks down at his hands. His nails seem to have retracted, but there’s still faint hints of blood from where it dribbled down your exes open neck, pooled into the cracks and crevices of Choso’s palms. The thought makes a shiver wrack up your spine as you inhale heavily. You try to gather your words, understand what’s going on in front of you, what you just witnessed, what dreams and imaginations from your childhood have actually come to life.

“So you’re a vampire.” You state more than ask, your words slow, soft, unsure despite the fact that Choso’ fangs have only just now started to slowly retract back into his bloodied mouth. He nods once, his hands folded neatly in his lap as he curls over himself while sitting on your unmade bed, still warm from when you laid in it.

He doesn’t say anything for a long while as you stand against the door still, body tight and ready to spring into action at any given moment. But Choso just sighs heavily, before he lays back on your bed, his head cushioned by the pillow you just laid on, his hands folded over his stomach. He takes in a deep inhale at the scent that has covered your sheets, and in the darkness of your room, does the pale moonlight make the crimson staining his mouth look like the smear from a kiss from a lover.

You tiptoe over to him slowly, careful, cautiously until you stand over the bed. Choso looks down at you without moving, your breaths steady, a realization that he hasn’t taken a single breath since you’ve met him, save for the inhales of your scent when you linger close. He holds a hand out after a while, in invitation to you, his nails short, his palms still splattered with blood. Your exes blood.

You take his hand. Crawl into bed beside him, rest your head on his shoulder and cry more than the moment you realized you were in a shitty, lonely, toxic relationship. He lets you soak his hoodie, his neck, his cold, lifeless neck, and holds you tight to him, his arms wrapped around your waist.

“I hated him,” you confess. “I didn’t feel bad seeing the life drain from him. I was just scared to look someone so bloodthirsty in the eye.”

“I would never hurt you.” Choso says so quickly, his words sure, his voice leveled.

You’re not sure what to say to his confession, so instead, you kiss him. Taste the coppery tang of blood that stains his mouth, ruins your own. Fit your tongue along the silkiness of his own wet muscle, glide over the smoothness of his gums, goad his fangs to slide out, to join you. Choso moans against your mouth, pulling you closer until you crawl on top of him, his hands linked at the base of your spine before the other sneaks up to hold your skull in large, cold, bloodied hands.

“Why did you leave me the other day?” You ask him against his mouth, panting, feel the throb between your legs at the way you smear the blood on his mouth everywhere; the angle of his cheek, the tip of his nose, his chin, his jaw. Choso just huffs softly, bringing you back down to his mouth to lick at the inside of your hot cavern, his other hand sliding down to rub over the roundness of your ass, exposed by your hiked up nightgown, jacket thrown away somewhere.

“I was scared of losing control,” he murmurs, nipping at you with dulled teeth. “Scared that seeing you, tasting you, would make my fangs come out, terrify you.” You pout against him, hips starting a slow grind against his pelvis where you feel the swelling of his cock start to come to life. You gasp against him when he holds you still, angle his hips up until they meet yours through your thin material.

“Are you scared?” Choso asks, fisting a chunk of your hair in his hands, baring your throat to him, his teeth suddenly sharp as they skim your smooth flesh. Your heart jumps immediately to your throat, in fear, anticipation, lust, worry, desire.

“Or are you turned on at the sight of your exes blood covering the both of us?” He angles your head back down with his words, puts the crime that he just committed on full display, a tinge of worry lighting the darkness of his eyes. But instead you swallow, cunt starting to throb at the sight, at the lust that bleeds from his very being into you, at the nudge of his mushroomed tip pressing right where you need it most.

“Both.”

You fall into each other after that, Choso’s movements entirely too fast for you to keep up with. It makes you dizzy in which the speed that he moves; you’re on your back and he’s on top of you; your shoes are ripped off; his shirt; your gown; his pants; your panties; your hands are choked in his grip above your head; his teeth graze your nipple.

You feel like you have whiplash, as you cry out at the coldness of his mouth suddenly on your skin, your back arching off of the bed. You want to touch him, reach for him, feel the silkiness of his hair in your grasp, as you fight against his hands. But Choso doesn’t let up, takes his time with licking slowly around your areola until your nipple perts up, hard and stiff. He flicks it with the tip of his tongue, suddenly forked, suddenly warm, suddenly too much.

He looks up at you through his fringe, through black lashes as he widens his mouth over your breast, his fangs bared, scraping the fat of your tit without ever breaking the skin. You cry out in a mixture of pleasure, maybe pain, your senses confused of all of the sensations at once. He sneaks a hand down between your legs, parts them with the simplest nudge. You let him in, thighs spread wide around him, open, inviting.

Choso slides down your body slowly, finally releasing your hands that instantly tangle in his hair, releasing his twin buns from their coiled up embrace. You push his head exactly where you want it to be, and he follows, good, dutiful.

Positioning your legs over his shoulders, Choso nibbles at your inner thighs, close to where you want him to be without ever getting there. He opens his mouth wide again, and you don’t expect the bite that comes, that makes you yelp and jump, your leg kicking out in shock. The sight is pure erotica, as Choso looks up at you from under his lashes, his mouth red and pulled tight around your thigh, blood leaking from the wound he drinks upon, his lids heavy, as he gulps down the taste of you. When he pulls his fangs out, its with a moan so filthy, you can hear your hole squelching from how wet you’ve become.

“You want to become my meals? Would you do that for me?” Choso asks, his voice raspy, a husk that makes your hips gently nudge against his face, but he ignores the crying of your cunt instead for the tears that leak down the softness of your cheeks.

“Yeah,” you agree mindlessly, pushing his head once more in the direction that you need it to be in. Choso only rests his head against your thigh that still bleeds, lapping softly at the still open wound with low, heavy eyes that promise a life of ruin for you.

“Yeah?” He asks, smiling when you pout, offer your cunt up to him once more. He takes the bait, finally, and kisses your clit with bloodied lips. It creates a lewd, wet smacking sound, makes your thighs jerk in pleasure, your eyes rolling from just the simplest of contacts.

With how much he’s been teasing you, you don’t expect for him to eat you out in a way that is anything but slow, torturous. But you guess Choso has been wanting to taste you just as badly as you needed his mouth on you. He dives in almost hungrily, sucking at your clit until it borders on painful, before he soothes it over with licks of his tongue. He holds the bottom of your stomach with his palm, the other sliding two thick fingers inside at the same time. Its a painful stretch, makes you whine and pull at his hair, and he matches your frustration with another bite on the juncture of your hip and thigh, making you cry out.

He finds his place back between your legs, his mouth now dripping with your slick, with your blood, with his spit. Creates a messy harmony of sounds between your legs as he fucks his fingers inside of you, scissoring them until your soft wall give in to his stretching, his tongue lapping at your swelling clit all the while.

When he bites you again, you cum with a cry, unexpected and loud, your lower body shaking so violently that he has to hold you down with both hands. His tongue never stop licking at your clit, nibbles on it with too sharp teeth when you pull his hair, making you whine at him. Choso only laughs under his breath before he pulls away, not without another lick of the blood that dribbles down your sides in thin, dark rivulets.

Choso stands on his knees before you on the bed, shredding off his own boxers with his nails that quickly slide out before they find their place in his nail beds again. His cock springs out, thick and pale, veins forking along the shaft, his pubes dark and curly at his base. His tip drools with precum, connects to your skin, and you want to taste it as badly as he tasted you, but Choso has other plans.

He uses that vampiric speed once more, and you find yourself seated in his lap as you face him, his legs crossed under you, yours wrapped around his narrow waist. You’re eye to eye with him, find a reflection of your face in the darkness of his eyes, your blood tainting his mouth. You kiss him, let him raise you up until your cunt nudges against his tip, let him drop you on his fat length torturously slow until you’re seated against him.

“So full,” you whisper, a gasp escaping you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pull him in so close that your bodies begin to meld together. Choso hisses when you clamp around him, fits his teeth against your neck without ever biting.

“Tease,” you murmur, starting to lift yourself as much as you can, feel the achingly pleasureful slide of his cock against your greedy walls. You bring him to you, bare his neck to your dulled teeth and bite with such a force that it causes the vampire to laugh.

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” Choso mutters, before he picks you up again before dropping you back down onto his cock. You let go of him to gasp, to moan out your pleasures, and he barely lets you get a word out before he picks up the pace.

Your ass slaps against his muscled thighs, his nails digging into your soft flesh until you bleed, and you meet him as much as you can. Scratch and bite and claw at him until black blood bleeds from his wounds, until he growls and bites and scratches in return, until red mingles with inky gore.

He reaches a hand between the two of you, nails retracted once more so that he can thumb at your fat clit, circle it until you start to shake and spasm on his cock. Choso lets you moan against his mouth, lets you bite at his bottom lip until it bleeds, lets you whine against him and choke his cock until you’re bursting like a dam.

“There you go, just like that, angel.” Choso says, his voice soft as satin, his cock bruising your insides so good you can’t help the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. He looks so pretty staring up at you in his lap, still bouncing you on his cock, covered in blood and your cum and pure adoration.

When he cums inside of you, he pauses, his mouth mashed against yours, a grunt heavy on his soft, soaked lips. Choso squeezes you to him, pulling on your bottom lip with sharp fangs until you bleed, to which he quickly laps up with a greedy tongue. You chase it, chase the taste of copper and slick and spit until it coats your tongue heavy and thick. You moan at the feeling of him spreading inside of you, covering every inch of you, his mouth still lapping at whatever he can reach.

You sit in his lap like that, his cum spilling from your parted lips, your blood mingling on your chin with his own, his cock still seated inside of you, kicking with every clench of your cunt around him. You try to catch your breath, watch how his own chest doesn’t rise and fall as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, admiring you in your post orgasm glow.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you not breathing.” You admit softly out of nowhere, making Choso chuckle under his breath.

“But you can get used to the black blood and feeding on humans to survive?” He asks against your breast as he pillows his cheek against it. You hold him to you, your own face buried in the softness of his hair, your cheek smushed against him.

“Only if you feed off of me, and shitty men.” You counter cheekily, not expecting him to actually laugh, loud and hardy, pulling you closer to him, if that was even possible.

“Agreed.” He says softly, and you can’t help the smile that pulls at your face.

thank you all so much for reading! kind comments/likes/reblogs are so greatly appreciated!

#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#choso treats! 🍬#tw: blood #tw: murder #tw: biting

49 notes · View notes