#to describe having to leave town with nothing but the clothes on my back

[cyberphuck]

Context: my mom's husband used to love to write passive-aggressive "letters" and "notes" and leave them for me instead of talking to me. He and mom also would make me sign "contracts" that forced me to agree to their terms on whatever bullshit they felt like making me do (I did not ever have a say in what was in the contract and didn't really have a choice in whether or not to sign. He and mom started doing this when I was 13). Things were always written in the most condescending way possible, with language that made it seem like I was a criminal being made aware of my punishment and not like, their kid.

Last night I dreamt that I moved back in with my parents (for some reason). In the dream The Husband left a note taped to my bedroom door outlining what rent I would be paying. I clocked that he and mom were actually desperate for money and needed the income that would come from me, so I went to him and told him that I'd pay the ridiculous amount he was asking-- irl they were always like 'you have to give us 66% of everything you earn because you're a horrible crippling financial burden' or whatever, and it was always because they had mismanaged their own money and were actually broke-- but that he would have to sign a contract that just said "I am an idiot." I actually made him sign several, making him re-write it more neatly and with bigger letters to show he was sincere. When he had finally made a version that I would accept, I snatched it from his hand and said, "this is the last little note I'm going to get from you. From now on if you have something to say to me you say it to my fucking face." I also told him that I would be running the household, because I had a much better track record managing finances and getting bills paid on time than either he or mom ever did. (I was also not wearing pants at any point during this discussion because, you know. Dreams.)

It was honestly the best dream I've had in a while.

(There was also a stream running behind the house in the dream, and I realized that the water was steadily rising with more and more debris floating by. I heard a newscast on a nearby TV talking about an incoming flood, and I went to go let everyone know we were gonna have to bug out immediately, but I didn't feel scared or worried about it at all. I woke up and was like "well that seems like some sort of ominous sign.")

[beardedjoel]

ride

joel x f!reader

request: "prone, leaving a hickey on their neck, in a truck bed" sent in as part of my 5k celebration! or you try to grapple with feelings for your parents' friend while getting absolutely railed by him 🤠 6.5k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (unspecified but college age reader and it's said that joel is over twice her age), oral f receiving, unprotected piv, pr0ne b0ne, creampie, hickeys, dirty talk and pet names, bit of daddy kink (sue me okay), angsty feelings, alcohol, reader has a mom and dad and clothing is described (shorts and t-shirt).

a/n: saw this prompt and instantly loved the visual! such a fun one to write, and i got weirdly caught up in these two having history and a bit of angst so it ended up way longer than i anticipated (aaand everybody is thinking we are not surprised julie couldn't shut up).

Today had you on edge, taking in your surroundings more dutifully, fearing the rounding of corners on campus in case you’d run into him. You try to pretend you don’t want to see him, but can’t deny the sinking feeling in your stomach as you arrive for your shift that evening without having any chance encounters. You hate that you’re imagining how one would go as you wait on your tables, how you’d pretend you hadn’t even thought about the possibility of him also being on campus for parents weekend. Casual. It was totally, completely casual - the same sentiment you’d been trying to convince yourself of for months.

His daughter Sarah is only a year younger than you and ended up at the same university a couple of hours from your hometown. You’d played little league soccer together for a few years as kids, and your parents became much faster friends with Joel than you and Sarah ever did. 

Despite Chip’s Bar & Grille being located off campus, it doesn't seem immune to the influx of people due to parents weekend as you weave through your tables, a sweat breaking out on your neck. Your asshole of a boss - the Chip of Chip’s Bar and Grille - never quite learned how to keep the temperature comfortable in here for the workers. He’d also declined your request to have tonight off to spend with your parents - too many other coworkers of yours had the same idea as you with people’s parents being in town, apparently. You know he also simply just enjoyed telling people no.

You plaster on a fake grin as you carry a tray of beers over to a rowdier group of men, probably here to watch Friday Night Football or something, judging by their team spirited paraphernalia. They’re already a few drinks deep, getting increasingly more bold with their commentary towards you, but it’s nothing you haven’t dealt with here before. You easily brush it off, navigating your way through their charged remarks with grace and sweet looks that should only boost your tips, letting the act drop dramatically as soon as you walk away from them.

Karina, the hostess - a sweet girl around your age - flits up to you, buzzing information in your ear. “Table 19 just got sat. Said it’s your parents, I think?”

You smile to yourself - it’s thoughtful that your parents would brave the greasy, unappetizing food at Chip’s just to see you twelve hours earlier than planned. They instantly glow and warm up at the sight of you, looking slightly out of place but nothing short of comfortable. They were the type of people that could adapt nearly anywhere.

“Hey, honey!” your mom trills, hugging you tight, pressing the slightly damp t-shirt you’re wearing into your back. 

“Sorry. Sweaty,” you warn her too late, getting a chuckle in your ear. Your dad squeezes you tightly next, and when they go to sit down, you notice with confusion that Karina has placed three menus on the table. 

Your eyes snap up to the front door just in time to see a familiar, broad form step into the fray, weaving his way through the bodies and tables. His eyes scan across the restaurant - dark and brooding as always - then land on you, standing tall above where most people are seated at their respective tables. Your stomach leaps, leaving your breath caught in your throat, him letting his lip twitch into some semblance of a smile - or a smirk, rather, given how haughty he looks right now.

For that brief second, it’s only the two of you in this bustling, noisy room, before the bubble bursts and he stalks over to you and your parents. It’s only then his eyes are torn off of yours, leaving you breathless and confused. And angry.

“Oh, good, already got us a table. Parkin’ was weirdly a nightmare out there,” he says, smooth and silky, announcing his presence. With one more flicker of his eyes to yours just before your mom pops up to hug him, blocking you from view, you see the mischievous amusement behind them. He’s enjoying the fact that he’s caught you off guard, that you’re flustered by his mere presence alone.

Yeah, angry sounds right. Joel Miller: certified prick.

After the fuss settles down, your parents explain they ran into Joel at a cafe when they got to campus this morning while you were still in class. Being their gracious, hospitable selves, they’d promptly invited him to come out to dinner with them tonight to catch up. Just your luck.

“The rest was history. Joel seemed awful happy to get to see you too, know it’s been a while,” your dad happily and obliviously trills. 

You’ll bet he seemed happy.

Joel moves in for an embrace, and you stiffen before feeling his meaty, thick arms draping around you, the warmth of his chest pressing closer, his breathing in your ear. Everything feels lit up inside of you, sparks skittering across your skin. You beg your knees not to buckle, reminding yourself that refusing to hug him begs more questions than you’d like from your parents. You try not to melt into the familiarity of it when your arms fling around his neck, try to keep it… casual. The word bites at you, stinging deeper each time you try to convince yourself of its place in this relationship. 

“Hey there, sunshine. How you been?” he mutters in his slow, sweet drawl. You can’t help but smile at your favorite pet name he’s had for you for years, wishing to wipe it off your face as he pulls back and sees it. There’s a returned softness there beneath all his amused loftiness. 

“G-good. Good,” you manage to stammer out. “How’s the business… How's Sarah?” 

You watch on as Joel stays planted right in front of you, the moment lingering longer than necessary or normal. You watch him have the same realization, clearing his throat and turning to pull out his chair, sitting down.

“Good,” he echoes you, smiling softly. “And good. Girl’s too busy with friends to see her old man tonight, though. Stuck with these two now.” He jabs a thumb in the direction of your parents. 

The dig gets a hoot out of your mom, her hand playfully nudging him. The noise of her balking breaks you out of your reverie where your eyes had been plastered on his features, begging them to tell you anything. 

You suck your lip between your teeth, blinking a few times to snap yourself out of this haze. You’d wanted this, hadn’t you? A chance to run into Joel, knowing that parents weekend would likely bring him this way. It’s too much, too… intense, to see him in your workplace, somehow merging his life with the one you lived separately from him. Back home the two of you had been on equal footing, but now he invaded your space, the places you were able to go to get away from whatever this was, to get away from him.

“I - I’ll go check on my tables. You guys decide what you want to order and I’ll come back. And I’ll talk to Chip about a family discount, or something.”

Your dad insists it’s not necessary before you scurry away, but you ask anyway. Chip unsurprisingly argues with you, huffing and puffing and generally being the asshole that he is. 

“You want a discount for your family? And where’s that money gonna come from? Maybe from your tips tonight? Would that work for you? Hm?”

“Forget it, Chip.” Muttered under your breath, you roll your eyes, feeling dejected as he stalks off to likely terrorize someone else or put on his fake schmoozing act with a loyal customer. 

When you glance back at your parents across the room, Joel’s eyes are on yours, intense and questioning. They burn into you, making you immediately turn away, trying to hide the glistening of tears from Chip’s beratement. It’s dumb, really. He’s always this big of an asshole. You aren’t sure why you expected anything other than his default or a single generous thing from him.

After pulling it together enough to do the rounds on your tables, you stop back to take your parents’ and Joel’s orders. Joel seems like he’s stewing, his energy quiet and distracted as he glances down at the menu, ordering a cheeseburger with a distant voice.

It’s not until you’re off at the point of sales system tapping in their orders that a presence sidles up beside you, the voice deep and hushed.

“That your boss there? The one lookin’ like he’s got somethin’ shoved up his ass?”

You do a slow turn to peer at Joel incredulously, glancing around as if you’re caught in a compromising position. You suppose maybe you are, but at least your parents are out of view from where you’re tucked back in the little hallway leading to the restrooms. It’s cramped back here with the service station, leaving Joel’s body close to yours.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, instead of answering his question.

“It’s not a crime to go to the bathroom,” he quips back. “Answer me.”

“What? You’re gonna beat him up?” You give Joel a pointed look before focusing back on the screen, punching in your dad’s Dr. Pepper.

“No, jus’ wanna know why a boss is out here makin’ his employees cry.”

“I wasn’t crying. He - he’s just an asshole. And why do you care? You’re not my -” you cut yourself off, shaking your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s fine. I promise. Please just… why are you here, Joel?”

“Havin’ dinner with your parents.”

You have to force in a deep, calming breath before sighing it out. “You like this. Surprising me, catching me off guard. You’re the one being an ass now.”

Joel visibly softens at your stressed demeanor. “It’s also not a crime to want to see you, y’know. And have some fun trippin’ you up along the way. I didn’t realize -”

Your eyes linger on his face for a long, quiet moment, burning with frustration and contempt and something deeper you won’t allow yourself to access. “I’ve got to get back to work,” you say, concluding the conversation as you snap the notebook containing your orders shut and push away from the computer. You brush past Joel’s shoulder, turning to glance back at him.

“It is nice to see you,” you utter, half hoping he can’t hear it over the bustle of the restaurant. When his lips twist to the side in a lopsided smile, you know he did.

“You too.”

Joel seems to behave the rest of the evening, paying the proper, appropriate amount of attention to you, treating you like the family friend that you are and nothing more. Just as it should be, you remind yourself every time a pang of sadness pulses through your chest.

When they pay and leave, you breathe a sigh of relief, working the rest of your shift with an odd buzzing in your head, picturing Joel’s tanned skin and rugged lines. The memory of the feeling of his body close to yours in that hallway makes you shudder, then curse yourself.

A mixture of disappointment and irritation worms its way into your mind as you realize that was your chance. That was the time you got to spend with Joel this weekend, when he was so close within your grasp. He’d be busy tomorrow, spending time with Sarah, letting her tote him around campus - showing him where she takes her classes, her favorite places to eat, her dorm that is likely decorated with purple accents and posters of her favorite bands.

You’d missed the opportunity to actually see him, too busy being pissed at him for existing in your sacred space, for never leaving you alone no matter how hard you tried to get him out of your head. You never knew when the next time would come around - even if you were back home, time spent around Joel was never guaranteed. Nor was it appropriate.

You worry your lip into oblivion, realizing it’s for the best, anyways, as you push the back door to the bar open after your shift, letting the cool night air greet your grimy, post work skin. You go to round the building, heading for the bus stop on the main street that will take you exactly twenty five minutes and eleven stops back to your dorm.

A voice cuts in, seeming to come from the darkness itself. “You always wear shorts that short to work?”

God damn it. You flinch and then press your lips together, slowly turning your head to the corner of the parking lot, following the gruff, familiar voice. You see Joel leaning against the front of his truck, arms crossed over his chest. He’s half illuminated by the streetlamps placed periodically across the asphalt, casting long shadows on him. The blue flannel he wears is stretched tightly over his arms, the sleeves rolled up to reveal those forearms that make you feel more than you’d ever care to admit. 

“Better tips,” you reply, nonchalant. You adjust your bag on your shoulder, walking over to him. You stop short, giving a wide berth between the two of you, attempting to avoid the always inevitable pull you feel towards him.

“That so?” he says, sounding amused. Joel lets his eyes roam up from your feet, scanning your bare legs, drinking you in all the way up your chest until his gaze rests on your face where it softens. He’s obvious about it, not caring to hide the lust that lives between the two of you now that you’re alone.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, feeling like a broken record. You watch as he turns and starts walking to the back of the truck. You peer around to see the bed is open, staunchly crossing your arms and not following him.

“Thought I’d give you a ride home,” Joel throws over his shoulder.

“What if I had my own car here?”

“You don’t,” he punches out. “Parents told me they hate you takin’ the bus so late.”

You quietly groan to yourself. Of course they did.

“And I thought you could use one of these after a long shift,” Joel adds on, proudly holding up a six pack of cheap, generic beer, strung together by plastic loops. You give him a sardonic laugh, finally giving in and making your way to the back of the truck. Joel has it parked with the bed facing the far corner of the parking lot, looking directly into the thicket of trees beyond that separates Chip’s from the McDonald’s behind it. It’s late, the lot nearly empty and the businesses around you all quieted down for the night. Some kind of thickness hangs in the air, otherworldly and separating you from reality, pressing in on you to be so alone with Joel.

“Aren’t you driving?” you ask, brows raised. 

“Ain’t for me. It’s for you.”

“Miller Lite,” you say, gesturing to the six pack. “Clever. And disgusting.”

He smirks, tearing one out of its loop and handing it to you. It’s chilled, but not cold, and you nearly grimace. You don’t even like beer, but being around Joel still makes you nervous so you crack it open, listening to the little click of the pull tab and ensuing fizzy noise from the liquid inside, then take a long swig. 

“Attagirl,” Joel comments passively. Your heart flutters at the small praise and you peer at him, doelike, from over the can, hoping your eyes don’t give you away. Of course they do, they always do. You look down, shuffling your feet, clad in your black, non slip work sneakers.

His hand is hesitant, reaching out to you from where he now leans against the open truck bed, clasping around your wrist with a gentle authority. It tugs you, forcing you to take a step towards him.

“Joel…” you warn, still unable to bring your eyes up. You know if you do, you’ll fold.

“Hm?” he rasps, moving you closer still. Joel’s legs and feet come into view, thighs thick and meaty in their denim, his work boots dirty and scuffed. It made something inside of you flutter again, these details about him. You liked his mess and his manliness, the way he didn’t give a shit if his shoes were dirty, but that they were functional. You like his worn denim with the outline of his wallet seared into the back pocket from too much use. You like… him.

“Come sit,” he begs of you, and despite your best efforts, you’re unable to resist. You hop up onto the back of the truck, letting your feet dangle while taking another sip of crappy beer. He pulls himself up next to you, and leans closer, knuckles brushing along your neck, making you shiver. It’s heavenly and electric, everything you’d craved and missed and wanted, never able to stop thinking about these calloused hands and the man they’re attached to.

“We… we can’t do this again,” you force yourself to utter, fiddling with the pull tab on the can held in your lap.

Joel’s hand freezes. “You got a college boyfriend now or somethin’?” he spits out, unable to hide the greed from his voice.

“No…” you admit.

“Alright, why not then?”

“We just… shouldn’t.”

“Y’weren’t sayin’ that over winter break. Or durin’ Thanksgiving, or the summer before that when I was fuckin’ myself deep inside of you, lettin’ you call me your daddy,” he drawls out lazily, continuing to softly revere your neck with his hands, slowly moving to your shoulder and back, fishing underneath the collar of your branded Chip's tee shirt to find bare skin. 

You swallow hard, feeling your cheeks blazing at the memories of how caught up in it you’d gotten. “I - I don’t think…”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Just don’t think.”

You finally dare a flash of your gaze to his, finding his eyes dark and wanting. “Joel…” you plead again, unsure of how to express anything else. “This isn’t… right. Who you are to me, my parents. You know that, right?”

He licks his lips and nods, moving in close and ghosting them over your neck. Your eyes roll back, your touch-starved, needy body begging you for more. “Torture myself over it all the damn time, pretty girl,” he rasps right next to your ear.

“Then why did you come here tonight?” you ask in a lusty whisper as his lips attach to your skin, sucking softly. Your breath catches in your throat, fighting a whine.

“I don’t know. I jus’... did,” he says earnestly, sounding pained. “I wanted it. Didn’t care ‘bout the rest. I wanted to see you, just us.”

Your heart pitter patters in your chest, that pesky, squeezing feeling of it that always takes over around Joel pulling taut. You know he doesn’t mean it, that he doesn’t want you. He wants what you offer - your body, your naïveté to stay involved in this, your company when he’s lonely. It was hard to say just how Joel felt about you, because he’d never dare say it out loud for fear of making this too real. 

His scent invades you - musky and something fresh and nature inspired, pine maybe - and you feel yourself folding in real time.

“Joel…” you warn one last time without any resolve behind it, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles into your neck. You want this. You don’t want this. You want him. You don’t want this uncertainty, this unstructured and wild thing that you two have become tangled up in. 

It happens before you can even register your body moving of its own accord, crashing your lips into his waiting ones. His hands are fast, eager, to touch every part of you now that you’ve given some semblance of a go ahead. Squeezing, groping, one hand relishing in the feel of your tits, the other cupping your cheek, pulling you deeper into the searing kiss.

“Fuck,” he mutters when your hands move with equal fervor on his body - squeezing his thigh, wrapping around him the to clutch the hair at the base of his neck. “The hell says we shouldn’t be doing this…”

You shake your head, smiling into the kiss. “Probably everyone.”

“Makes me want you more, baby,” Joel counters, and you nod feverishly in agreement, squeaking in surprise when he pushes you down to the truck bed, swinging himself over to straddle you. His weight crushes down, comforting and arousing all in one, no time to even dwell on it before his lips are on yours again, a hand plunging between to cup you through your shorts. Warmth flows freely between your legs, the fabric dampening the sensation but it’s still too much, too built up, and you buck your hips.

“I want these shorts gone,” he demands. “Everyone wishin’ they got a peek under these, givin’ you all those tips, except at the end of the night it’s me right here, gettin’ everythin’ they want.”

Your head goes fuzzy, swimming with lustful thoughts as his dirty talk ramps up. It turned out that Joel Miller had the filthiest mouth you’d ever encountered, something you’d never have expected from the quieter, gruff man. He was an archetype of southern politeness most of the time - not without his sass, sure - but you’d never expected… this.

“Take them,” you breathe out. Joel grins above you, unbuttoning the shorts with ease, hooking his fingers in the sides.

“You’d let me, really? Right here… right out in the open?” Joel tsks, the grin on his face spreading into something wicked. You blink back to reality, to the parking lot around you, and yet your answer remains unchanged.

“Yes,” you whisper, feeling shame burn at your cheeks.

Joel works your bottoms down slowly, taking your panties with it and speaking unhurriedly. “Let anyone who comes to see what all the fuss is about see all of this, would you?”

“Yes,” you answer dutifully.

“God damn.” He chuckles, tossing your shorts to the side, leaning back to glimpse at the bottom half of you, now exposed to him. “Dunno what’s worse. This, or that closet at your parent’s place. You’re a dirty little bitch, ain’t you?”

You nearly growl. “You love it,” you shoot back, spreading your thighs wide open for him. 

Staring between them with a certain wonder about him, he answers. “I do.”

He sinks himself down, moving to pleasure you, pulling your clit into his mouth and giving it a gentle suck. You yelp, a tiny squeak that has your hand flying over your mouth to quiet yourself down.

Joel moves his tongue to lap at your folds, drinking in the sweet slickness you’ve already poured out for him. The slickness that had been pooling between your thighs just at the sight of him earlier tonight. 

“You been this wet all night for me?” he asks incredulously, toying a finger through it now, circling your clit in a slow, tortuous circle.

You whimper first as an answer. “You - you make me -”

“I know I do. Ain’t easy to hide a hard fuckin’ cock under the table with your parents either, y’know. Wearin’ shorts like that on that gorgeous ass of yours.” He tsks into your pussy before slurping again, groaning as your arousal starts to coat his beard.

Your chest heaves, desperately needing more from him, his satisfaction with toying with you going longer than you can handle tonight. Not after how long it’s been.

“Please, J-Joel.”

He chuckles darkly. “We both know that ain’t the name you want to call me right now.”

He was right, the word had hung on your tongue since the second you’d been alone together, since you felt his warm hands exploring your skin. It came out somehow more naturally than you’d expected or even wanted, but something about it just felt… right.

Self conscious, you hold back and grumble as he withholds contact from you, staring up expectantly. “Come on, angel. I wanna hear it, too. Been too long.”

“Please, daddy…” you correct yourself shyly, readjusting to the word on your tongue. Joel’s face, shadowed by the yellow light of the closest streetlamp, breaks into a smirk.

“That’s right. Right now, when we’re like this, I’m your daddy, aren’t I?”

You nod and he continues to lick your needy cunt as a reward, swirling his tongue over the delicate bud near the top. “Yes, you are.”

Joel’s tongue moves faster, urged on at your breathless cries for him. “And you’d want to come for your daddy, wouldn’t you?”

The words twist your core tighter, the warmth building to a near breaking point. “G-god, yes. Y-yes!” You cry out louder as he sinks a finger inside, crooking it to make you go a little dizzy. You clamp a hand over your mouth again, tighter this time, stifling your cries.

Joel pulls back, a string of saliva and arousal connecting the two of you. His finger keeps the pressure on that spot inside of you, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin as the most painful tease.

“Nuh-uh. Think you should be loud. Unless… you don’t want your coworkers to hear ya? Or better yet, that asshole boss of yours?”

You picture the ramifications of what Joel is saying, the way Chip’s face would go red, twisted up in anger before he likely fired you. You break into a cheeky smile, and without conviction you say, “I - I shouldn’t."

“You should be doin’ a lot of things right now, sweetheart. But here we are. Don’t act like you don’t like the idea of pissin’ off that bastard.”

You chuckle, nodding in a dazed agreement as Joel glides his nose over your sex, flicking his tongue out periodically and making you start to squirm impatiently. “Bet he wants to fuck you, too. Such a pretty, perfect girl. Bet he wants to bury his mouth in this sweet god damn perfect cunt.” He punctuates his words with a deep inhale to your pussy, his nose now tracing a little circle over your clit. 

His words send you reeling - something about the possessiveness he holds over you makes you clench around his digits like you’ve never done for anyone else. “Please -” you beg before you can even think.

“Please you want him to fuck you?”

You sigh in lustful, irritated frustration. “D-damn it, Joel. No. You.”

“Need daddy to fuck you good, don’t you? These college boys ain’t doin’ it for you, are they?” he purrs into your skin, finally pulling himself from between your legs to glide up over your body, shielding you completely.

You feel yourself flush hot, still sheepish even after all these months affected by his dirty words and that stupid, yet hot - so hot, god why is it so hot - title he’s bestowed himself. A tickle of embarrassment creeps into your belly knowing that you’ve hardly pursued anyone at school, never able to find exactly what you’d already had all along - only it wasn’t yours to keep. It never could be.

“I - I -” you mumble, avoiding eye contact as his face hovers above yours.

“What? They’re that bad?” he teases, and you bite your lip.

“There aren’t many… relations going on, okay?” You grimace, finding his dark eyes and seeing him amused, yet studying you carefully, more seriously.

Joel throws you the tiniest smirk, but his voice is deep and sincere. “Damn shame for all of them. But makes me awful happy to hear on account of myself.”

You swallow, nodding, feeling an anxiousness playing in your belly. “Have - have you…? Since we last…?” You don’t know why you even ask, why you’re hellbent on setting yourself up to be hurt.

Joel hesitates, debating for a moment, then leans in to kiss you, long and deep. He pulls back, then shakes his head. “Not since December, no.” The words are hushed, whispered, one hand squeezing at your hip. 

The moment is tense - too much so - and the urge to escape it crashes into you. You shift underneath him, pressing your hips up into his to entice him. “Don’t you want to fuck me then before ol’ Chip gets his chance?”

Joel practically growls, his hold going tight. “Wouldn’t fuck you like I do.”

You shake your head, licking your lips and feeling the flicker of desire reignite between your thighs that had briefly paused. “We’ll see about that,” you say, raising your eyebrows.

“God damn it, kiddo, you’re tryin’ to piss me off.”

“It’s better when you’re irritated with me -” You lick your lips, your hands finding the waistband of his jeans, toying with it. “Daddy.”

That same growl erupts from his throat, aggravated and breathless. His hands scramble with yours to free his cock, and you can’t help but peer between your bodies to catch the sight of it. You love every bit of his body, love seeing the way it moves for you, with you. The way that it evokes things in you you’d never known possible, hitting all of your buttons just right.

Only getting a short glance at his erection, your body is quickly handled by Joel’s rough, eager hands rolling you onto your stomach. You’re held down immediately, his weight crushing into you, nearing on uncomfortable with the bumps and ridges in the bed of the truck. One hand presses to the back of your head as he mounts you, the hot skin of his cock teasing at your ass.

All you can do is whimper, your head straining to look back at him as he spreads your ass cheeks, slipping between them and to your slick core, nudging at your entrance. Anticipation hangs in your labored breaths until he enters you, the tension released in an exhale of relief and sharp tenderness at the full stretch of him. 

Joel wastes no time slamming into you, satiating every fantasy you’d had of him, every desirous, late night thought that caught you off guard since your last rendezvous. It was always just as you’d remembered it - a miraculous connection of your bodies that seemed to stump the two of you every time you’d tried to make sense of it.

“Hell yes, angel, you always take me so good, so perfect,” Joel grunts out as he thrusts into you. “Never complainin’, jus’ takin’ what you’re meant to.”

Your eyes roll back slightly as he presses impossibly deep inside of you. Despite everything - his size, your ages, the myriad of reasons this shouldn’t even be happening right now - it feels like the perfect fit.

“S-so good,” you whine , breathless as his body starts to lean in close, his chest pressing against your back.

“So good, who?” Joel reminds you, his voice now rumbling right in your ear.

“F- Daddy. So good daddy,” you quickly spit out, lost in the moment. Joel had once called you cock dumb, and you’d wanted to scoff, but moments like these proved it to be a very real phenomenon. You typically consider yourself relatively level headed, but right now you’re completely helpless to the power he holds, all thought centered on the way he slips in and out of you, every sensation and nerve lit up from the drag of the head of his cock inside of you.

You shudder, feeling his hulking form so close as he brings his lips to your ear, wet kisses trailing to your neck. He’s always loved your neck - it was the first thing he’d deigned to touch all those months ago that had felt charged, different than your typical interactions. That’s when he’d drawn you in, hooked you and pulled you into this whirlwind.

You scramble a hand back to reach for him, touch him, but he grabs it, tracing his fingers over your palm, interlacing them with yours for a brief moment before your wrist is pinned down. He fucks you harder, faster, his lips bouncing against your neck before they latch on, sucking hard.

“J-Joel!” you cry out in a panic, realizing the possibility of a mark being left with an impending meet up with your parents tomorrow.

“It’ll be fine,” he purrs against your sensitive skin, sucking a little harder before moving to another spot. "Jus' leavin' you with a little somethin'."

You see stars as his cock presses as deep as it can go on his next thrust, and you lose the will to fight a losing battle. You have makeup for a reason, you suppose.

You moan, loud and clear, suddenly unable to even care about the world around you, an audience or Chip or any of your coworkers rounding this truck and seeing you getting absolutely ruined by a man well over twice your age. None of it matters when you have Joel so close to you, so ready to please you and take care of you.

“G-god, you’re so deep,” you whimper out in a garbled haze as he keeps up his punishing thrusts, letting the head of his kiss the deepest parts of you.

Joel chuckles dryly, doubling down on his efforts, the both of you panting, close to reaching something extraordinary together. “Mmm,” he groans into your ear, still lapping at your neck periodically. “What d’you want with an old man like me anyway, huh?”

It’s a question you’ve asked yourself dozens of times, one you’ve never quite found the answer to, even after searching deep within yourself. Joel was brutal in the sheets but also sweet, and maybe that was a balance you’d been seeking without knowing it. The illusion he created of not caring was always overpowered by the look in his eyes that told you there was something more there, something you both wanted to build upon but knew you never could. So you took moments like this - dark and rushed and secretive in parking lots - and made the most of them while you could pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Instead of saying all of that, you just mumble out through your panting, “Y-you know why.”

“That’s right, this big cock, fuckin’ you like nobody else can,” Joel replies for you, and you nod languidly, your eyelids heavy, your mind concentrated now on the heat building deep in your belly, furling tighter with every thrust.

“R-right there, oh my god,” you breathe, pressing your hips into each thrust to pull him that much deeper, to make each crash of your bodies into one another that much harder.

Joel moans quietly, attempting to stifle the lusty little sound but it's music to your ears, listening to him fall apart for you. “Come for me, sweetheart, s-shit, daddy needs to hear you…”

“D-daddy!” you whine out loudly, knowing he loves to hear that name nearly pornographic off your lips in these heated moments. Your pants and noises break into little moans that crescendo as bursts of pleasure wash over you. Every muscle is taut and taking Joel’s harsh, relentless thrusts into you, nearly making you scream with how vibrantly every sensation seems to crash over you.

“Y-yeah, let ‘em hear it. Christ you sound so pretty f’me, baby. Milk daddy’s cock, f-fuck that’s it…” Joel’s string of praises reaches your ears in a distant fog before his hips stutter inside of you and he’s spilling himself deep and full. You clench around him one last time, shuddering at the sensation as your skin tingles pleasantly. You feel floaty, far gone as you try to regain your bearings, slumped and ass up on the cool material of the truck bed. Reality comes back slowly as Joel kisses down your back, planting one on your ass cheek before giving it a playful bite and kneeling next to you.

“You okay, sunshine?” he asks softly, and for some reason, despite feeling elated, tears prick at the back of your eyes. It’s too much, too emotional. You will them away in a second, not daring to let Joel see.

“Mhm,” you weakly utter, nodding. Joel’s hand strokes along the side of your head, and you peer up at him with a slack smile, finding that he’s giving you one back. 

He comes down to your level, kissing your forehead. “Best yet, maybe,” he says playfully, but you aren’t sure you feel like laughing.

“Maybe,” you ponder, watching Joel’s face morph into a more serious expression. He curls his fingers around your ear, tracing shapes along your hairline, your neck, your shoulders as you stay just as you are for a long, quiet moment. He guides you to sit up, silently handing you your discarded clothing, helping you dress as the mess of him slips down your thighs. You have the passing thought that maybe he has napkins in his glove box, but then decide you’d rather have the reminder of him.

Joel sits next to you on the edge of the truck bed again, and interlocks his hand with yours. “I - I’ve got a hotel, right on campus. I could take y’home, but I’d like if you came back w’me for the night.”

His words give you pause, a tiny inhaled breath as you go to speak, snapping your lips closed and looking down at your lap for a beat. “Is that a good idea?” You ask for so many reasons, knowing that Joel is as acutely aware of all of them - the worst being that the longer you spend together, the harder it is to come back to reality.

“It ain’t a bad one,” he rasps, sultry and rough, and you crack a tiny smile. Always persuasive and charming when he needs to be.

“It’s not,” you admit, looking into his inquiring gaze.

“W-well?” he asks, nudging your side. “Jus’ one more night. I hardly get to see you, an’ you can go in the mornin’.”

You know how the night will go. You’ll both think you’re there for the sex - to sweat and say dirty things and pant all over again until you both come so hard that it boggles your mind. You’ll convince yourself that’s all it is, until you end up staying up late - talking, laughing, held in the other's arms. Intertwined together, bodies naked and comfortable with the other, because you’ve been here before.

You’ll both find yourself wanting to shy away from that fact that more is there - a real connection, two people with unlikely similarities, that just… get the other. You’ll both get lost in it, until the sun shines the next morning and you have to pretend that it doesn’t exist, that it was some figment of the power that the night holds over a person’s emotions, those dark twilight hours taking over your minds.

But you’ll both know that isn’t true, and there is nothing you can do about it.

“Okay,” you tell him, knowing the fate you’re subjecting yourself to - one that’s as wonderful as it is confusing. It hurts at times, but the spectacular things this man makes you feel outweighs it all. It’s worth it, that pain, to be able to find one another time and time again, and maybe even dream of more someday.  “Let’s go.”

divider by @/saradika-graphics!

[biteyoubiteme]

lemon cake

lemon drop!soobin x angel cake!reader

‧₊˚ ⋅ synopsis In a world where everything is sugary and sweet, it is always fun to throw in a little twist. Quiet and tired Lemon Drop finds himself struggling to keep up with the day to day of single-parent life. Knocking on Angel Cake's door, begging for more than just help, might take care of two of his problems.  ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings 🔞!!! fairytale au, lemon drop!soobin, angel cake fem!reader, slight spit kink, spit and cum as flavored aphrodisiacs, not really but chubby reader implied bc angel cakes body is soft and described as cake (skin indents and takes a few seconds to bounce back), mentions of masturbation (f! and m!), hand job, oral (m!rec), virginity loss, breeding kink, corruption kink, biting, cumplay/eating/snowballing, no protection, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

⊹₊ ݁ . wc: 8.9k . ݁₊ ⊹

၄၃ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: new emotion- the aces an: ive never been so happy to post a fic before! this was so very fun to work on with my moots. im honored to have worked alongside some absolutely incredible writers- actually wild that you let me in on this when you guys are just so amazing im a little dazed lol. and it was so fun to read everyones fics early and go back and forth on little ideas we found would benefit each others works. this was one of the best things to do and im so thankful for mae and her mind,,go read everyone elses fics pls pls pls they are so so good. anyways love my friends <333 [m.list] [strawberry shortcake m.list]

Angel Cake loved a routine. Most things could be broken down into a neat list of checkpoints, a simple to-do list set up like the recipe for a good day. She would get to the store early, prep the tables, and make sure all the clothes were neat enough for when she opened the door. Sometimes a new shipment would come in and she would take her time checking off every box as she added the new items to her inventory. She loved folding all the shirts up, stacking them, lining them all so neatly, and keeping them color-organized.

It wasn't until an hour later that the store officially opened for the day, the sweet buttery scent from the town's shops wafting in through the doors. Angel Cake would sit behind the register looking through catalogs to pick out new things to order, helping customers when they filtered in and lulled around the shop admiring her cute displays. Almost an hour after opening is when her favorite customer arrived. “Strawberry!”

She loved to shop, everything she wore was hand-selected by Angel, perfectly picked out from the catalog with her in mind. Even the pale blue shirt worn by Kai was bought within these four walls. The sweet blueberry boy gave a shy wave, apple dumpling, strawberry’s little sister, running right past the two of them to her favorite section in the store.

“I brought you your share from the bake sale,” the cream-colored box carefully held in hand. It was one of the small things Angel looked forward to, the soft cake and cream, the first bite of sweetness. “They took a little longer than expected to make but they turned out so good,”

Kai flushed a deep shade of blue, the color only highlighted by the blue strands of his hair. Even Strawberry was blushing, her eyes tacking onto apple dumpling to avoid looking at angel cakes questioning glance. “Berry why don't you help Dumpling pick out a new school dress, I see angels gotten some new ones in,”

It was all it took for Kai to follow after the giggling child, leaving Angel and Strawberry alone. “You won't believe the weekend I've had,”

“Was it beomgyu? I hear he went to the market for the first time in a month and acted so bitter over Cherry’s jam,”

“No no nothing like that, I just- berry and I-” If strawberry could get any more color to shade her cheeks she would, her flush traveling to her ears, “We kind of…”

“You kind of what?” Angel Cake had known for years that Blueberry had a crush on Strawberry. They spent most of their time together, strawberry baking and blueberry strumming his guitar. It wasn't news to Angel that either of them had fallen into a relationship without much effort.

“We kissed and then it wasn't kissing it was- well-” she was struggling to find the right words, the images of the night before flashing in her eyes as she stumbled through the words. “It was so much more than kissing, the both of us were just insatiable and he just- he tasted so good,”

“Tasted? Like when you kissed?” Angel tilted her head as if that would tip the right information into the right spot for her to understand. Tasting someone did not necessarily sound all too fun, she could picture the underwhelming flavor of blueberries and didn't find it appealing at all. Angel was never really a fan of how plain they could be, although she would never confess that to Strawberry who couldn't stop herself from remembering the flavor as if it was spilling right back onto her tongue.

“Not exactly-” but it was all Strawberry could say before the two of you turned to the sound of apple dumping giving a shout.

“Meringue!” the little blonde, dimpled-cheeked child, giggling as she ran to meet her friend, exclaiming just as loud, “Dumpling!”

Everyone in all of Strawberry Land knew exactly how close the two little girls were. Spending hours joined at the hip, playing games, singing songs, and laughing enough to fill the sweetest of souls with the happiness shared between the two of them. Most times lemon meringue would find herself sprawled out on the living room floor, coloring with apple dumpling while angel cake and strawberry tested recipes in the kitchen. The two little girls being the best test testers, never afraid to say when they didn't like something.

Most times meringue was over because Blueberry was the perfect babysitter, teaching the girls how to play the guitar, and finding fun ways to keep them entertained. He kept them busy while Lemon Drop, meringue’s dad, was off at the local college teaching. Lemon drop soobin was always a bit bitter, the slight tinge to his personality always brought forward with his obvious sleepiness. His under eyes slightly bruised from the late hours he spent bent over books, grading papers, and chasing after his little sweet tart. Rumpled shirt half untucked from his pants, butter blonde hair mussed, and glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Angel Cake could feel her stomach flutter at the sight, he looked unbelievably warm, the kind of person you wanted to slip into and cuddle up. His lazy blinking eyes tracked around the sweet cream shop, deeply breathing in the sugary air.

Soobin wanted a nap, the warmth of the shop hugging him the second he breached the doorway. It was the favorite shop on the strip, the scent pulling him in amongst the rest of the fruity temptations. Buttery warmth hinted with vanilla cream beckoned him in that direction every time. It was easy to get lost in thought and follow his footsteps right to your door without realizing it when he followed his instincts. With an excuse to step inside, he could settle his craving without shyly backing away from the doorway, tinted pink from the recurring embarrassment of finding the shop irresistible. It was okay when Meringue was with him, but when he was alone, gazing through the sugar glass window to see angel cake folding or hanging clothes, it was a little more awkward.

He wasn't particularly known as the fondest resident in strawberryland. He was known to fight back, the sting of his arguments leaving people with a bitter impression of him. It was something that was expected of the debate professor, teaching the people how to stand up for themselves and find the proper form to an argument.

Angel found him to always cut back the sweetness of the people who took his class, leveling out their need to please in a way that she knew people who didn't take his class found caustic. Working in such a closed shop she heard more than anyone else did in the street market, the stalls so open the voices carried over to one another. No secrets could be kept when the air picked up every sound, enough so that anyone could get burned when gossip traveled. It made her shop the gossip harbor, the walls soaking in the secrets enough so that it set the illusion that nothing would make it to the unknowing subject of conversation.

Just last week she heard the run-around rumor mill turning out stories of frosty puff and gingerbread taehyun. The occasional talk of lemon drop, he's just so sour, listing ways to prove someone wrong. Can't we all just get along and not fight? He must be teaching that poor sweetheart of his such nasty things.

It had made Angel roll her eyes. Who cared if he was giving the rest of Strawberry Land a backbone, it was needed in such a basket of softies. But Angel knew she was in the same boat, still a product of her environment, soobin had moved back after finding himself in a big city amongst the rich and decadent. Nothing like the homegrown bunch he had been born from.

Strawberry pinched angel's arm, her soft flesh dimpling at the draw to attention. It always took a second for Angel's skin to bounce back from a tight hold, easily squashed like the cake from which she was named. “It wasn’t just kissing it was- I don't even know how to describe it, we tasted each other in places I never thought to before,”

“Like where?” it felt absurd to think of putting angel's mouth anywhere besides the mouth of a lover, maybe the back of their hand. Strawberry fiddled with the loose ribbon she used to tie a bow on the shortcake box, tugging the strand until it neatly fell away. Even for her name, Angel had never seen strawberry so pink, from ear to ear as she swallowed. “Down there,” her eyes flickered down to Angel's zipper, popping up just as quickly to see if Angel understood what she was saying.

“Berry!” Angel whisper-shouted, shocked, and intrigued all at once. Angel wasn't too dense, she understood to some extent how it worked but never thought about their being a flavor, or even that your mouth was used for more than just kissing.

“Angel, I don't even know how to describe how good it tasted- better than this,” she held up the short plump cake, the sweet cream swirled on top and donned with a little strawberry heart. “And it's hard to taste any better than this, I mean it's more addictive than sugar,”

It seemed hard to believe, especially when Angel sunk her teeth into the light dessert. The warmth of the sponge still lingers in between the ripples of fresh fruit. The frosting was her favorite part, dotting her upper lip in the clear mark of overindulgence, the creamy whips making her softly moan.

The sound echoed in the shop, just loud enough to be heard under the giggles of the girls, talking out planned outfits to wear to school tomorrow, but it didn't catch Kai’s attention, only catching the ear of lonely Lemon Drop Soobin. He watched the way Angel wiped at her mouth, sucking her thumb clean before rolling her eyes, “Hard to believe,”

“Well, you won't know until you try,” Strawberry muttered, closing the box of sweets and tying the bow back up.

“Ew no, I hate to say it but blueberry is kind of a flavorless fruit-” Angel Cake started looking over to where soobin and Kai stood. Angel stuttered in her speech, cheeks flushed and shoulders straightening under Soobin’s piercing gaze. Strawberry not even noticing the hiccup, “No! Not with Kai, anyone else but him, I mean it, Angel, it was something else,”

Soobin quirked a brow, Angel's cheeks deepening in color. It didn't help that he was looking at her with her train of thought derailing in the direction of a lovely open pool of crisp lemonade. She could just smell the citrusy freshness that followed after him, the scent that made her perfectly aware of how different they were, and forced her to face the recollection that she wanted him in a horribly needy way.

She wondered exactly what he would taste like, obviously lemony, but would he be more sweet or sour? Fresh or bitter? He was the opposite of sweet little blueberry who was now clapping at the choice of dresses the girls had picked out. Lemon drop was a streak of verbena-washed clarity in a town full of half-baked sweet tarts. She wanted him to wash over her and teach her things she never would have known without him, open her pallet to more than just the sweets found in a shop just like Strawberry said. Because as much as she talked down on the people around her, she was just as close to them, still grappling with the niceties of sprouting out in a field of pushovers. But she had time to bake, enough so that she knew she wanted more than just a dollop of sweetness to finish her off. She needed the honesty of someone who would be just as bitter as she was sweet, someone who had left and come back, someone who knew exactly what she wanted and had achieved it themself. Only now all she could think about was what exactly you had to do for a taste of anything at zipper level.

“You know, I heard he's looking for a sitter, especially because Kai is helping me so much at the stand. It's great to have Dumpling around but sometimes following her and meringue is a bit much,” Strawberry added, looking right past soobin to where Blueberry was fussing over apple dumplings shoelaces.

“Really?” soobin had broken eye contact to tend to little lemon meringue, carrying the outfits she's picked out in one arm and pushing back his hair with a ruddy knuckled hand. She watched the two of them like she was memorizing her favorite recipe, taking the time to run over every line, connecting the little bullet point dimples the two of them shared. Even when Strawberry took her bunch with her out the door, leaving the two of them alone at her counter, she couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her features.

“Don't you just love it, angel? It's so bright and pretty and does a perfect twirl when I spin,” meringue is nearly a spitting image of lemon drop, the only difference is her hair doesn't have the classic butter blond but a sun-washed version, the roots starting as a toasted tan color before fading out. But even then it's impossible to say they weren't related. Holding onto the edge of the checkout counter, hand still fluttering over the dress she's picked. Soobin reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet, grinning with the edge of his mouth as he watches her look up at Angel with her big brown eyes, dimple so deep in his cheeks she's sure she can swim in it. “It's perfect,” Soobin mutters.

For someone who has been pushed into the bitter pile by the rest of the town, Angel finds it hard to believe someone like the man before her could be anything but comforting. It was in his name, lemon drop, so nostalgic, in and of itself an acquired taste.

“I know you think that but I was asking angel,” meringue scrunched up her nose in that little kid's way, the light dusting of faded freckles tucked into the creases like a bunched blanket.

“I love it, would it even be a good dress without a perfect twirl? It's why I make sure all of the dresses in here look good when you spin,” Angel folds the items neatly sliding them into the gift bag. “Here you go,”

Soobin passes out the exact change, hand brushing angels as he lets the money go, surprised by the warmth radiating off the soft contact. Just as comforting as the alluring scent in the streets he shouldn’t have expected any less. Meringue is elated to be handed her bag giggling to herself as she thanks Angel and her dad. “Next time I see you I hope I can see your perfect twirl and soob- lem-” Angel stumbles over the right name, never really having spoken to him personally besides a few light greetings in passing.

“Soobin is fine,” his grin was a mix of amusement and arrogance that whipped Angel around in a mix of unrelenting jealousy. The ease with which he found himself walking through life was something angel only wished to grasp, and here he was, with confidence written into a single smile.

“Okay, soobin, if you ever need help after five I'm always free to watch her when you need work done. Strawberry was just telling me you could use a hand, "Angel says it so innocently, eyes blinking up to him in a way that he can't think about too closely. It takes everything in him not to look down at the very hand she speaks of, even if it's metaphorically. Because he could use a hand, specifically hers wrapped around him revealing the stress he was feeling in ways that he knew only she would be able to take care of. But it was too much to ask in a place like this, too much to think about when he was in public, and certainly too much when his child was waiting by the door for him to take her to her playdate.

“Thank you I could- um- really use the help,” he didn't know what to do with his hands, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose only for them to slip right back down, hand running through his already messy hair. It was the most angel had ever seen him discomposed, more like a stuttering school boy instead of a college professor who made school boys cower.

“Okay just let me know, you know where you can find me,”

It was only a few days later when soobin came by to ask for Angel's assistance, meringue hot on his heels as he shuffled into the shop right before closing. “I know it's last minute but Kai was supposed to take her to Strawberry’s house but turns out he cant and-”

“It's okay,” Angel chuckled, “I know the two of them have been so finicky with plans recently it's no problem at all. I just need to make sure the doors are locked up and then we can go,” and so they waited while you twisted the key, checking the knob twice, and shuddering from the slight chill in the air. In only a few days, Angel knew the gingerbread cobblestones would be coated in the thin glaze of the first frost, dollops of shoveled snow pushed up against her shop looking like misplaced piles of spilled frosting.

Lemon meringue ran ahead, her ballet flat-covered feet skipping between each stone like a made-up hopscotch map only she could see. Instinctively, Angel walked a step closer to soobin, bumping his arm with every other step they took toward his house at the end of the lane. Angel knew this was one of the reasons why he was accepted more than his other bitter labeled fellows, he lived in town, and went to town meetings even if he didn't add to the majority opinions. If he lived down on the outskirts, house kissing the woods or worse buried deep inside them, he wouldn't have a chance of being accepted in the way that he has been. It gave Meringue the best opportunity to find friends and build a relationship with the community before they ostracized her for being anything but sweet because of the name she carried.

Pushing open the door to their modest place, Angel was surprised by the solace laced into the brown woods and honey-colored accents thrown around the house. Stacks of leather tomes litter tidy shelves, and little dolls, and figurines placed by meringue are known only because of how high each item reaches. It smelled of freshly picked lemons and the cozy baked smell of warmed sugar. It was just late enough for the sun to be setting in through the gauzy curtains, casting the room in a warm golden glow. Angel wasn't to bask in the light, curl up like a kitten on the plush couch, tucked in with the knitted blanket tossed over the back like an invitation.

Meringue shot forward, hand wrapped around Angel's wrist tugging her past the living room and to the overly saturated room that could only belong to a child as happy as her. “Look, angel! I can show you all my princess dresses, we can do a fashion show!” She pushed open a trunk decorated like a little carriage fit to wheel a queen in, the lid holding back all the tulle and silk, only to now spill out like an overstuffed donut.

Soobin chuckled by the doorway, knowing exactly how his daughter was. She would keep Angel entertained enough for the both of them, needing no help to find something to do. It was the only thought in his head until he caught sight of Angel's wrist, his little meringue’s handprint still indented on her soft skin. He watched in amazement the way it slowly rose back into shape like a cake filling the tin in the oven. The thoughts running in his head were nothing to be proud of, images of his hands on the plush of angel tummy driving him mad. He had to turn away, leaving them alone in the room to focus on the stack of papers he had on the edge of his desk to dull the image of his handprint on the crease of her hip, dented into her thigh.

It was hard to get work done as is, his mind always fluttering through the tasks at hand, the next paper to grade, the time to pick up meringue, when he would be able to fit in the time to sleep. Now all he can think about is sweet cream dotting the smooth expanse of buttery cake. He hardly got through the few papers waiting for him, red pen in hand, staining the tips of his fingers as it sat motionless waiting for him to write. Hours passed, the soft laughter and chatting heard through the cracked door, every so often a glimpse of yellow and pink crossed in front of his field of vision, both angel and meringue going from the living room and back.

It made soobin happy to not worry that Meringue was having a good time, sometimes she fell shy especially when not near Apple Dumpling. She even had to warm up to Strawberry, only becoming her bubbly self when she and dumpling were alone, hiding behind her closest advisers in the face of someone new. But Meringue had always wanted to talk to Angel Cake even before they had known her to be best friends with Strawberry. His sweet lemony girl's eyes go wide and glittery seeing the expanse of clothes held in Angel's shop, do you think she gets to try on anything she wants? Look at how cute she dressed Daddy! I wish I had her job.

Every little comment only showed how deeply Meringue wanted to play dress up, more so play with Angel. He's sure even if he had asked for Angel to watch meringue in the shop she would have just as much fun as she was having going around the house now. He loved how comfortable Meringue found herself around Angel, and how Angel accepted his girl with open arms.

Time slipped past soobin without realizing the laughter had faded into hazy silence, more than half his stack of papers cleared through and marked to be returned to waiting students. He ran his fingers under his eyes, glasses set askew from the rubbing, sighing into the empty study. Soobin didn't notice Angel until he smelled her, that wonderfully delicate sweet smell of vanilla sweetness making him hold back his groan. He had thought it had only been the smell of the shop. The cake-like walls were made to pull in customers like the cinnamon scent of a bakery wafting through the streets, beckoning all who breathed in the air. Maybe Angel smelled so delicious because of working all day, the scent rubbing off and sticking to her hair, her clothes, her skin.

“She's fast asleep, knocked out almost as soon as she laid down to read her bedtime book,” Angel leaned against the edge of soobins desk, hip digging into the wood, fingers sprawled over the skewed pages of work. To Soobin, she was a dazzling masterpiece of messy hair and flushed skin, dress short enough for him to see the way the desk was pinching her thigh.

“Thank you,” the words twisted into a whisper from how dry his mouth had gotten just from looking at a single strip of skin. Licking his lips he tried to swallow, finding something to say besides the hollow echo of words he had managed.

“Oh it's nothing really, she's a doll,” Angel's eyes danced over the pages at her hand, “you lived in the city right?” even just the mention had soobins mind going back to the dull colorless house he found himself in when studying for his degree. It made him sick to think about raising meringue in a place like that, she was why he had moved back home, not caring how off-put the rest of the town was about him now.

“Yes, I did,” he sat back in his chair, one elbow still resting on the desk and the other laid out on the armrest. He was half turned to angel, lower because of sitting and now having her tower over him. And her damn thigh was there right next to him, knuckles twitching to brush over the smooth expanse of skin.

“Did you like it?” Angel had tipped her voice down to a whisper, the dim light needing the change when she had decorated the question in enough hope and worry. It wasn't as if Soobin’s answer would change much, she knew she dreamed of a city out there bright enough to blind the thought of home but it was hard to leave when it was all she ever knew, she didn't even know if she truly wanted to leave.

“I liked it enough,” soobin bit at his bottom lip, worrying over the question. It was as honest an answer as he could give. “But it wasn't home, not for me, not for meringue. There is nothing quite like the comfort of home,”

“Like this place you have here,” Angel lifted her chin, looking around the packed study with even more books and bobs. “That couch of yours looks too cozy not to nap on,”

“You should see my bed,” it was a quick response, one that didn't pass the filter connected to the bit of his mouth that kept him from saying anything embarrassing. “I- I didn’t mean it like that-”

But Angel didn't get the innuendo embedded into the words, she just nodded, “I should, I bet it's just as warm as the rest of this place, you have it at just the right temperature,”

The lack of sleep was making him loose, his finger drifting out to press right into the outside of Angel's thigh, pushing against the soft plush of her skin just enough to feel the heat from her, “you sure it's not you? You seem to keep warm enough,”

“Oh no, take it from a cake to know exactly when they walk into the right level of warmth. This is perfectly cozy,”

“You do feel…lively,” soobin drags his finger up Angel's thigh, reaching right to the hem of her dress, stopping right before it could go any further. The line he had drawn was like the roadmap to the realization that he should not be touching her like this. But it was incredibly hard to remember his mind when he felt this hazy; drunk off the lack of sleep and the sweet smell of sugary cake.

Angel felt the pad of his finger slip right up her spine, sink into her nervous system, and cloud her mind. Even if he had pulled away, flexing his hand as if that would sink the feeling of her warm skin into his palm, she could swear the touch was tattooed right there forever now.

She couldn’t forget it, not on the walk home, not when she showered the day away, not even when she climbed into bed. The moonlight slipped in through her lacy curtains, the soft gleam pulling her mind right back to the study. Her finger pressed right where she remembered him, circling the spot like she was tracing the shape of the yellowing moon on her thigh.

Even the moon made her think of him, a little lemon drop in the sky, her bed warm enough to picture what it would be like to snuggle up in his. Her fingers were too soft and not at all how she needed them to be to pick up her illusion. Pressing them harder into her thigh she felt an ache between her legs, centered right at the heart of her.

Angel had never felt such a pull to touch herself, not until the butter blonde boy was there just out of reach, so close to palming her thigh instead of just using the tip of his fingers. She wanted his hands all over her, they didn't even need to be warm, she just needed him. Needed his finger pressed on the tormentor's bud that called for him. But for now, she would have to make do, her hand pushed into her shorts feeling along the wet seam of herself never knowing that her body would crave someone so bad without even having tasted them like strawberry had said.

But the only thing on her mind was lemon drop, her hips rolling into her hand, the soft moans drawn out from a mouth so unfamiliar with this sound. Her body told her the way to move, and where to seek peak pleasure until she was a gasping mess, creaming around her dainty digits. Angel Cakes' new discovery was a calamity, highlighting a deep desire she didn't know she could hold within herself. A catastrophe; soobin had been the one to knock a tray of glasses to the floor, already so recklessly close to the edge until one push sent them shattering, angel couldn't clean the glass fast enough, left to never be the same again.

Soobin was no better, he was a cracked vase slowly leaking out in drips of sun-melted ice, he had to hold it together for work, for home; hastily wrapping fingers around the seeping seams only for his thoughts to pour out between his fingers. Because angel cake was spinning in his living room, twirling around with his daughter, giggling until they were a dizzy pile on the floor. His office door just cracked as he caught sight of angels' sweet lacy white panties, clinging to the curve of her ass. If he had knocked over the tray of her sanity, angel cake had taken a hammer to his fragile vase, smashed it until it was powered, and easily passed as dusting sugar on the treats in strawberry’s shop.

Soobin felt his addiction take its toll on him, every night the image of angel cake washed over his sleeping mind until he was reduced to nothing but a needy muddled mess of thruming joints. He couldn't go one day without his hand wrapped around his cock, working his wrist until he was spilling dribbles of cum onto sheets that needed her in them. It was worse when his order from strawberry came in, Kai handing the box over right at the doorway, picking up Meringue for her sleepover with Dumpling. The smell of the shortcake filled the house as soon as he shut the door behind them.

He was embarrassed to have such an obsession with angel cake, sure that she would cringe away from his desperation for her. So desperate he was standing in the kitchen with one hand down his pants and the other digging into the soft sponge of one of the cakes just brought over. The cream and crumb squished out between his fingers as he came, moaning into the empty space until the sound reverberated around him, the smell of her dancing around his body. He wanted her, needed her.

Soobin didn’t even remember the trip to Angel's shop's door, his nose pulling him along the crumb-dotted cobblestone, leading him right to the front doors, so willing to be eaten by the magic-laced girl inside. He could see her through the frosted glass windows, the closed sign turned to signal the end of her shift but she was leaning over the stand of shirts, fixing them in the way she wanted, her end-of-day routine. He could smell her, that buttery sweetness addicting, making him delirious. He wanted to sink his hands into her warm flesh, hold her tight enough so that if anyone saw they would know it was his hands that had been on her, that she was his, and his alone.

He pushed open the unlocked door, the ding of the bell signaling his entrance, that glance over her shoulder ruining him once and for all. “Hi! Did I forget I was supposed to come over tonight? I can pack up real quick or she can stay here-”

“No, blueberry took her- i- i-” he was struggling with the words, a stuttering fool standing in the middle of the shop like he'd come to beg. And he had, he would beg her till the end of his days to have one taste, to have her tear into him like she was peeling back the layers of his sanity. “I need you,”

“Oh?” she tilted her head to the side, the pure look of innocence smashing into him like a wave. He wanted to stain her, fill her up, and call her his.

Soobin struggled to swallow, every breath filling his lungs with her, she was right there on the tip of his tongue. “I need you,” his hand reached down to the bulge sitting against his thigh, hard, thick, and weeping for her.

If Angel Cake hadn't spoken to Strawberry about the zipper-level kisses she would have been confused beyond belief. But it had been all she could think of since then, what it would be like to lick up his body and know exactly what it was that made people so addicted. Because she was grappling with the fact that she was already falling down the rabbit hole of need, to finally taste him would be like crashing right into another world. “I don't know- I don't know how-” she was flushed all over from the confession because she didn't want him to leave, if he needed her she would mold herself to fit and fix any problem he had. Her lack of knowledge wouldn't hold her back, if he was a teacher she would be his best student.

“I'll show you, tell you everything you need to know,” he snapped the button on his pants, undoing the zipper releasing enough pressure to let out the most sinful noise angel had ever heard. She could feel her panties flooded with the cream that had been leaking from her for days now, always tied to the thought of him. If he felt even a fraction of how she did, Angel would make sure to take the best care of him.

“O-okay,” Angel Cake could feel her mouth water, her thighs pulling together, needing them closer to relieve the ache she felt. Soobin locked the door behind him, tugging Angel to a spot behind a rack of clothes. “Here get on your knees in front of me,”

Angel was fast to listen, sinking to the ground in front of him, hands placed neatly on the tops of her thighs, looking up at soobin with those wanting eyes. Just thinking about those plush lips warping around his cock was taking him out, and watching the tip of her tongue wet her mouth was excruciating. Soobin reached into his pants, pulling out his veiny shaft, the sheer size making Angel's eyes widen.

She didn't know what she was expecting but she was not expecting to feel empty at the sight. The top of him was shiny with a layer of leaking pre-cum. Soobin ran his thumb across his slit collecting the wetness to swirl around the tip, moaning at the way Angel's mouth fell open without realizing. “You can touch it,” he nodded, watching how Angel was gripping her skirt, crinkling the fabric trying to hold herself back.

Angel lifted a shaking hand, fingers brushing the side of him, amazed at the softness so much that she wrapped her hand around him and gave a tug. Soobins chest rumbled, his hand reaching out for the rack next to him, the hangers clattering from the force of his grip. “Sorry-”

“No, no you're doing good, just like that, slow and easy,” he nodded, biting back his moan when her wrist flicked again, “you can squeeze a little harder,” he whispered, his free hand finding itself around hers, showing her just the right amount of pressure he was looking for. Soobin's hand guided Angel's until he was using her hold as if it was his own, speeding up the pace.

Angel watches in amazement as soobins head rolls back, his brows pinched as he whimpers. She's never wanted to taste something or someone so bad, and now, with him right in front of her, she can't resist the temptation for what it is. Angel sits up just enough so that she can press a sweet kiss to his tip, a string of pre-cum still connecting her lips to him. Soobin lets out a shocked gasp, watching the way she licks her lips clean.

The taste is subtle, the sweet and sour mixed together only to draw Angel back in for more. She didn't even know what she was doing, compelled by the flavor to envelop him fully, the flat of her tongue licked up and around to collect more of the addictive fluid. Soobin’s knees go weak at the warmth of her mouth, hips jerking to try to chase the feeling, “Oh fuck just like that,” his hand still holding hers, working over the rest that wasn't pressed into her mouth.

Angel cake moaned around him, his bitter lemon taste mixing with the sweetness from his pre-cum. She wanted to swallow him whole, take more of him down. Soobin couldn't even think anymore, Angel's mouth trying to work further down, her hand stopping right at his base. Angel hollows her cheeks, sucking him down like its instinct, soobins groan taking over the silence and joining the soft wet noises. Soobins restraint breaks, overwhelmed by the way her mouth molds to his cock so perfectly, his mind working to imagine it's her waiting cunt. She takes him down so deep he can feel the back of her throat. It's enough for him to wrap his hands into her hair, fingers wrapping softly around her skull as he fucks into her mouth without warning. Angel moans, the vibrations going straight up his cock and making his balls clench. Her hands reach out for his thighs to keep herself steady, tears welling in her eyes, loving the newfound sensation.

Angel Cake doesn't know what to expect, lashes fluttering as he loses himself in the feel of her. It's a shock when his thrusts become erratic, his body trembling with a deep groan, sweet lemon cream spilling on her waiting tongue. Angel tries to swallow, unable because he keeps going, fucking his cum right into her still willing mouth, spurt after spurt following until he has to pull away. Angel gasps, sucking in gulps of air, mouth a mess of dripping lemon custard and saliva.

If she had thought the pre-cum had been addicting, she didn't know the effect the real deal would have on her. Blindly, she wiped the corner of her mouth, licking the cream she'd collected, humming as if she'd just taken a bite of the richest lemon bar. The sight and sound made soobin impossibly more obsessed with her, fingers going down her cheek, pulling her attention to his awestruck expression.

His head was clearing but it didn't stop the infection of her as it slipped well past his mind, into his bones, into his soul. He had heard about how easy it was to save a fruit tree if you cut away the rot fast enough; right at first sight. Angel cake had taken hold of every thorny branch on his tree and twisted herself in the sparse foliage, so deeply intertwined now that he wasn't sure there was ever a time when it would have been an easy snip to rid himself of this fever.

Angel Cake's face was a glistening mess of wetness when he squished her cheeks with one large hand, her pouting lips so kissable and pink. “Look at you,” a surrealistic sigh caught on the edge of his tone. He leaned down, needing a taste of the two of them, the perfect combination of bitter and sweet, angel's sugary spit mixed with his lemony custard making him powerless. And when he pulled away, letting go of angel's cheeks, he watched the way her lips stayed puffy, the illusion of dimples still there as her skin rose back, flushed a petal pink. “Did I do good?”

“You did perfect,” soobin brushes his nose along the bridge of hers, his eyes closing, breathing her in. He wanted to tear into her, squish his fingers into her, and memorize every little action that brought out a sound. But in his post orgasm clarity, he noticed exactly what he had done. He had tainted this perfect angel, filled her with more than just bad ideas but had fully gone in and let his uncontrollable emotions take over.

Even when Angel Cake had gotten home later that night, she couldn't stop licking her lips. She was lying in bed, wriggling in the sheets trying and failing to find a comfortable position let alone sleep. Her hand was stuck between her legs, on the verge of tears for nothing working to cave in a hunger that she was only now painfully aware of. She hated that she was alone, hated it more than she knew the feeling of his hands on her, knew that those long fingers would have been perfect to fix her problem as easily as she had fixed his.

The hunger triggered a compulsion within her similar to the one soobin experienced on his walk to Angel’s shop, her feet carrying her through the streets, half-dressed in her silky lace pajamas. The lemon drop moon cast its path down the cobblestone to Soobin’s front door. The cold unfelt against Angel's warm skin, and when soobin opened the door he could see the steam rising off of her heated body. The haze of it mixed with the backlight of the moon made her look like a true angel waiting right at his front step, outlined in the glow. She hasn't even come in shoes, her thick socks slouched around her ankles, her shorts pinched at her waist, and one tank top strap down her shoulder. He could see her pebbled nipples through the thin material, his lips pursing at the thought of wrapping around them. “Angel?”

He couldn't tell if this was one of his dreams, the kind that left him reaching out in a bed she never saw. “I think I need you now,” she couldn’t find it in herself to be embarrassed by the words, not when she had seen him in the same state, begging and just as needy. Soobin rushed to pull her inside, ready to get her wrapped up in something to keep her from freezing if that was possible for someone so warm. He hardly had the door closed when she was pulling him closer to her, wrapping her arms around his neck, tugging him into her space. She needed to have him in her mouth again and soobin knew he wasn't going to turn her away. His hands slid down her back, fingers digging into the soft skin, groaning into her sugar-sweet mouth, the sound catching in the back of her throat, and she swallowed it down greedily.

Angel didn't know what to do with her hands, her mind shutting off and following their natural way, slipping into his hair, the strands tangling between her fingers, his lemony sweet kisses taking over her mind as he slowly kissed her. But Angel was impatient, whining and rubbing her thighs together.

“What is it baby? Tell me,” he kissed down her jaw, intoxicated by the smell of her, so much stronger when she was so hot against him.

Angel reached down for one of his hands, guiding it like he had done for her, pushing his fingers until they slipped right against the silk of her shorts, “it's so achy,” she whimpered, “and all I can do is think about you,”

She was like a freshly wrapped gift left on the front step, the label perfectly signed with his name and his name alone. A sinful treat he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into. He dragged his fingers along the seam of her, the silk already spotted with wetness, “you want me to take care of you?” the husk of his voice was thick in her ear like syrup.

“Please- please,” her nods are erratic, hips rolling trying to keep him right against her tender clit. Her pathetic cry echoes in the living room when he pulls his hand away. But he doesn't keep his hands away for long, dragging her to his room, having her fall to his bed, right where he's wanted her. Her knees fall open, the heels of her feet digging into the mattress. She's a vision of her namesake, mewling when soobin hooks his fingers into her waistband and takes down her panties and shorts, sliding them down her legs and peeling her socks off, leaving her bottom half exposed.

Soobin is caught at the sight of her gleaming cunt, leaking arousal the color of royal icing, creamy and sweet, looking as if she had been stuffed full of him already. Nothing could keep him from getting a taste. He fell to his knees like this was a place to beg for forgiveness. But he wouldn't be sorry, not after he started his feast. Soobin licked a bold stripe up from her entrance to clit, groan ripped from him with only one drop of her. He wrapped his arms under her legs, holding her open and watching how his fingers dented her flesh, the plush of her spilling between fingers itching to stay there and mold her as his forever.

Angel let out a sharp gasp the second his mouth was attached to her aching center, thighs trying to snap shut around his head, held in place and forced open as she arched her back. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, her breathing only coming out when she slipped out moans. He was devouring her, licking her clean like he was enjoying the frosting before the cupcake, sucking deeply on her clit just to watch her tremble.

Soobin does not care about the mess he's making of her, face dripping with his Angel's cream, moans of delight vibrating against her puffy clit. He doesn’t even notice the way she's writhing beneath him, only that he's now faced with the most delicious meal he has ever had. Moaning into her, slurping up all that she has to offer trying to pull forth more of her sweet cream. And he didn't have to try hard, not when she needed him so bad already, the bubbling building in her lower belly so newfound and yet never before so intense. Angel cake feels like a balloon ready to pop, one deep long suck on her clit has her seeing stars, her orgasm washing over her as swiftly as a needle prick, causing her to come undone. The gush of her arousal keeps Soobin’s mouth right against her, his persistent licks only pulling him in more.

He was a desperate mess, working away at his pants, rutting into the mattress as if that would curb his insatiable hunger. He needed to be inside of her, filling her up with his lemon custard, fucking her senseless until she was begging to stay right here in his bed and never leave. He wanted that, to keep her as his, not just press his hand into her thigh and leave that lasting mark. No, he needed to claim her as his in the best, most lasting way. “Do you want me inside you Angel?” he pressed the flat of his palm into her pelvis, relishing in the way he felt himself sinking into her skin. “Right here, filling you up, making you mine-”

Angel had never felt so empty, not until he pointed it out, solving a problem she never thought she had. Her mewling response was a mix of pleas and whimpers. She didn't care what he did so long as she could have him near, and if he could fix the burn in her belly he could devour her just as well as tear her apart.

Soobin lifted Angel's legs enough so that the backs of her knees were slotted against his inner elbows, one hand reaching down to guide his dripping cock to her waiting entrance. Angel does not expect the pressure of being pushed into, her gasp caught on a half-open mouth of pure bliss. Every slow tantalizing inch stretches her out, her body instinctively clenching around him trying to suck him in. “Relax, baby,” he whispers, his hand sliding up her stomach, up under her tank top to reveal her breasts. He rubs at her skin, soothing her tense muscles until he's sunk all the way into the hilt, her body melting and molding around his.

Soobin waits, catching himself from letting go, letting their bodies adjust to each other. But Angel is impatient, rolling her hips, not even realizing she's trying to fuck back onto him, only that she needs some kind of friction. But soobin is slow to pull out and even slower to push back in, eyes connected to the spot they meet at. Her body was like clay beneath him, so easily shaped into the perfect temptation. Every drag in and out coated his cock in her cream, mesmerizing him, numbing his brain.

Angel could tell the difference in him, that split second that makes his eyes go hazy, hips snapping into hers making her body ripple from the force. “you were fucking made for me- do you feel how deep I am-“ he’s slamming into her, the lude sounds of their wetness mixing; echoing with their moans. All the veins in his hands straining from the hold on her soft sides.

He was pressed so deep into her she could feel him hitting a spot that made her hips sink, her hands reaching out to hold his hands, needing the comfort not knowing what was building inside her. so much more intense than when it’s her fingers or even just his mouth. “soobin im-im-“ she can’t even find the words looking for something that she didn’t know existed until just now.

“we can cum together- I’ll fill you up make sure to pump you full so you know exactly where I'm going to put our baby,” he moves his hand down to press his thumb to her clit, triggering her to jolt, the walls of her pulsing around him before she’s falling apart.

Angel's body is a tightening mess, her back arching, cheeks flushing as she comes undone for him. The pull of her body to his makes him shudder, his whole body falling against hers needing to be close, needing to smell the vanilla sweetness of her skin, sinking his teeth into her shoulder as he holds back his strangled moans. Slow languid thrusts push his lemon custard cum back into her, needing to make true to his promise to have her full of him and only him. Needing to mix together their cream for the perfect bake.

Neither of them knows what's happened to them, only that they are a tangle of limbs, wrapped up tight enough that Angel can still feel the pulse of his cock deep inside her, still pumping into her never having cum so much in his life before then.

Angel feels boneless when he pulls away, her whimper making him chuckle. “I just need to see your creamy pussy again,” the sight to behold better than before now that he knows the wetness is more his than hers. His fingers dragged through her sensitive cunt, collecting the mess to shove it back Into her, fucking her on his fingers for a second. He lifts his fingers in front of them showing Angel the sheer amount of cream coating the digits. “If I could bottle this flavor I would,” he licks them clean before leaning over to shove his tongue into her mouth, needing her to taste what he’s found as his new obsession.

Angel swallows down the cum, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, twisting legs and burrowing in closer. “you taste sweeter than I thought you would,”

“Did the thought of it keep you up?” he asks, nose brushing along the column of angel's throat. “because thinking of you while being alone in this bed is hell, I need both of my girls under my roof to feel complete,”

“both…” the sound of the word was heavy in her mouth. Not in an uncomfortable way but in a way a piece of chocolate sat on her tongue, melting and sweet, craving to place another one as soon as it was gone.

“Both.” The finality of the word is better than the buttery sheets he’s pressing her right back Into.

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire @no1likemybbgcharlie @chasingthatjjunie want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! thank you so much @izzyy-stuff for helping edit this for me ily ily ily @thetxtdevil and @beomiracles for betareading this a bit, but special special thank you for mae who gave me a lot of these ideas in the first place, her perfect mind came up with the cake like reader with indenting skin and helped with the conversation with strawberry and angel <3

[asphaltsugar]

somewhere south with fruits sweeter

logan howlett x fem!reader — 6.6k

(s). with your mother smitten during your visit, he was bound to taste her cooking soon. sharing food is an intimate act, and you weren’t expecting to offer something to him, too.

. . . extras: 18+ minors dni; written with origins!logan in mind; one (1) mention of drinking; reader is slightly shorter than logan; no use of y/n or she/her pronouns, only described as a daughter; pet name ‘sweetheart’; descriptive touching and kissing; very brief thigh riding; implied sexual content: oral (r receiving); a lot of fruit & food symbolism—do with that what you will; this is my first longer-length work so comments are much appreciated! x

────────────── gif from @ultrviolecnt

Maybe the fruits tasted all the more ripe, a real pleasure to eat, due to his hands now arranging their shapes in the weathered, woven baskets; you hadn’t seen him when you visited last year and such a change in the apples, peaches, pears would’ve surely made itself known. 

He was one your mother brought into casual conversation sitting on the front porch or working simple chores, and she insisted others were doing just the same; who could place blame on them when such a man was sure to bring about hushed dialects and connotations, a secret of sorts kept in the confines of the town’s acres. 

Because of your visiting for the season, it was you instead of your mother who drove the half an hour to the familiar wooden shop that rose with the respective fall of the leaves. 

It was becoming something of a bore in the years past, but a little less so now with him around, his presence and rather effortless strength admittedly easy on the eyes. Your mother spoke of him with high regard; only a few minutes after stepping out of your car and onto the gravel of the market’s driveway was enough for her praise to turn tangible in the summer heat that first morning, it now being replaced with a push of a breeze.

You noticed that even with the broad stretch of his shoulders, the trecks his boots left behind from mud crawling in the back, he somehow still managed a sort of ease about his figure as he worked. Anything he started in the chill of the morning he got done right as the sun rested its bleary eyes, leaving with a nod and a cigar in between his lips—all without speaking much. When he would carry in fills of crates with jams or fruits and vegetables, he wouldn’t stop to make talk with the customers, instead searching for another task that whispered his name once as wood warmed from the sun, now as a twirl of leaves browned and reddened scuttling against the exterior. You figured he didn’t do so from irritation at the others he worked with—you had known them since you were little and they were nothing if not welcoming—but as a means of simply getting work done; talk not adjacent to his doing must’ve been fruitless. 

You didn’t dwell on the fact, instead revelling—as much as you hated to admit—in meeting hazel with an unintelligible finish to the color in the teasing cold the times you had walked with a slow gait through the aisles, brushing past weathered gingham a dusted color from years past.

Tonight you were to be greeted with an infamous cherry pie, having been told to get as many cherries as you pleased, along with anything that seemed ‘good on the soul’. (She might as well have been hinting at him, written his name big and bold, with hearts curving over the letters.)

When you stepped through the doorway and atop the makeshift floor of scuffed wood underneath homemade rugs frayed at the edges, you only barely caught denim shifting out the back, presumably to bring in more boxes with whatever was to be displayed alongside a handwritten note detailing a new price for eager hands and acquired tastes. You stepped around tables with thin cloths acting like decor, embellishments to distinguish one from another, and stopped short when the usual spot for your mother’s preferred cherries was implied with folds in gently disheveled plaid.

At the furrow of your brows and your leaning over adjacent boxes and barrels to see if perhaps they were hidden someplace nearby, a lady to your side gestured to the spot with a jut of her chin. 

“Logan just went to grab a new batch, hun. He’ll be back in a second.”

You nodded at her words, involuntarily crossing your arms over your chest to the best of your ability with a basket in your hand. Broken conversations slipped in one ear and out of the other as you waited, talk of food to be prepared or how distant children were growing taller by the day. Shuffling of feet with a deep groan brought your attention back to the space prior, Logan now standing with a crate in his hands, a stitched cloth draped over the top. His tongue prodded at his cheek—the skin there, the bridge of his nose, the knuckles of his hands, beginning to flush pink from a gentle biting of the air outside—as he set it down, taking the covering off and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans after hitting it once against his thigh, the dust trickling down the denim to the floor, the creases in his boots.

You muttered a ‘thank you’, not expecting much more out of him in return. He simply nodded, but a clearing of his throat dragged your eyes to his.

“Your mom the one making the pie?”

He continued talking at the quick flicker of slight confusion that washed over your features, that made your palm pause as it reached out to pick the nicest ones, reds shiny and seductive around inedible pits. “Someone came around last week, told me her daughter was coming to stay for a little while and she wanted to bake something nice.” A pause, a narrowing of his eyes, your own drifting upwards to brown strands undone from their styling, now brushing above his brows in light curves.

Knowing your mother spoke of your person to him brought a smile to your lips. “She loves to gossip,” you admitted with a nod to confirm his ask. “Especially over her cherry pie.”

He let out a hum, eyes following the hand that held a bunch of said fruits from their stems. He stayed that way for what felt like a while, though it was really only a few seconds; his gaze was soft, but bore into your basic movement, as if assessing which of the fruits he had brought you so kindly you were to pick.

A call of his name directed them someplace behind you with a lean of his upper half and a hand to his hip. 

“Nice meeting you,” he said, catching your eyes as he brushed past your figure, smell of smoke and freshly picked fruits stuck to his skin, mimicking a wanting to bite innate to your psyche, to savor the source at your lips and teeth, though they were all laid out in front of you; perhaps that was the point.

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The next week, with a complaint of the chill that crawled into the crevices of her jacket and a harsh adjusting of the heater, your mother sat in the passenger seat eagerly awaiting an order she had placed with the owner days prior. Turning onto the gravel lot that rocked the interior, you found a vacant spot with a curse at how uneven the small plot had gotten. She let out a gasp and nudged an elbow to your arm as she unbuckled her seatbelt, hand already opening the door.

“Look who’s working today.” She knew he worked everyday they were open, but you rolled your eyes with a smile at her teasing nature—she could have her fun, you figured as you followed her out, slamming the door behind you.

Logan, much to your amusement, played into her harmless comments. He worked at the front, adjusting the panneling of the signs welcoming passerby, a carpenter’s belt wrapped around his waist and a nail inbetween his lips. At the shuffling of your mother’s feet coming closer to where he stood, he looked over with a charming smile.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled, nail a mimic of his cigars as he spoke, dipping his head as a hello to the both of you when you stepped to her side.

Your mother dismissed his words with a swat of her gloved hand in the air, flattery evident as a smile. “You’re talkin’. Just here to pick up a few things for dinner tonight.”

He furrowed his brows, shoving the nail into a pocket of his belt, adjusting its hold on his waist. “I might’ve packed them all earlier”—he began to make the way inside, gesturing his chin for you to follow—“but I’ll have you check.”

Not long after, he was carrying crates to the trunk of your car at the insistence she needn’t lift a finger—even with the slight cold becoming familiar with the skin of his own hands. You offered after her, but he repeated his words with a threading of his hand through his hair. There were quiet huffs and groans leaving his lips as he did so, his breath mocking smoke. Your mother instead headed inside, while you stood at the trunk, leaning against the chilled exterior; there wasn’t any harm in looking for a little longer, hearing more evidence of his voice a little closer. 

He spoke first, an octave lower and with a lilt of amusement.

“Dinner must be good tonight.” He met your eyes for a split second before placing a hand ahold of the trunk above his head. “Seems like you’re having…” he pinched a cloth from the crate closest to the edge, lifting it with a dramatized slowness, leaning over with a raised brow—something of a defeated breath left his lips. “Why don’t you mind tellin’ me.”

You leaned over for yourself, hands pushing similar cloths for a peek at what it was your mother had bought. The two of you were so close, or so it felt, as if keeping the contents of your trunk hidden from all but the hazel of his and your own. There wasn’t a need for your peripheral; a simple knowing he was near was enough, a certain spark in your nerves for the scene felt intimate, this unveiling of what you were to eat—you knew, of course, what was to be served that night, and he most likely knew that, too.

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Surely they would be sick of seeing you when the sun had dipped with a lazy arch, pulling underneath the horizon. And yet, there was an ache in your mother’s stomach that she insisted could only be softened with one of their homemade pastries, something she shared with you when you were little, and as she focused on dinner—which you’d assume would only make such an itch worse, even given the contrast of savory to sugar—you flipped on the headlights into the last hours of the evening.

You gave something of a guilty nod to the woman at the counter as you made your way to the shelving in the back corner that held the familiar packaging, alongside others. All that was on display was shrouded in thin, gentle slits of white, the moon offering its own of what the sun had given prior. The fruits looked misty eyed, the jars as if filled by a dreamy hand.

Just as quickly as you had pulled into the lot, you were twisting the keys once more; yet this time, a weak sputtering from your engine sounded rather than its usual dull rumble.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumbled, one hand gripping the wheel and the other getting ahold of the key once more, this time with a slower insertion and turn, it’s cold against your palm a mimicry of the early night air. The same cough, akin to a sickness in a body, invading the steel and screws of your car.

With a groan, you threw the door open, circling to the hood and, with a steady grip, lifting it above your head. 

It was now far too dark to tell where one part ended and another began, it simply a blend of shadow you certainly did not feel like combing through with the chill as an accomplice. 

You smelled the burning end of a cigar before the scraping of gravel along soles. 

“You alright?” Logan asked, voice leaking smoke like a lure for both your eyes and ears. His skin was accented with a soft gold from the flickering bulbs of the market as he stopped a few feet away, holding the cigar lazily at his hip. The lighting was bewitching, a natural distraction, and you cursed the way your eyes dragged at the outline of his shoulders, the narrowing at his waist, silver of a buckle glinting for a moment as if catching you in the act. 

At your not answering, he took another drag, peering into the hood for himself, though you were sure he could guess your response at the knitting of your brows, the irritated grip of your hands to the front bumper. 

“C’mon.”

You simply stared as he gestured with his chin, cigar to his lips, front half already turning the other direction. “I’ll take you home”—smoke curled at his cheeks, the hair that was cut shorter to the skin, when he glanced over his shoulder at you having not moved a muscle—“unless you’d rather stay out here.”

Much like when you both had been eyeing the insides of your trunk, it was as though your body knew of his presence just as much as your mind; sitting in his passenger side stiff against the seating, some unconscious reminder that tugged at your joints to keep them still, as if there was an awareness that preceded him in the form of tensed muscles and intrigue, a nipping at your eyes to even just look at him when he was this close, wanting that satisfaction, whatever it was, that came as a consequence to curiosity, infatuation, more like. 

“Never seen you this late at the market.”

You cleared your throat, explaining the pastry you bought for your mother. “I think this is just my car’s way of telling me not to.”

A laugh disguised itself as an exhale through his nose. “‘m not that bad.”

Your eyes caught his own when you furrowed your brows in amusement at his words, a barely registrable hint of a smile on his face.

“I didn’t said that,” you argued, though your tone was anything but. He angled the hand resting atop the steering wheel and the palm at his thigh upwards, feigning defense.

The drive wasn’t too long; neither was conversation. He asked about your mother, how long you were staying for, but more as a means to ease the space in between simple directions from you.

He slowed to a stop in front of your doorstep, shoving the stick into park as you began to get out, opening the door and stepping onto the ground, pastry in hand. You placed a hand against the cool exterior, offering a smile and about to utter a thanks—not entirely dismissing the way he was looking over at you, leaned over to grab a cigar from a case stowed in the glove box, a necklace of some sort having loosened from beneath autumn layers and swaying in tandem with the column of his throat—when your mother’s voice called instead. 

“Logan, is that you?” she sang, voice sounding pleasantly surprised and a harsh cut through the relative quiet of the night.

His brow raised in amusement; you rolled your eyes in a silent apology. 

He answered nonetheless.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me.”

Immediately at his simple confirmation your mother was ushering him in for dinner. And who was he to decline such an offer.

It was far too casual: the way he let you in first, a ghost of a palm over the small of your back; taking off his boots at the front door; nodding at your mother and asking her how she was as he eyed two plates she had already filled with whatever she had made for dinner that night on the countertop. You placed the pastry in her hands, to which she gave a quick kiss to your cheek and insisted the both of you sit and eat before the food got cold.

Without a word he took the two plates in his hands and walked over to the dining table, setting them opposite each other as you stood at your mother’s side, her face implying an explanation as to why you were in his truck, as well as a teasing response to his manners. You merely muttered an ‘I’ll tell you later’ as you filled two cups of water and grabbed two forks and knives.

He nodded as a thanks as you put the glass in front of him. The overhead light was warm, dipping down the slope of his nose and the hair that curled upwards at the nape of his neck—it almost didn’t look like him seated in your home, taking the silverware from your hand, the tips of his fingers brushing again the skin of your hand. It was someone who needn’t falter at the door, who memorized which floorboards creaked their complaints, who muttered ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s to a lover in time with the celestial company.

Watching him eat food from your mother’s hand felt like he was indulging in a part of you, this meal that you’ve eaten time and time before now being offered to him.

“It’s really good.” His voice was practically a whisper, the quietest you’d ever heard it, as if only you could be told such a thing—you hadn’t any part in the plate already nearly scraped clean in front of him, your mother feet away, unwrapping the pastry for dessert.

You nodded, a smile on your lips even with the fact. “Family recipe,” you simply said.

He hummed, eyeing you over the rim of his glass. It met the wood with a gentle clink after a generous sip, tongue darting briefly across his lips. 

His eyes drifted to her at the counter, crossing his arms on the tabletop.

“You’re a wonderful cook.” 

She turned her head with a smile. “Thank you, Logan.” You hadn’t missed the way she gestured towards yourself with a fork donned with crumbs and raspberry jam. “Though I might have competition soon, what with the pie that’s supposed to be made this week.”

You furrowed your brow in mock irritation, your voice spoken through a smile nonetheless. “Who’s to say it won’t be the worst thing you’ll ever taste in your life?”

She raised her own brow, questioning your words. “If I’ve taught you anything, it’s how to make a damn good pie, hun,” she retorted with conviction in her tone as she averted her attention to her pastry once more.

You rolled your eyes in a lighthearted manner, catching Logan’s as your knife’s teeth dragged along what little you had left on your plate; the barely-there smile on his lips told you he was amused by your shortlived banter.

“That a family recipe, too?” he asked.

“It will be, once I figure out how to make it.” You paused to finish your plate, the knife and fork resting nicely atop the porcelain. “Though I’m thinking of a blueberry pie rather than cherry.” 

With a nod, he gathered his own plate, reaching over to take yours as he got up from his seat, his way of insisting you need not get up and clean after him nor yourself.

Hazel slightly hooded held the color of yours as he did so. “I’m sure it’ll be just as good.”

At this point, it almost seemed proximity was an arrangement made from whatever guided your limbs to his, and that same culprit threaded itself in his, for your mother handed you the dish towel when she hastily remembered she needed to call her sister. Whether it was true didn’t matter: here was an excuse to stay close, revel in contact that was teased by the lack of it. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to below his elbows, hair corded at his forearms wet from the tap water, the lather that coated his palms and knuckles. Lavender was a foreign scent to be attached to his skin, not one to prettily mingle with cigar smoke, but your nose got used to it regardless.

It was a quiet process, his washing and your drying. Your eyes would wander to his hands, stay for just a little while, the shine from the warm water accenting the skin something almost seductive with the performance of such a domestic task—if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Over beer you had found in a back cabinet growing lukewarm under the dining lighting, you learned he had gotten the job at the farmer’s market just as the sun opted for a few more hours, offering as a trade deep oranges that shrouded the landscape and any roaming warmth that stuck to wood and grass and skin. He was in the area and needed work, there had been a sign posted near where he was staying of the address and basic requirements, and, in his words, ‘he could use the free food’. Though it made you wonder where exactly it was that he was staying, you didn’t pry. He instead recounted the morning your mother came in and they—though mostly her, he admitted with a smile at your small laugh—had engaged in friendly talk as he carried her groceries to her car.

“She hinted at saving a slice of that cherry pie f’me, for the help.” His lips tugged ever so slightly as he leaned back comfortably, stretching the denim at his thighs taut with a shift in his legs, arms crossed and all the while keeping his eyes on yours. “But I prefer blueberry.”

And how cliché it had been when you first saw him, a rugged yet quiet stature of a man with sweat at his brow and the dents of the muscles lining his arms, blue denim to the dirt of his boots, a worn baseball cap keeping the sun from his eyes, and how cliché it was now that he was in your home and you didn’t mind.

There was a mention from your mother, standing just at the end of the hallway to face the kitchen and the two of you, of a shelf and drawer that needed fixing in the old guest room as you walked him to the door, a calloused hand already wrapped around brass.

“I’ll take a look at it in a few days,” he reasssured her with a soft smile, to which she told him you could offer a few slices of pie in thanks, all with a grin on her face that she also adorned when quoting others’ words of amusing connotation. 

He chuckled, a low sound that came from his chest. The old creak of the door was paired with a ‘have a nice night’ as she retreated around the corner into the hallway. You stepped out before him onto the front porch as he swung it closed, though just enough so it didn’t click into place with the frame; the porch light adjacent to it casted a similar color against his skin to the one when he ate.

You didn’t really know why you stood there in the chill that lay stagnant around your home, but he didn’t ask. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding to the door. “That better be a promise.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Depends on how good of a job you do.”

A chuckle, same as before, this time his breath appearing in between the two of you. “Are you doubting me already?”

“There’s only one way to prove me wrong,” you said, raising a shoulder. 

He hummed in , barely audible, tilting his head.

Your body wasn’t as stiff, your mind as clouded with nerve as it had been in his passenger seat, though you blame it on his figure having been surrounded by comfort, familiarity, food he had eaten with your cutlery at your dining table and with a good word.

Perhaps that was why it had leaned the small distance towards his own, lips meeting the skin of his cheek and the stubble adorning it. The small smile that he reciprocated was something almost satisfactory, albeit a little bashful, as you put a hand against the door, not missing the brief dart of his eyes from yours to your lips and back again.

“Good night, Logan.” 

“G’night.”

──────────────

It served as a harsh reminder, the honk that met your ears rather than the usual gentle birdsong. You cursed, shoving the window open with one hand and yelling a ‘give me a minute!’ as you hurriedly dressed in the dwindling dim of your bedroom; the memory that he was picking you up to get your car from the market came far too late for your liking as you made your way to the front door, grabbing the keys and about to say a rushed ‘goodbye’ when the absence of your mother made itself known, as well—she had left to visit her sister, and you noticed the familiar yellowed sheet lined with grooves from cherry staining fingertips placed at the counter. 

He gave you an apologetic smile as he stood leaned against the passenger side, eyes following your rushing down the stairs, uncrossing his feet and opening the door for you. 

“Too early?” There was humor in his words and the way he eyed the buttons left undone at your sternum.

“You told me you don’t work today,” you reasoned after he circled the hood, closing the driver’s-side door and adjusting the heating, catching your eyes as he did so.

“Early bird get’s the worm, or whatever,” he shrugged. “The worm’s your car.”

You rolled your eyes, though a tired yet amused smile was already at your lips. “I already own it.”

“Regardless.” He rolled out of your driveway, the morning sun through the windshield catching the silver of a ring at his pinky finger. “Don’t want anyone stealing it, do we?”

“No, sir,” you said, eating into this side of him like teeth against a sweet.

A smile akin to the one he adorned at your doorstep hours previously came across his face, and you returned one of your own, despite his eyes on the small bit of gravel road. 

He worked as you watched from the wooden fencing behind him. “A simple fix,” he had deemed it, eyeing into the hood of your car. “Shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.”

Beneath gray cotton the plane of his back shifted and stretched. Though it wasn’t as cold as days prior, you noted the pink coming to at the shells of his ears.

“‘s it alright if I come by this afternoon to take a look at that shelf your mother was talking about?” He turned his head just enough to see you nod. 

You told him you were going to walk around the market, just to see if there were any new jams or pastries shelved; he watched you leave.

Given the sun had only made its tired arrival a few hours prior, some items were still being arranged nicely atop the patterned cloths, labelled with notes marking the price. The jams were put with ribbons at the lids with their respecting fruit. 

There were a few wildberry, a number of blackberry. As you read the labels on some of the fresher desserts, someone carried a crate of needed vegatables behind you; not before they asked if you were the one that came with Logan. You confirmed, wondering for a second if maybe he had work and simply lied, but they spoke before you could with a singular, almost dumbfounded laugh.

“You must’ve put him in some sort of spell,” they said, dropping the crate at a table in front of them and shoving it to the edge. They turned to face you, clapping their hands to dust off chips stuck to thin gloves. “I don’t think we’ve even heard more than a ‘good morning’ from him.”

You couldn’t figure out how to respond to such a blunt way of reiterating something you already knew, but perhaps it was because others had noticed it was you he chose to speak to, and you who implicitly invited him in your home, and you who were to do so again.

──────────────

That afternoon, you indulged in the sun that was filtered through the lace curtaining as you gathered cutlery and tins and bowls and plates. The quiet of the house was something you liked every once in a while, as it allowed you to imagine you were cooking for yourself rather than for two; something about only your word and teeth influencing the taste when you were to set up the dining table for yourself, lighting a candle to present a dinner for one was nice to admire. 

But you weren’t, for the hammering persisted rooms over once more, a reminder that something sweet was to be offered to him this time.

You might have felt more at ease if he was your lover; you’d have enough tries at that point, perfected a recipe already perfected by your mother. Instead he would be second to cut the lattice for his own pleasure with a fork you would hand over to him—a part of you did not want to disappoint.

Blueberry had since settled into the skin of your fingertips, the backs of your hands, and it made you sigh. Logan, alongside yourself, was to be given this performance of sorts, an edible delicacy that you hadn’t even tasted yet. He might as well gauge sweat in the crust, nerved blood in the filling.

It was not that serious, you told yourself. Yet the fact that it was him made it so. 

Something your mother had said to get a rise out of your tired state the night he had taken you home made you roll your eyes at the mere cantation in your head: ‘I saw the way he looked at you when he led you through the door, sat at the dining table; I’m sure he didn’t mind your car breaking down’. 

The tin was placed into the oven, out of sight, out of mind. It was a little while later when he had stepped around the corner, familiar carpenter’s belt around his waist. 

“Shouldn’t cause her any more trouble.” His voice was quiet as he ran a hand through his hair. 

You turned to face him, gathering utensils and jars dirtied with ingredients and tossing them into the sink. “Thanks—let me get you a drink, hold on.”

Opening the upper cabinet, you hoped he didn’t catch the sigh that left your lips seeing the only glasses left lining the back of the wood. 

But he did, and ever the gentleman, he was at your side with a clear of his throat.

“I’ll get it.” It came out in a near whisper, only for you to hear; not the already setting sun, not as a cue for the moon to bleed the kitchen a gentle white.

You let him. You felt the warmth of his figure as it stood close, akin to all the times prior, a hand just above the small of your back, not making contact but close enough, and the other reaching overhead. The glass chased the last streams of sunlight from the kitchen window, and rather than handing it to you, he set it on the countertop, the soft clink deafening in your ears. 

He repositioned himself so he leaned against the counter, hands splayed behind him atop the surface, gesturing to the oven with a tilt of his head. “How’s the pie?”

You caught his eyes, hooded hazel, brushed your hands along your apron as a means to ease the wanting to guide his own back to where it was. “It looks good. Don’t know if you want to wait a little longer to eat it here—if anything you could always take it with you.”

He gave you a smile that was so sincere, so unashamedly forgiving, though for what, you thought, if not to insist you could stay for however long. “I can wait, if it’s alright with you.”

If you did as you wanted—keep your eyes on his—your knees were bound to give underneath you with the way he looked at you, a gentle accepting to waiting alongside you in your kitchen, such a sacred place. “Of course.”

He stayed in place, eyes following as you walked around him to put any last dishes into the sink and leaving them be, not feeling like touching anything else with a smooth finish. 

“You can leave those in there,” you told him when you noticed him shift. “Rest for a while.”—directed at him and the dirty dishes. You reached behind yourself to grab the knot at your back, desperate to take the thing off with reasoning much like the pie in the oven—you hadn’t realized just how tightly you had wound the string. 

And there he was, ever so reliable, behind you once more as he uttered an ‘I got it’ under his breath, putting his hands over yours and already beginning to unravel the knot himself. 

Your previous thought still rang true, like a delicate synth prettily reverberating in your mind: this would be so much easier, bearable, if he were a lover, simply something more than a frequent acquaintance.

And perhaps he heard you, for his hands went to the strap around your neck, fingertips gently grazing against the junctures of your neck and shoulders.

“You should rest, too,” he mumbled as he lifted the fabric above your head, held it out for you. You took it in your hands, staring down at the fabric, what was left of the sun for the evening slithering through window and lace, joining flour and rich violet. 

You muttered a ‘thanks’, a sigh. “I know.”

The kitchen fell quiet, not silent, for it contained the two of you; your passing breaths and pulsing heart comparable to the clatter of porcelain beneath familiar conversation.

Water from the tap directed your attention to the sink, where he suddenly stood pouring himself the glass, taking a sip; water hitting the sides of the house came like an afterthought. 

It might as well have been his doing, such perfect timing, with the way he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “D’you know it was s’posed to rain?”

You shook your head. You took it as an attempt to cover the tension that how hung heavy in the air, a rhythmic tune to combat the beat of your pulse and the itch that resided in your hands.

──────────────

Blueberry bubbling warmed in pastry spilled into the wood of the kitchen and his nose; he let out a hum at the smell from where the two of you sat on the floor against the cabinets across from each other, his body next to the oven. He pushed his sleeves up, similar to when he stood at the sink with hands of lavender, from the heat that crept as company to the finished taste. 

“You ok with me being the first to taste it?” he asked with a nod in your direction, something adjacent to surprise, or disbelief in his voice.

You furrowed a brow—“I never saw what you did to that shelf.”—in reference to the hint your mother had made.

“Feel free to take a look for yourself,” he crossed his arms as if to imply he wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t done a perfect job.

You hummed. “I better not have to call you back here in a week, then.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

A flush betrayed your skin; you hated its response. “So you made it worse, is what I’m hearing.”

He tongued at his cheek, fighting a smile yet narrowing his eyes and shrugging a shoulder. “Define ‘worse’.”

“It’s definitely what you’ll be feeling after you leave without that pie you want so bad,” you said, standing up to check on the oven, adjusting the dish towel that hung from the handle. You let out a small hum at the golden color that blossomed along the crust. 

You took it out with delicate hands, the metal of the tin clattering with the stovetop. 

“We’ll let it cool.” A declaration implying more wait—though he didn’t seem to mind, if his following your actions and standing behind you with hooded eyes was any indication. 

“Looks good.”

You gave him a small, satisfasfied smile, though not necessarily from his words but at the dessert in front of that did, much to your relief, look good. You stayed admiring the work made from your hands to be eaten by them, alongside another whose familiar cigar smoke slowly paired with blueberry; it made a nicer blend than lavender. 

It was similar to when he had spoken to you first, the smell of other fruits stuck to his clothing enticing you to reach out and distinguish which ones were where—you were close to acting upon intrigue. You figured he was too, for he did not move—except for one part you could see out of your peripheral.

His voice was soft as he asked: “Is this okay?” He was referring to the hand smoothing over the countertop to rest next to yours, the skin just barely meeting.

You nodded—“Yeah.”—hated the breathy delivery of your response; he hadn’t even done anything, but you wanted to put the same hands that made a necessity sweet upon him, a blunt want and nothing more than to satiate an ache not riddled in your stomach. 

His voice was much closer, a little deeper, almost timid in its hushed delivery. 

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” 

His kisses were slow, trailing up, up to just below your ear. The hair cut at his cheek left a delicate burn along the skin, yet you leaned your head back to his chest without a second thought. 

“Here?” His question was asked along the skin of your cheek, your head tilting as if lured, enchanted by his words. One hand set itself on your hip.

You mumbled an ‘mhm’, resting a hand atop his own; he draped the one on the counter over yours, lacing the fingers. His fingertips were calloused, a welcomed touch akin to natural skin encasing an apple, rough yet promising. 

He placed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your lips; you could feel a small smile stretch across his.

You spoke before he could ask, eyes shut and a gentle nod: “Don’t be such a tease.”

He let out an exhale, amused at your words. “My bad, sweetheart.”

At his lips on yours, you turned around, putting the hand alongside his at your hip to his cheek; he threaded the other in a similar fashion atop the counter. He kissed with a gentle fervor, a low hum coming from his throat when you combed a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Denim slotted between your legs, an offering to the lust leaking into your blood. 

His nose pushed at yours as he tilted his head, quickening to placing pecks to your lips so you could catch the breath he had taken from your lungs. The moon peeking as if with curiosity from behind roaming clouds and lace shrouded his figure in alluring white, accenting the beginnings of a flush to his skin.

He bowed his head to your neck once more, biting the skin and leaving a kiss in its place. 

With fog from his touch contaminating your brain, the blueberry baked into pastry snuck into your nose. 

Logan put his hands underneath your thighs and lifted your body without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your sternum and mumbling into the skin a claim that he hoped you wouldn’t mind him indulging in something sweeter.

And you didn’t, laying back as he bit and kissed at skin like a man starved, holding you down against your sheets with gentle drags of his palms. The insides of your thighs burned, sweat dotting the fabric underneath you; he insisted a second with praise for the first.

[matchpointfaist]

riff lorton x rich girl! reader

the next time he saw you, you were seated at the diner, all pretty in the window like somethin' out of a magazine. your cherry red lips were wrapped around a bendy straw, sipping soda as you flipped through the pages of a book.

he hesitated before knocking against the glass just hard enough to get you attention, a goofy grin on his lips. you were up from the stool in an instant, and he glanced over your outfit curiously; a mini skirt, mary janes, a sweater that looked softer than anything he’d ever own. god, you were beautiful.

“riff!” you smiled so widely as you pushed the door open, like you were greeting someone important, surely you couldn’t be directing that at him, “how are you?” “oh, i’m alright,” he smiled slightly, “what’re you doin out and about?”

he listened to you chatter about how you were just bored to death sitting in that house, how you came to the city to live, not to sit in the drawing room with the sounds of new york as a backing soundtrack. “so anyway, i’m just out until my curfew, trying to find something to do,” you shrugged, “and what are you doing out?”

“just makin trouble,” he joked, though it was half true, “you shouldn’t be wanderin around if you don’t know where you’re goin, darlin. you need a tour guide or somethin,”

your eyes lit up, and something he could only describe as a squeal left your lips, “you can be my tour guide! i mean, if you’re not busy, of course,” he shouldnt agree- there was nothing in his part of the city worth your time, it’s not like he could take you to a broadway show or flaunt you around some museum. but you were lookin’ at him like you didn’t care, like he could take you anywhere and you’d be happy just to be out, so he just agreed.

he took you all around, past all the massive hotels and skyscrapers, showed you the broadway box office, all the clubs and cafes. you were in awe of everything, all starry eyes and big smiles and compliments. everything was perfect, until. “can i see where you live?” you looked so curious, so excited, he didn’t have it in him to tell you no. it seemed like he never had it in him when it came to you.

“well, it’s not really the nicest part of town,” he scrambled for an excuse, “and i’ve got roommates,” “that’s fine,” you smiled, like no part of you saw an issue with that, “i’d love to see it anyway,”

so he hesitantly led you a few streets over, the nice businesses and shiny new buildings growing few and far between the deeper into the city you went. finally, he stood at the edge of the lot where a little near-abandoned trailer sat. “well,” he gestured to it, biting the inside of his cheek, the visual of your pristine clothing against the backdrop of his life burning into his mind, “here she is,”

he led you past the rubble of the lot, right up the door, his hand gentle on your arm as he led you up the two steps into the small space. “i don’t know if the guys are home,” he warned as he pushed the creaking door open, trying to gauge your reaction. it was a far cry from your parents summer house, a dingy little space with empty bottles littering the makeshift coffee table and two bedrooms the size of closets. “it’s not much,” he could feel how his face was flushed and he hated it. what did he think he was doing, explaining himself to some summer bird- “i like it,”

he could’ve died right there, watching as you explored the space, the smile never leaving your lips, pausing as you spotted the polaroid of riff and tony pinned to the wall. your fingers traced the image with a fondness that had him reeling, watching you intently, “is this your brother?” you asked curiously, eyes still trained on the image. “no- no, that’s tony. my..” he hesitated. what was tony to him now? best friend, brother, stranger? “he’s my friend. he’s in jail upstate,”

you frowned, looking apologetic as ever, “i’m sorry, riff. that must be awful to be away from him,” you didn’t ask what he did, didn’t pass any judgmental looks his way, didn’t criticize him for hanging around the type of guys who ended up in jail. you were straying further and further from the image he’d had of you, more saint than classist sinner. “it’s alright,” he shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “tell me about yourself?”

the two of you sat for so long, criss cross on his bedroom floor, talking on and on about your life back home and his friends, your family and his lack there of, your ambitions and his fears. he could’ve fallen in love with you there in that messy, cold floor. could’ve made a home for himself in the gaps between your sentences.

minutes turned to hours turned to sundown, turned to you sprawled out across his bed, still talking, still radiating light into his dim space. he had a beat up old polaroid camera that tony’s family had gifted him tucked in his dresser drawer, and he was saving the last of the film for tony’s release, but you looked so goddamn pretty, he didn’t even think twice before he used the last picture on you.

you, with your long hair draped off the side of his mattress, with your crisp new clothes and rosy cheeks and shining eyes. you, the opposite of everything he thought he believed in. you, the most beautiful thing in his universe, thawing out the coldness of the life he’d been enduring for so long, one pretty word at a time.

it was midnight before either of you realized you’d been out so far past curfew, it would do you better to never go home at all. he expected you to run out, to realize the position you’d put yourself in, the way it looked. but you just shrugged, “i don’t have to obey all the rules,” and nestled further into his bed.

he didn’t touch you, didn’t kiss you, but it was more intimate than anything he’d ever experienced, falling asleep beside you like that. your breaths were soft and deep, lulling him into a trance, deeper into this spot you’d taken up in his life so quickly.

half asleep, his hand found yours. when the two of you woke the next morning, your fingers were entwined, and your cheeks were ever so slightly flushed. “i should go,” you yawned softly, his heart aching at the sight, “walk me home?”

and for the second time, he walked you all the way across town, stopping halfway to pick a dandelion from the grass and tucking it behind your ear like this was a movie. at the gate of your house, you stood on your tiptoes, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “thank you for last night,” you said sweetly, voice dripping honey straight into his veins.

“will you be around tomorrow?” he asked, praying he didn’t sound desperate. “sure will,” you smiled, “come by around noon and i’ll meet you at the corner?” he couldn’t wait, already, even standing here in front of you still. “sounds perfect,” he nodded, “tomorrow, then,”

and then, to his shock, you stood up tall again and pressed your lips to his. it was quick and sweet, just enough to make him insane, enough to have his lips burning with the impression of you for the rest of the day. he didn’t get a word in before you were headed up your driveway, glancing over your shoulder and blowing him a kiss.

he could hear your parents scolding you even down the drive as he turned to walk away, thinking of tomorrow.

[66stitches]

Marigold (II)

𑁍 best friend!abby x reader

𑁍 Summary: Abby loved you in a way she believed you could never reciprocate. Per her friend's advice, she began to avoid you in hopes of healing her aching heart.

𑁍 CW: sfw, angst, a little bit of fluff, unrequited love, happy ending yippe, jealousy, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, reader neither described as masc nor fem, no physical description of reader besides that she is able-bodied, fighting, swearing, violence, ellie mention, a lot of crying, pet names.

𑁍 WC: 4.4k

𑁍 Daily click - Palestine masterpost - TLOU and israel

𑁍 divider creds

𑁍 Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

You buried your cold hands deep within the pockets of your maroon-colored jacket in an attempt to ward off the biting cold, each breath you took formed a slight cloud in the crisp air.

"Don't you think it's a little cold for ice cream?" You spoke, looking over at your friend walking alongside you.

"Maybe you'd enjoy it more if you actually got a good flavour."

You and Ellie wandered through the familiar town, your thoughts running as you dragged your feet across the pavement beneath you.

You tried to focus your thoughts on anything besides Abby: the cold breeze of winter stinging your nose, your coffee-flavored ice cream that, according to Ellie, tasted like burnt shit, the fallen leaves and the sound they would make when you'd step on them.

But she always managed to find her way back into your thoughts, contaminating your brain with the presence of her memories. The memories that once brought you joy were now nothing but painful.

Your steps came to a halt as you stopped by the town's bar. Wooden panels adorned with colorful string lights and a paper that read "winter dance" stapled on the entrance.

"Oh, I almost forgot about the dance tonight," Ellie spoke as she finished the last bite of her ice cream. She tossed it in a nearby bin. "You're going, right?"

The town hosted dances and gatherings quite often. It was never really your thing, but it was Abby's, being the social butterfly she is. She always dragged you along, and you were happy to follow.

But Abby was no longer with you, and now you had no reason to go.

"No, I don't think so," you replied. "Are you?"

"Yes, I am, and so are you." She said it as if you had no choice in the matter, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Come on, don't just say no because of Abby. This is the perfect opportunity to get your mind off her," she sighed dramatically. "It's also the perfect opportunity for me to show off my dance moves."

You sighed, and though you were not yet convinced, you allowed yourself to consider it. "I don't know, Ellie.”

"Please? If not for yourself, then go for me. You're not really gonna let me go to this thing alone, are you?" she pleaded.

"Stop that. You know guilt trip always works on me."

She grinned. "I know."

"Alright," you said as you threw your hands up in defeat. "I'll go."

Ellie was right, you needed this. It was unfair for you to miserably lay heartbroken when God knows Abby was probably already out having fun, relieved to be rid of you at last. It wasn't fair for Ellie either who came a long way to see you.

𑁍

Nora slipped on her last layer of clothes and started combing back her dark hair.

"You're awfully quiet," she spoke, looking over at the blonde resided beside her, currently styling her hair into her signature braid.

Abby offered no response for a moment, simply going back to her task.

"Uh, you okay?" Nora asked.

"I'm fine, Nora," Abby replied, speaking without a glance at her friend's way. It was clear that she was lying, Nora could see that. Abby had been evidently troubled for weeks, her distressful demeanor was something no soul could miss.

Nora sighed as she placed her hairbrush down. "No, you're not. Tell me what's going on with you," she asked, though she knew she didn't need to. She knew it was you who's causing her this sorrow. In truth, that had always been the case, even long before you two had stopped talking.

"I don't know, I'm just a little worried about her, I guess," she said. Merely talking of you was most difficult for her. She had been trying to avoid the topic of you for quite some time now, always shutting her friends down when they tried to ask what happened between you and her.

"You don't have to worry about her, Abs. She's got that redhead friend of hers to keep her company." Nora tried her best to be comforting.

Abby almost had to physically stop herself from rolling her eyes at the mention of Ellie. Of course she had noticed the two of you spending time together quite often, and as happy as she was that you had someone to keep you company, she couldn't help the seeping feeling of jealousy that contaminated her to the core at the first sight of you two.

“Please, don’t talk about Ellie,” she practically groaned, not doing much to conceal her obvious jealousy which earned her a slight grin from Nora.

“Jealous, much?” Nora asked.

That’s when Abby really rolled her eyes. “Nobody said that, Nora,” she said, albeit she knew she didn’t exactly give much room to conclude otherwise.

Abby didn’t want to admit truly how jealous she was of the red-headed girl and how badly your falling out had affected her.

She no longer wept, though she always felt as if she was on the verge of doing so. She tried to distract herself with the gym, but what once brought her happiness and contentment now felt like a chore. She didn’t need a distraction, she needed you.

She envied Ellie: she envied the way she got to hold you without that awful feeling of sheer guilt in the pit of her stomach; without that nagging voice in her head telling her what a disgusting person she is.

She envied the healthy relationship Ellie had with you, how comfortable she was in sharing affection without feeling as though she was fulfilling some perverse fantasy.

She was constantly plagued by the urge to go back to you, always having to remind herself of what a horrible idea that would be, as well as Nora’s persistent lectures which stopped her from doing something so foolish.

She was happy that you had someone to keep you company and comfort you, but she still couldn’t help the way she felt about Ellie. Her jealousy eating away at her every time she saw you together, doing things you once did with her, and she felt endlessly guilty for being jealous.

“Do you think she’s going? You know, to the party?” Nora inquired.

Abby considered it. She was unsure whether she wanted you there or not.

The sight of you would dim her mood, that she knew for certain, but she missed being in the same room as you.

“Probably not. T’was never really her scene.” She sounded different whenever she would speak about you. Her tone would change significantly. She sounded softer. Sadder.

Nora considered her next words for a moment before speaking. “Do you want her there?” She asked.

Abby zoned out for a moment, contemplating.

“I don’t know.”

𑁍

You stood beneath the cold wind staring at the town’s bar. You could hear everyone inside. Dancing, talking, yelling, singing along to the music. You took a deep breath and walked in, your eyes immediately scanning for Ellie.

You found the redhead standing by the bar with two drinks in hand. She met your eyes from across the room and gave you a smile as you walked up to her.

“So you came.” She handed you a drink.

“Yeah,” you responded as you fiddled with the bottle. “You were right, I’ve got to stop moping. This is good for me.”

Ellie tilted her head and smiled. “See? Told you. I’m always right.”

Moments passed, and you mostly followed Ellie around like a lost puppy while she socialized and met some new people.

That’s something you always envied about her: how she can make friends so easily and how confidently she carried herself most times.

You two then sat at the bar, allowing yourself to rest a little as you indulged yourself in conversation.

A conversation you were no longer paying attention to, Ellie’s voice slowly beginning to sound faded as your eyes were locked on someone else across the room.

And that certain someone was watching you right back. Deep blue eyes locked onto yours, keeping you connected from the other side of the room. Her brows were furrowed. She looked pained, tired, and yet still as beautiful as ever.

You didn’t think you would ever be in the same room as Abby again, but there she was, in all her glory.

She wore a tight green shirt that hugged her strong figure in all the right ways, along with some faded brown pants that accentuated her thighs.

“Stop looking at her.”

Abby was first to break eye contact, snapping you out of the trance that were her eyes. You averted your gaze from Abby and back to Ellie.

“Again, I am so sorry. I seriously didn’t know she’d be here,” Ellie apologized for what seemed like the millionth time.

“It’s fine, Ellie”, you reassured her, but you both knew it wasn’t fine at all. You sought a fun night to distract you from the ache in your heart that was Abby, only to have her come and bring that ache with her.

You were unsure whether you were surprised to see her here or not. You knew that she enjoyed these parties, but you assumed she wouldn’t be attending this time after what had happened. Perhaps you should have known better.

“There she goes staring at you again,” Ellie groaned and rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s just get out of here.”

“Way ahead of you.” You were already throwing the remainder of your drink and getting ready to leave. Ellie followed shortly after, but not without bidding her new friends goodbye.

You stood in the sidelines waiting for her as she moved all around the room.

You then found yourself praying to whatever god there is up there to allow the ground to open up and swallow you (or Ellie) whole, because with all of her careless wandering, she mistakenly bumped into Abby, nearly spilling the last of her drink on her. Nearly. That part you were grateful for.

“Oh shit, man, my bad,” Ellie chuckled. She did not sound the least bit apologetic. In fact, she only sounded proud of herself. You wondered if it had even been accidental at all.

Abby recognized Ellie immediately, of course she did. She was not only looking at you the whole time, but as well as glaring holes into the back of Ellie’s skull.

“Oh please, don’t pretend like that wasn’t deliberate,” Abby said harshly. Ellie grinned mockingly, glad that she managed to get such a reaction from the blonde.

“Aw, what’s making you so hostile, Abby? Makes it seem like you’ve got a personal grudge against me.” Ellie just kept pushing Abby’s buttons, speaking in the most condescending tone she could muster. If there was one thing Ellie was good at, it was riling people up.

You practically sprinted to them, grabbing Ellie’s hand and gesturing for her to leave.

You met Abby’s eyes once again, but this time was different, because now you stood close enough to really look at her again; close enough to get another hint of her intoxicating smell.

Once again, she broke eye contact.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think someone’s a little jealous,” Ellie pushed again, trying to get another reaction from Abby. She wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You’re jealous that she’s got me now.” Ellie grinned again, enjoying the sight of Abby’s scowling face.

“Ellie!” You yelled. You were getting upset as well as embarrassed. Whatever Abby was mad at you for, she was definitely never forgiving you now. You pushed Ellie’s arm away and tried to grab her and leave once again. You were ignored.

“Jealous?” Abby scoffed, she was the one grinning now. “You’re just a replacement. You realize that, right? If it weren’t for me leaving her, she wouldn’t even spare your desperate ass a glance.”

You were left aghast at Abby’s words, Ellie clearly was too. She tried to hide it, but it was clear Abby’s words had hurt her.

You opened your mouth to defend Ellie. You loved Abby, that would never change, but you would not stand for anyone talking to Ellie like that and speaking lies about you. But Ellie interrupted you before you had the chance.

“Yeah? ‘Least I never fuckin’ ghosted her or made her feel like shit the way you did; at least she’s happy with me. So yeah, got your girl now, bitch,” Ellie retorted, looking evidently proud of herself for that last sentence. Clearly she still found this fun.

Abby’s clearly had enough of childish banter. One thing about her is that she was never afraid to get violent.

She took a step forward and shoved Ellie, nearly knocking her off her balance. You were ready to interfere, until Ellie shoved Abby right back with the same amount of zeal.

Everyone’s attention was on them now, not including those who were black out drunk. The entirety of the bar went quiet, staring at the two women in excitement. As if you thought this couldn’t get any more humiliating.

“You both are fucking childish,” you yelled and tried to get in between them.

Quite the dumb move on your end. The punch Abby threw was meant for Ellie, but with your careless action of stepping in, you were the one taking the hit, your head snapping back.

What you didn’t expect, though, was for Abby to hastily grab your face, softly cradling it between her hands.

“Fuck, marigold, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you,” she spoke quickly. The tone in her voice was scared and replete with concern. It was evident on her face.

She seemed surprised by her own actions as well. She didn’t think nor intend to hold you like that. When it came to her, protecting you almost felt like a natural instinct.

The feeling of her hands on your skin and her face so close to yours nearly made you forget the aching pain on your cheek.

You snapped out of it swiftly and pushed her hands away from you, sending her back.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore,” was all you said. It was bitter, laced with venom. Abby looked hurt, but mostly ashamed of herself. She didn’t speak.

“Now can we just leave already?” You groaned and turned to Ellie.

“Yeah…” she breathed, still glaring holes at Abby.

You grabbed Ellie’s arm and finally left. It took everything in you not to look back at Abby. You wished you didn’t care about her so much.

You were now back at your house, examining the swollen area on your cheek which you knew would soon be a shade of purple.

You spent most of your time in your head, replaying that incident continuously.

What you truly could not manage to get out of your head was how Abby had reacted when she’d accidentally hit you. That name she called you: you were certain you would never hear her utter that word again.

You were both confused and comforted by the gesture, but you tried not to dwell on it.

“God, she’s even worse than you described. What a bitch.” Ellie had been ranting and moaning about Abby for what felt like all night.

You tried to tune her out, not wanting to think about Abby so much. Is this what Ellie felt with you?

“You should’ve let me fight her. I mean, she’s big as shit, but I could definitely take her on.” She took a moment to observe herself in the mirror. “Definitely,” she repeated.

“Ow!” You flinched as you poked your swollen skin. That got Ellie to stop her ranting and come to your aid.

“You okay?” Ellie held your jaw and observed your cheek.

“I’m fine, it’s just…” you trailed off. “You started that fight on purpose, didn’t you?”

Ellie raised her brows at your question and smiled slightly. “Nah. Trust me, if it was deliberate, I would’ve spilled my drink on her. This was just a happy accident, as Bob Ross once said.”

“Yeah, well your happy accident got me a punch to the face, but I’m glad you found it fun.” You rolled your eyes and stepped away from the mirror.

“Actually, you jumping in between us is why you got punched. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted you guys to stop.”

Ellie frowned and crossed her arms, an expression of remorse scrawled upon her features. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. She’s just… she’s so fucking confusing, Ellie,” you said and buried your face in your hands.

“I know,” Ellie empathized. She wasn’t the best at comforting, always getting awkward in serious situations. But what she offered was her ear, and that was all you needed.

“I mean, what the hell was that? Did you see how she grabbed me? What she called me? Why does she think she can just do that after everything?” You were trying to remain calm, which wasn’t easy with Ellie staring at you so sympathetically. “Why does she still act like I mean something to her?”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you do,” Ellie suggested, placing her hand on your back and offering you some much needed physical comfort.

It really did not make any sense, Abby’s actions only managing to confuse you more. Could she really have cared about you? Was there still something there, or did she merely feel guilty for hurting you?

Now what you had planned to uplift your mood and ease your sorrow had been ruined by Abby’s presence. It seemed as though she haunted you everywhere, bringing nothing but ache and destruction alongside.

𑁍

Abby felt weak.

She had tried to avoid you, as she usually did, but the memories of what had occurred the other night played endlessly in her mind, fueling her with guilt.

She’d tried to make herself stop caring, convincing herself that you meant nothing to her and that what had happened the night prior did not affect her, but to no avail.

She cared about you, and that would never change. She could avoid looking at your face as much as she wanted, but your image was forever seared into her mind.

Today was a particularly gruesome one. You did not bother to hide the bruise that formed, and Abby didn’t fail to notice.

She had tried to walk up to you and apologize, each time cowardice and shame taking a hold of her and turning her back around.

The idea of speaking to you again after everything intimidated her, which was quite unusual for someone like Abby. She never anticipated a time would come where she would be apprehensive about facing you.

Unfortunately for her, you did not lack discernment. You noticed her reluctance in making her way to you; noticed the way she was internally battling herself.

You stood outside, bidding Ellie goodbye as she left to go back home.

When Ellie was finally gone, Abby walked up to you again, and you hoped for what seemed like the hundredth time that this time she would not turn back around. You didn’t know whether you planned to forgive her or not, but you still wanted her to speak to you.

When she noticed you looking at her as she made her way to you, she stopped at a halt and turned back around.

Her actions and timidity were beginning to frustrate you, but right as you were about to speak up, she turned around once again and walked towards you, this time faster, as if she wanted to get it over with before her apprehension got a hold of her once more.

“Hey,” she spoke, her voice laced with discomfort.

The gleam in her eyes changed as she got another look at your bruised cheek, feeling infinitely more guilty.

You didn’t reply and simply waited for her to get to her point. You wanted it to seem like it was because you were mad at her (and you were), but in truth you were at a loss for words.

Because she was here. She was speaking to you; she was looking at you. It took everything in you not to break down into tears at that seemingly insignificant act.

“So…” she trailed off, eyes scanning everywhere timidly. “I just wanted to say that I am so, so sorry. For hitting you, I mean. I swear, I meant to hit Ellie but you got in the way— not that I’m saying it’s your fault, because it wasn’t—” she was rambling now, her nerves getting the best of her. If you were any less hurt, you would laugh and call her cute.

“What the hell do you want, Abby?” You interrupted aggressively, which earned you a look of both shame and bewilderment.

“To… apologize?” She said it more like a question. She was slightly rendered uneasy by your anger, but she did not blame you in the slightest nor was she surprised. It only made the guilt grow into something more unbearable.

“Apologize, huh? Don’t you think you have other things to apologize for? You think this—“ you pointed at your bruised cheek, “is what hurt me?”

Abby took another look at your cheek. She didn’t reply. She looked down and crossed her arms, hugging her sides. Your eyes followed her hands and noticed the way she dug her nails into the skin of her hips, her knuckles slightly turning white.

You remembered all the times where you would scold her for that bad habit of hers, asking her why she’s so nervous and having her brush you off and ask you not to fret.

“Just let me-“

“No, Abigail. I don’t wanna fuckin’ hear you right now,” you interrupted. “You said you never wanted to see me again, so why don’t you just stick to your word?” Your heart broke into a few more pieces at the mention of that night, remembering all the things she had said and that distant tone in her voice. Her heart broke as well, remembering how cruel she was and the painful look on your face.

“Why do you have to be so damn confusing? Why are you contradicting yourself by saying you never want to see me again, only to keep looking at me with those fucking eyes, starting childish fights, calling me marigold, and now you wanna try to talk to me and expect forgiveness?” You were yelling at this point, letting everything spill out with no control or filter.

And Abby was quiet, understanding. She was listening. Her knuckles were turning whiter with every word you spoke, her eyes slightly glistening.

“You left me without a word. You never tried to talk to me about what happened, maybe we could have fixed it!”

“You wouldn’t-”

“No!” You interrupted again, not wanting to hear her voice and only spilling what has been bottled up inside you. “Don’t speak and let me finish! You didn’t talk to me, Abby. Do you have any comprehension of how terrible I felt? Did you enjoy knowing that I spent nights wondering how the hell I was supposed to fix what you destroyed?”

“I-”

“I’m not done! What made you think that you could just walk up to me and-”

“Stop!” She was the one to interrupt you this time. “I love you,” she said before she could think. It was said quietly, softly, and this time she was looking you in the eye.

That definitely shut you up. You stood there, gawking. You were trying to form words, but none came to mind. Your head was empty, but your heart was heavy, filled with emotions you couldn’t quite place.

Abby was clearly getting anxious by your lack of response, so she spoke again.

“I don’t know if you’ll accept my reasoning for what I did, but that’s it, and I’m sorry. I did it because I loved you. Because I love you.” Her voice was shaking slightly. She was afraid. It was painfully obvious.

“Why- why didn’t you tell me?” You stuttered, dumbfounded. Of all the possibilities you considered that might have been the cause of what happened, this was something that would have never crossed your mind. Not in a million years.

“Isn’t it obvious?” She laughed, though her voice held no humor in it, laden only with pain. “I didn’t wanna lose you. I was afraid I’d ruin what we have,” she said, digging her nails even deeper into her skin. “But now I already did.”

The last part was quiet, spoken slightly above a whisper. She no longer met your eyes, detaching herself from you almost completely. She was sure this was the last time you would ever speak to her again. This is where you would let her go.

It undoubtedly hurt and scared her to reveal herself to you; to finally speak the words that were sure to cause you to let her go, but she didn’t want to be selfish anymore.

She would face her feelings and allow you to leave because of it. The words you had just screamed at her did not fall on deaf ears and she would no longer leave you ignorant to the truth and pained from the untold.

You offered no response. Endless words and confessions played in your head, but none left your mouth. You felt frozen, but you also wanted to know what else she had to say.

Abby’s apprehension only grew at your silence. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I knew you wouldn’t take this so kindly but I just needed to get it off my chest and I am so, so sorry. I understand if you don’t wanna talk-”

Her profuse rambling was interrupted by your lips on hers. Your mouth didn’t move, only feeling the soft plush of her lips against your own.

The kiss ended as quickly as it came. Her eyes were wide and she was left gawking. “So that’s how I get you to shut up,” you joked.

“Fuck, come here,” she breathed. She grabbed your face and swiftly pulled it to hers, meeting your lips in another, more passionate kiss.

You pulled her in further by the collar of her shirt. You were so close that you could feel your hearts beating against each other. You could not imagine anything more intimate.

Her lips were slightly chapped, yet still soft and plush, and she tasted beautifully. It was as if the heavens had descended from the skies and given you a taste of its richest, most forbidden fruit.

You forced yourself to separate your lips so you could catch your breath. You pulled away and met her face, her eyes heavy and mouth slightly agape. She looked beautiful like this, all blissed out. The sun kissing her face reflected the gleam in her eyes like light beams in the sky. You smiled at the scene.

“I love you too, you idiot.”

“I love you, my marigold.”

𑁍

a/n: this took so fucking long I don’t even know if people are interested in reading it anymore but here it is

Taglist

@grey-jedi12

[unlimitedlust]

Beg For Me - Bill Skarsgard x Reader (+18)

(The image above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Author’s note:

Hello my loves, I’m back again and this time you’ll be having Bill on his knees for you… Hope you all enjoy it 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Masterlist

Disclaimers:

Smut (this is practically a pwp tbh). Unprotected p in v (wrap it up in real life). Bondage. Sensorial play. Hand job. Oral (m! Receiving).

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

Bill Skarsgard is a real person, but nothing in this story is, it was all made up in my head.

I hope you enjoy this story, requests with Bill are open so if you have any ideas I’m all ears!

Please feel free to leave a comment, like and/or reblog the story, I really appreciate it and your feedback is what gives me the fuel to keep writing ❤️❤️❤️

WC: 3.5K

Tag request: @muchwita

End of Author’s Note

-0-

The first message came in while you were still at work.

“I’d have you bent over my lap right now if I could.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t ignore the way your body reacted, warmth spreading through you at just the thought.

Then, another.

“Wouldn’t stop until your legs are shaking. Until you’re dripping for me.”

Your breath hitched. Bill had been out of town for days, but distance clearly wasn’t keeping him from getting under your skin. You hadn’t seen him in nearly a week, but now that he was finally coming home, he was determined to make you feel his absence.

The next message had a picture: his hand, gripping himself over his jeans, thumb teasing at the waistband like he might pull them down.

And then the real one hit: a video.

His cock was out, thick and hard in his fist, stroking himself slowly, just enough to tease, to make you watch. His thumb slicked over the tip, a sharp inhale slipping through the recording.

Another message followed.

“I’d be inside you by now. You’d be soaked, dripping down my cock. Bet you’d be begging for me to make you come.”

Your stomach clenched. Heat curled low in your belly, sharp and instant. You exhaled, steadying yourself to keep your facade at work as you tried to ignore the ache settling deep in your core.

Bastard.

He kept going, text after text, describing everything he would do to you when he got back. The way he’d have you spread out beneath him. How he’d hold you down, leave you breathless, push you to the edge until you were too wrecked to do anything but moan his name, fully at his mercy.

But by the time you left work, your patience had snapped and now you were taking over that game.

-0-

The apartment was dark, save for the glow of candlelight flickering against the walls. Everything had been arranged, the candles, the silk ties resting on the bed. The final touch, a note taped to the front door at eye level:

“Bedroom. Clothes off. Sit. Wait. Don’t touch.”

It didn’t take long and the front door creaked open. A small pause. Then came the sound of rustling fabric - his jacket sliding off, the clink of his belt undone. Footsteps making their way toward the bedroom, where you waited for him.

When he stepped into the bedroom, he froze as his gaze locked on you instantly.

His eyes dragged over you slowly. Black lace hugged your curves in all the right places, high heels accentuating the sharp lines of your legs. Candlelight caught in your hair and glinted against your glossed lips.

His jaw tightened and you could see it in his eyes, the hunger, the way his body went tense, ready to close the distance between you, but he decided to play along and finished undressing in front of you, just like instructed.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice thick.

“Sit.”

He narrowed his eyes lightly before obeying, curious as to what you had in mind.

He lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress, thighs spread, muscles coiled tight and his already hard cock resting against his lower abs. His hands pressed against the sheets, but the tension in them was obvious, like he was barely holding himself back.

You stepped between his legs and his chin tilted up to meet your gaze, his green eyes blown wide, dark and wanting.

But you wouldn’t give it to him yet. You lifted one foot and pressed the sharp point of your heel against his chest, just enough to make him lay onto the bed, arms splayed wide, breath unsteady.

Then you climbed onto the bed and hovered over him, the sight of your breasts so close to his face taunting him as he tried to keep in mind he couldn’t touch you.

“You spent all day telling me what you’d do to me,” you murmured, your lips almost brushing against his. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t have something to say about that?”

His chest rose sharply, his hands flexing against the sheets.

“Let’s see how much begging you end up doing tonight.”

His breath got heavier now, full of anticipation. You were so close, your perfume curled through the air between you, making his head swim. If he angled his face just right, his lips would graze the soft skin of your throat.

So Bill tried.

His hands flexed against the sheets, control slipping, as he lifted his head just enough to brush his lips over your collarbone. Just the smallest touch, he needed it.

But you were quicker. Your fingers curled into his hair and pulled on it, the sharp tug forcing him back down against the mattress.

“I said no touching” you murmured teasingly, with a playful smirk on your lips.

His jaw clenched. His chest rose, fell and rose again, his body already wound too tight, already desperate for you, after all his own teasing throughout the day also got him affected. But you were in control now, and the flicker of amusement in your eyes told him you were enjoying this.

He swallowed hard, muscles twitching with restraint as you slid further up the bed, your hands gliding over his arms, guiding him backwards until his back met the pillows and his head rested against the headboard.

“Give me your hands” you ordered and he complied.

He lifted his arms above his head, stretching them toward the headboard. His well defined biceps flexed as he let them rest there, leaving himself fully at your disposal.

The second his wrists made contact with the cool wood, you shifted on the bed. You reached out for one of his own ties and looped it around his wrist with practiced ease, the smooth fabric a deceptive contrast to the way you pulled it tight, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

His throat bobbed with a swallow, his green eyes locked on yours, burning through you as you repeated the process on his other wrist. Another tie. Another knot.

You bit your bottom lip as you admired your own work. “You look so good like this.”

His fingers curled into fists and his breath was uneven.

“You won’t be saying that when I get my hands on you,” he muttered, voice thick with heat.

But you only smiled, a devious smirk playing on your lips as you leaned your face closer to his one last time.

“And who said you’ll be getting your hands on me at all?”

A wicked glint flickered in your eyes as you reached for the small bowl on the nightstand, a bowl he hadn’t noticed was there before. His gaze followed your movements expectantly, but he said nothing, only watched.

The first touch of ice against his collarbone made him flinch and inhale sharply, muscles flexing beneath the melting cube as you dragged it slowly down his chest.

“You seem tense,” you murmured, watching a droplet slip down the ridges of his stomach. You leaned in, following the same path with your tongue, the warmth of your mouth chasing away the cold.

Bill groaned, his jaw clenching as his fingers curled into fists above his head. You did it again, pressing the ice against his heated skin, then licking and suckling away the damp trail, your tongue flicking over his nipple just to watch his stomach tense.

“Fuck” His voice was tight.

You smiled, dragging the ice lower and over the ridges of his abs, down the sharp line of his hip bone.

He sucked in a breath, anticipation thick in the air as you let the ice melt just above his cock, a single drop slipping down to his length. His hips jerked up, chasing sensation, but you pulled away, a small hum of disapproval leaving your lips.

“Still so impatient.”

His eyes were dark now, pupils blown wide with need. But you weren’t done playing.

You put the ice cube away and slid lower, your breath hot against his inner thighs. His cock twitched, eagerly waiting but you only kissed the inside of his knee softly and then higher, your lips ghosting along the sensitive skin, tongue flicking out on his inner thighs just enough to tease him.

His breath stuttered.

And when he thought you’d wrap your lips around his cock you pulled back completely.

A frustrated growl rumbled in his throat, his head tilting back against the headboard as he tried to get himself under control.

“You…”

You only smirked. “Did you really think I’d make it that easy?”

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. “You are fucking evil.”

You just laughed, climbing back up his body, pressing your palm to his stomach, feeling the way it tightened beneath your touch as you grazed your nails over his abs.

When your hands found his cock, you wrapped them around it and the sound Bill made was nearly guttural.

Your grip was firm, just enough pressure to drive him insane as you collected the precum leaking from his tip with your thumb and spread it over its soft head in light circular movements.

Your hands started to pump him in the rhythm you knew drove him insane and you reveled in the sight before you: Bill tied up completely at your mercy, brows furrowed and lips parted as his eyes were fixed on your hands working on his cock.

His hips jerked up, seeking more and you knew by watching him that it was him chasing his high, but that only made you slow down, your thumb circling over the swollen leaking tip again, teasing, taunting. His muscles locked and his fingers curled against the headboard in frustration.

“Not yet,” you whispered.

His head snapped up, wild frustration in his eyes. “You can’t just…”

Your pace slowed even more, barely there now, and his words cut off with a sharp inhale.

“Oh, but I can.”

His breath was ragged, his body straining, fighting against the need to get free from the ties restraining him. But you didn’t stop, you resumed your previous ministrations, hands pumping up and down, wrists twisting in opposite directions to add an extra layer of stimulation and you could feel him throbbing and thickening in your hands.

But then again you didn’t let him fall over the edge. Just kept him right there, stuck, desperate, a wreck beneath your touch as you let go of him.

Bill nearly lost his mind. A rough sound tore from his throat as his hips lifted, searching, needing.

But you were already leaning back, taking your panties and bra off as you sat on the bed in from of him, your legs spread wide open allowing him full view of your pussy.

His gaze snapped to you, wild and starving as you slid one of your hands down your body, fingers dipping between your folds.

“I’m so soaked,” you breathed, your voice dripping with wicked satisfaction as his green eyes were almost fully black as he drank in the sight of you.

You moaned, head tipping back, putting on a show just for him, knowing exactly what you were doing. His jaw clenched as he pulled at the restraints, a frustrated growl leaving his lips, but his reaction only fueled you.

“Bet you wish it was you,” you teased, sliding your fingers deep inside your cunt, voice breathy and full of sin.

“Fucking untie me,” he ground out.

You moaned louder, fingers moving slick and slow as your other hand traced up your own body, teasing your breast, your hard nipple trapped between your fingers.

You only let your legs fall open wider, back arching as you toyed with your clit, your breath catching as pleasure bloomed under your own hand.

The sight was devastating and he couldn’t look away. His cock pulsed and ached, his pleasure denied while you brought yourself to the edge right in front of him. Every moan, every roll of your hips was for him, but not his to touch.

You knew that would make him lose his mind and the way his chest heaved up and down only confirmed it.

You rolled your hips against your hand, your fingers hitting just the right spot as your moans turned breathless, erratic. You could feel it building, heat tightening deep inside, the teasing edge finally giving way to something sharp and consuming.

“Oh fuck, Bill!” You gasped, legs trembling as your orgasm crashed through you like a wave. Your back arched, head thrown back, mouth parted in a cry that was nothing short of obscene.

He stared, utterly wrecked by the scene in front of him. His wrists strained against the ties, jaw locked tight, eyes wide with something between desperation and reverence.

He watched every second of your undoing, every shiver, every breathless twitch, and it broke him a little more.

When you finally stilled, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, a slow, satisfied smile curved your lips.

Still pulsing with the aftershocks, you dragged your fingers from between your thighs, slick with your release, and crawled up the bed like a predator. His arms stretched above him, muscles tense, eyes locked on you as if you were the only thing keeping him sane.

You hovered over his chest, slow and deliberate, your slick fingers held just above his mouth.

“Open,” you said, voice low and commanding.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips parted instantly.

“Good boy.”

You slipped your fingers into his mouth, watching his eyes flutter shut as he sucked your release off your skin, tongue curling around each digit like he’d been starving for it. A filthy groan slipped from deep in his throat.

“You taste that?” You purred, leaning down to brush your lips against his ear. “That’s what you’re missing out on.”

You pulled your fingers from his mouth with a soft pop, his tongue chasing the taste as his eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed. He was so far gone already and you weren’t even finished with him yet.

“Poor thing,” you murmured, trailing your fingers down his chest, letting your nails scrape lightly across his skin. His abs tensed beneath your touch, every muscle in his body drawn taut like a wire. “So hard it must hurt.”

His cock twitched against his stomach at your words, swollen, flushed, and leaking, so desperate for attention it nearly made you pity him.

Nearly.

You moved lower, dragging your body down his until you were eye-level with his cock, heat radiating off him in waves. You pressed a kiss to the base of his shaft and he hissed, hips jerking slightly before you laid a firm hand on his thigh to pin him still.

“Stay.”

His groan was low and broken. “Please…”

You gave him no warning. Your mouth wrapped around him, warm and wet, taking him deep with a slow, filthy slide that made his head slam back against the headboard.

“Fucking, fuck!” He choked out, voice raw.

You hummed around him, letting the vibrations drag another curse from his lips. You bobbed your head slowly, sucking him in and pulling off with obscene sounds, letting your tongue lap at the tip, flicking across the most sensitive spot until he was trembling under your hands.

“Oh my… Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop,” he pleaded, thighs quivering under your palms as you took him down your throat.

You didn’t stop, but you didn’t speed up either. You kept your pace deliberate, torturous, tongue swirling around the head of his cock while you stroked the rest with your hand before you swallowed him whole again. He was right there. You could feel it, taste it in the way he pulsed against your tongue, the way his breathing fractured.

His entire body went stiff, his moans were wrecked and desperate. He was right on the edge.

So you stopped. Your mouth slipped off him with a soft pop. You blew a gentle breath over the tip, smirking when he nearly sobbed.

“Not like this,” you whispered, climbing back up his body.

“Please,” he gasped. “I can’t…”

You kissed him then, slow and deep, letting him taste himself on your tongue as you straddled him.

You leaned back slightly, your eyes meeting his.

“You’ve been so good,” you said softly, praising him. “Such a good boy for me.”

He stared up at you, wrecked and waiting, his wrists still bound to the headboard, chest rising with uneven breaths as you rolled your hips, your wet pussy coating his cock with your arousal.

You lifted your hips just enough to align his tip with your entrance, then slowly sank down onto his cock. The sound he made wasn’t human.

A guttural moan ripped from his throat as your tight heat swallowed him inch by inch, your slick walls gripping him so perfectly he couldn’t breathe. His fingers clenched uselessly in the restraints, head thrown back, throat exposed as he completely unraveled beneath you.

“Fuuuck” he groaned, voice dragged and wrecked.

You stilled once you were fully seated, taking a breath as the stretch hit you, delicious and full. He filled you in every way, so deep, so hard, your own eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

Then you leaned forward, your mouth brushing his ear.

“Now,” you whispered, voice like velvet, “you can come.”

You started to ride him, slow at first, then faster, harder, grinding down with every thrust, watching him come apart beneath you, no restraint left, no control, all yours.

You bounced on him, your hands pressed to his chest for leverage as you rolled your hips faster, chasing the high now pulsing through both of you. Every slide of his cock dragged against your walls, hitting the perfect spot again and again, your slick sounds mingling with his ragged gasps and broken groans.

His face contorted in pleasure, sweat beading along his brow. He couldn’t look away from you, your body riding him like a dream, your lips parted as soft moans spilled out, your eyes locked onto his, commanding and adoring all at once.

“I-I’m close…” He warned, voice strangled, like he was unraveling from the inside out.

“I know,” you whispered, grinding down harder, letting your hips circle as you clenched around him, milking every sound from his throat. “I can feel it. Give it to me, you’ve earned it.”

That broke him.

With a shuddering cry, his body snapped. His hips jerked up helplessly, cock buried deep as he came hard inside you, his moans raw and desperate, your name falling from his lips like worship.

The heat of it, the way he trembled beneath you, the wrecked look in his eyes, it sent you straight over the edge with him.

Your orgasm hit hard again, its electric waves blinding you as you came undone on top of him. Your head tipped back, thighs shaking as you ground down on him, your pussy fluttering around his cock as you cried out, overwhelmed by the pleasure ripping through you again.

You collapsed over him, your forehead against his, both of you gasping for air as aftershocks trembled through your bodies.

Neither of you spoke at first. You just breathed each other in, his skin, his warmth, the familiar thud of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

You reached up lazily to untie his wrists, and the second the restraints loosened, his hands dropped to your back. One drifted into your hair, the other slid down to your hip, holding you to him like he never wanted to let go.

“Holy fuck,” he rasped, voice ragged from moaning, from begging, from needing you. “This way you’re gonna kill me one day.”

You smiled, nuzzling your nose against his neck, lips brushing his skin. “You’ll die happy, though.”

He chuckled, low and breathless, the sound vibrating through your body. “No doubt.”

You shifted slightly, still seated on him, your bodies still joined. His hands tightened on you like he didn’t want to lose the connection, and neither did you. That fullness, that intimacy, it was more than just physical. It was everything. It was home.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “The messages were torture for me too. Seeing you like that, feeling you again…” His thumb stroked your lower back, slow and adoring. “Fuck, baby. You own me.”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze, your smile softening, your fingertips brushing along his jaw. “You’ve always been mine.”

The way he looked at you, like nothing else in the world existed, made your chest ache.

Still inside you, still tangled together in candlelight and sweat and silk, he leaned up just enough to kiss you. Not desperate now. Not greedy. Just full of love.

The kind that burned slow and deep.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

“I know,” you whispered back, smiling. “And I love how fucking wrecked you look right now.”

He groaned, laughing as he pulled you down into his arms again, his hands roaming your back with that familiar, grounding touch. “Don’t tempt me,” he muttered. “If you start something, I’m not stopping till sunrise.”

You smirked into his skin. “Then we better hydrate.”

And together, you melted into the mattress, tangled in each other, limbs lazy and warm, every inch of tension gone, because you didn’t need anything else. Just this. Just him. Just you. Always.

[enhas-pov]

serial killer

summary: there’s a serial killer in town and reader is worried about her boyfriend, niki. he’s acting odd

warnings: murder, blood, yandere, forced kissing, obsessive love

word count: 1.8k

════════════════════════

it was a friday night, me and niki were sat on the couch watching a movie together. i was laying with my back against his chest whilst munching on some of my popcorn. “what happened?” the tv had suddenly switched from the movie we were watching to the news. “oops, sorry. i accidentally sat on the remote” i reached for it from under me and was about to switch back to the movie when the news caught my attention. “according to police reports, a new serial killer has been identified in our area. the killer has been linked to three murders in the past week. authorities describe the killer as a tall figure often dressed in black. the police are urging residents to report any suspicious activity immediately and we will continue to bring you updates. in the meantime, we want to remind you all to secure your homes and look out for one another. that’s all for now, stay safe” i was in absolute shock. a new serial killer in town? while i was trying to process these news, i felt niki’s hand stroking my arm. “niki.. i’m scared” i turned to look at him and he didn’t look scared at all, it looked like this wasn’t a shock to him. “there’s nothing to be scared of, ___. i’m here, okay? i’ll protect you. i always will” he pulled me in closer and placed a kiss on my forehead. it made me feel less scared and a lot more safer, i knew that i would always be safe with him.

“niki! we’ve run out of conditioner-“ i walked out the bathroom while drying my hair with a towel when i noticed niki putting his shoes on. “i’ll get some on my way back home” he opened the door and was about to leave before i slammed it shut which made him jump. “you mean to tell me that you’re going out, right now? at night? when there’s a serial killer out there? do you have a death wish, niki?” i refuse to let him leave, i don’t want a dead boyfriend. “baby come on. i’m just gonna meet up with jungwon, that’s it. i’ll be safe, i promise” he didn’t seem to be worried or anything, it was kinda odd. “but what about me? what if the killer breaks in and kills me, hm?” i crossed my arms while i was stood in front of him blocking the door. “that won’t happen” he sounded so sure about it too. “and how do you know that?” without giving me an answer, he placed his hands on my waist and lifted me up like it was nothing. he moved me away from the door so he could make his way out. “because i do. i’ll be back soon, i love you” he gave me a quick kiss on the lips before he left, closing the door behind him. i’m definitely not getting any sleep before he gets back. if he gets back..

i was sat on the couch watching tangled to try and make me feel less scared. i guess it kinda worked, until the evil old lady showed up on the screen. i let out a big sigh and my mind went to niki. was he okay? it’s only been an hour, and he did text me twice letting me know he was okay. i should stop overthinking, niki is fine- “i’m back!” i jumped up from the couch the second i heard his voice. i ran towards him and threw my arms around his neck. “i thought you died..” i hid my face in his neck and was very grateful to the fact that he was alive. “i’m really tired, but i couldn’t sleep since i was worried sick about you” i pulled away so i could finally look him in the eyes. i noticed how his hair was messed up and so were his clothes. wait, is that blood on his shirt? “see, i told you nothing would happen to me or you-“ “niki.. what’s that?” i used my finger to point at the red spot on his shirt. “oh, that. i just spilled my drink” i’m not sure why, but a part of me didn’t believe him. i shrieked when he picked me up by placing his hands under my thighs. “let’s go to bed. you said you were tired, yeah?” he walked us over to our bedroom and placed me down onto the bed. i watched him pull his red stained shirt over his head and throw it in the laundry basket. “so, how’s jungwon?” he turned to me with a confused look on his face, like he had no idea what i was talking about. “what?” “you told me you were gonna meet up with jungwon, remember?” i could tell realization hit him, did he lie to me? “oh, right. i was confused for a second because of how tired i am. but he’s good” i slightly nodded, but if i’m gonna be honest niki is acting really weird. he got in bed next to me after turning all the lights off. i could feel him wrap his arms around my waist and pulling me closer to him.

i woke up in the middle of the night with no sight of niki. i heard weird noises so i thought he was probably just getting himself water or using the bathroom, but he was taking too long. i stretched my arms before getting up to see what was taking him so long. “niki?” first i looked in the living room, then the kitchen and then the bathroom. where was he? i kept on hearing those noises, so i decided to follow them. suddenly, it stopped and i was stood in front of the door that lead down to the basement. i don’t usually go down there, why would i? out of curiosity and wanting to know where niki was, i slowly opened the door which made a creaking sound. “niki?” i repeated, no answer. as i made my way down the stairs i couldn’t see anything since it was pitch black, so i brought my phone out and used my flash light to look around. all i could see were cardboard boxes and just a bunch of junk we stored down here. i was about to go back up when i stepped in some kind of liquid, it was kinda thick and disgusting. when i flashed my phone down on my feet, my heart dropped when i realized what i stepped in was blood. even worse, fresh blood. “oh my god.. i’m gonna throw up..” i covered my mouth and started backing up when suddenly, i felt my back hit something making me jump. i quickly turned around and my blood went cold when i saw it was niki stood behind me. i was too scared to say anything, meanwhile he was just stood there looking down at me with a blank expression. the stairs were to my left, could i make a run for it? i counted down in my head.

3… 2… 1!

i quickly pushed niki to the side and made a run for it, but he clearly saw it coming. halfway up the stairs, i tripped when niki’s hand grabbed my ankle. i managed to kick his hand away making him groan in pain, “fuck!” it gave me enough time to get back up on my feet tho. when i had finally made it back up, i slammed the door shut behind me, but there was no lock on it. “shit..” get out of the house, that was my first thought. a few hours ago i’d be too scared to leave the house because of the serial killer, but i didn’t know that i was living with him and that he was my own boyfriend. i ran to the front door and jumped when i heard the door to the basement get slammed open. it made me stress and panic which is the reason to why i was struggling to open the door. “come on..!” i kept on twisting the door knob until i finally got it open. the second i stepped my foot outside, i got dragged back in by a strong muscular force and the door was slammed shut. knowing no one could hear me i still started screaming for help, but niki covered my mouth with his hand muffling the sound of my voice. he pushed me up against the wall and held me tightly since i kept on moving around. “shhh. be quiet” he started stroking my hair and leaned in closer to my face. “i’m not gonna hurt you, okay? i would never hurt you baby. i told you i’d always protect you” even though i now knew he was the one murdering people, he still made me feel safe with his words. i know that it’s wrong, he’s not a good person, but i can’t help it. i stopped moving around and screaming for help which resulted in him removing his hand from my mouth and loosening his grip on my body.

“why..?” he cocked his head at my question. “why?” he asked me. “why would you do that to those innocent people..?” i was full of mixed emotions. my eyes were teary, i had this lump in my throat and a pit in my stomach. “innocent? those people weren’t innocent” what? what does he mean by ‘they weren’t innocent’? “i don’t understand.. what did they do?” he placed his index finger on the center of my chest. “they all wanted you for themselves. i had to show them that it would result in bad consequences” did he.. murder people out of jealousy? i felt even worse, like i was about to pass out. “niki.. i can’t“ i pushed lightly at his chest but he didn’t dare to move. “please- get away from me.. i don’t feel so good” he still wouldn’t get out of my way, what was wrong with him? “it’s okay. i’ll make you feel good” “what?-“ i didn’t see it coming, but he smashed his lips onto mine and started kissing me relentlessly. i brought my hands up and started hitting his chest, signing him to get off of me. he didn’t seem to care tho. he just grabbed me by my waist and pulled me in closer to deepen the kiss. i felt him slide his tongue into my mouth, but the feeling of it was weird. he was making out with me whilst i was trying to resist him. he finally pulled away to catch his breath, and so did i. “do you feel better?” to my surprise, i did. the lump in my throat and the pit in my stomach had gone away once he kissed me, i just didn’t notice. he pressed his forehead against mine and looked into my eyes. “i won’t let anyone come near you, ever” the way he was acting, it wasn’t normal. but i couldn’t help but love him even more.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dark Boss Clark Kent or Bully Sy??

Bully Sy who happens to be your boss

Help (Un)Wanted

Warnings: this drabble includes bullying and self-esteem issues. Please proceed with caution. This is not fluff.

Please leave a comment and reblog.

"Girl, what're you looking so dumb for?" The burly man snarls as he grabs a wrench. 

"Your-- your two o'clock is here. Mr., er, Mr.... Cray--" 

"Crayton," Sy snarls and you nod. You sway nervously as he lays back and rolls under the car again. "Don't I look busy? Hell, you go on and tell him to wait." 

"S-sir--" 

"Scram," he spits. 

You don’t hesitate to do exactly that. You flee the smell of oil, though it wafts through the entire place, along with the damp chill. Just like your boss’ anger, neither relent. You smile at Mr. Crayton as you emerge and resume your perch behind the front desk. 

“Um, he’ll be a couple minutes. He has to clean up.” 

Sy is just as good as dealing with his customers as he is you. You feel bad for him. He can’t be very happy if that’s how he treats people. The way his face turns red and that vein bulges in his forehead, he can’t have much peace. You don’t dwell on it. Like your dad, he won’t change. 

You go back to your crossword book as you wait. The radio drones behind you, filling the dearth, and Crayton taps his toe impatiently. People might not like the grumpy mechanic, but they respect his work. He charges a fair price and he’s efficient. 

“Did he say how long?” Crayton asks as he puts down the magazine in his hands. 

“Umm, not long,” you lie. With Sy, it could be a few minutes or an hour. 

“Can I leave my keys with ya? I gotta get to my kids’ game. You just tell him it keeps stalling.” He stands and crosses to your desk. 

“Oh, er, sure, I can do that.” 

“Thanks,” he says curtly and drops his keys on the desk. 

Before you know it, he’s on his phone and halfway to the door. You suppose he has more important things than waiting around on the mercurial mechanic. You’re only there because you get paid for that task. 

You turn on the squeaky chair and turn the dial in search of a different station. You find something relatively recent and go back to trying to find a seven-letter word that might describe a cactus or unpleasant person. 

You hear Sy before he comes out. He wipes his thick fingers on an oil-stained cloth and growls as his eyes search the front room. “Where’d he go then?” 

“He had to go. Left his keys. Says it keeps stalling’.” 

“Goddamnit, girl,” he snarls as he stomps towards you, “you couldn’t tell him to wait?” 

“His appointment was forty minutes ago--” 

“I didn’t ask that, did I? You really are stupid. You know, if I didn’t like your daddy, you wouldn’t have a job,” he scoffs. “Then you’d truly be useless.” 

You frown and set the pen between the pages, “sorry, sir, I tried--” 

“Tried.” He shakes his head. “Thought I asked ya to put coffee on.” 

You glance over at the machine. “I did... couple hours ago.” 

“Well, it’s cold,” he charges over to the table in the corner. “You want me to drink this piss?” 

“No, sir,” you stand, “I’ll make some new stuff. It’s okay.” 

“It’s okay? You sittin’ there with your puzzles like you actually got a brain,” he sneers. “You fill up my mug and bring it to me. Too busy to be dealin’ with your lazy ass.” 

You wince as you empty the filter and set a new one in the basket. You don’t like your job and it seems your job doesn’t like you. You can’t do anything right. It’s better than having nothing at all and in a small town, that’s more likely than not. You can put up with Sy for the cash, even if it isn’t very much. 

As he leaves, you let the breath out of your tight chest. You got out into the garage to retrieve his insulated cup. The silver is dented and scratch from years of use. You take it and rinse it out in the tiny bathroom. 

The coffee brews slowly and you fill his cup, twisting on the lid tight. He likes it black. That doesn’t surprise you, as bitter as he can be. You take it out to the garage as he pulls Crayton’s car in through the open door. 

You put the thermos on his table as he slams the door. His treads hammer across the floor as he lumbers toward you. You back up and he huffs. 

“Maybe you should have a cup and wake up,” he jeers as he snatches the cup. 

“Sir,” you clasp your hands together. “Anything else?” 

“Didn’t I tell ya to sweep up?” 

“I did--” 

“Well do it again. I don’t pay ya to sit around. You’re not pretty enough for that,” he turns away, nearly knocking you with his elbow. 

You back up and turn away. As much as he likes your dad, you don’t get why he agreed to this. It’s been six months and nothing’s gotten better. You told your dad and he just laughed and said ‘that’s Sy’. Your mom told you to grow and do your work.  

You can’t argue with either of them so long as you live under their roof. Twenty-four and you’re still at their table eating their food. Maybe they think you deserve it. Maybe your dad did it on purpose. After all, they never missed an opportunity to tell you how unwanted you are. 

“Call Eileen. Her car’s ready,” Sy hollers after you. “And in my fucking way.” 

[magebastard]

murmuring brook, curving about you

wc: 2123

rating: g

ship: lucanis dellamorte x loua ‘rook’ mercar

notes: pre relationship! early game! picks up immediately where the cutscene leaves off after the ‘get coffee with illario’ quest! the rating is g though this IS the ‘lucanis is not experienced’ conversation. nothing rlly inappropriate happens they’re just a couple anxious emotionally constipated clowns. this is soooo self indulgent btw. i think abt them in early game and i cannot stop thinking ‘wow. they are friends’

“Ready to head back to the Lighthouse?” Perhaps it is selfish—they rest so little. Rook wants to stay. Wants them both to stay tucked in this cafe where the blight and the war haven’t yet spread their ruin.

She has not seen him so at ease, so loose, even toiling away as he’s wont to in their dim kitchenette. Lucanis swills his coffee, a soft smile still on his lips.

“Almost.” Quietly, like a secret between them.

Loua tries not to look overly pleased.

It’s been close to a week at this point, since he’s joined them. She didn’t know him before his imprisonment, she couldn’t attest to whether or not it changed him. She cannot miss the man he was before and she’s grateful for it. She is so tired of missing. All they have is the capable assassin he seems to be now. One who, apparently, makes a fine pasta dinner and expertly crafts a shopping list. ‘Abomination’ isn’t even the first word Loua would use to describe him. It’s rather far down on the list.

“Well then,” she began. “I would love to ask you about knitting. I can sew alright, but I can barely accomplish a garter stitch.”

He quirks a brow. “I had a feeling I might be mocked for this.”

“What? What is there to mock? I asked for your help.”

“It is a domestic hobby—“

“I like that you knit.”

“And knit-wear isn’t very practical for the warmer climate—“

“Lucanis!” Loua is beaming at him when he finally pauses. He drums his fingers on the table. A few patrons are watching them, now. Coy smiles on their faces that he pointedly ignores.

“Again; I like that you knit. It is practical. And you said it yourself—it’s just another sort of dexterity training.”

“Forgive me. I’m used to employing logic to silence Illario and his jests.” He says it so breezily. The words are sharp but the intent is jocular, so familiar, even as Illario has fled them and cannot interject. Just like brothers, Loua supposes.

“There’s nothing to forgive. I imagine it’s also nice to have a focus beyond the work. And I like that you’re discerning about coffee. It implies particularity.”

It isn’t only that she’s convivial—it’s that she’s so genuine about it. There is an assertive sincerity to her prodding. She and Bellara are alike in that way. The gentle methods with which they pry are new to him. Lucanis is used to the perfunctory. The cold, calloused inquiry. From marks, from crows, from captors. He’s used to maneuvering through conversations—not having them.

But she’s made an assessment about him. Something simple enough. Benign, maybe. Or does she mean to tell him that he’s being observed? Noticed? Is she marking his weakness?

Though…

Smells like pipe-smoke. Coffee. Burnt clothes and lightning. No blood under her nails, or dry at the corners of her lips. She won’t hurt you.

Yes, he is starting to suspect as much.

“Before all of this, I lived a very comfortable life. I was in a stronger position to be particular.”

It delights him that she snorts—unrefined and comfortable. Maybe he should feel admonished or teased but it’s nice. It’s as if they’re friends.

“You don’t need to be ‘comfortable’—cough, filthy rich—to have impeccable taste in coffee. I’ll have you know; there’s a stand in Midtown, just a hair outside of Dock Town, with a dark roast that makes my heart sing. Andoral’s Breath has stiff competition out there.” Loua punctuates her lecture with a hearty sip. It is good coffee. Made better by the full moon, and the company.

“Truly? You’re sipping—guzzling, more like—Andoral’s Breath right now and you think there is a single roast that compares?”

“Guzzling!” She grins and he hesitates. This is nice. It’s as if he’s getting enough air to fill his lungs, finally, for the first time since his capture. And he’s smiling back honestly. When had that happened?

“Well, you’re not luxuriating in it as someone who is particular might.” Lucanis is joking. Spite thuds like a wind-torn rudder in his skull but his remarks are astonishingly temperate.

“Alright. We’ll get another cup each and I’ll take my time, then.” She reasons. It’s a calm, factorial resolve. Is it Spite that preens or something softer in his chest? We’ll just spend more time together, she might have said. Is he getting this right—is she enjoying this, too?

“Fine. And later, when we have a moment, I’ll have to see this coffee stand. A stand! Vaya, not a cafe or a proper shop? What of the atmosphere—can you even stop to enjoy a drink that way?”

Lucanis leans forward in his seat. He hopes to mirror her, goading and inviting. This, at least, is familiar to him. The dance of it.

“It’s a stand in a park, thank you very much. There’s a fountain and real grass and a pond. The mage lights are white after sunset. And little. Like stars.” Loua holds her conviction tightly. She doesn’t relish getting gooey and sentimental when they’ve reached such a jovial place. But something melts within her as she describes this quiet, personal thing.

To his credit, Lucanis seems to take the odd moment in stride. His smile does something saccharine and Loua will refuse to think about this for the days and weeks to come.

She shakes it off, tamps the homesick reverence out of her voice.

“And the dark roast is called King’s Cup.” Her hands are meticulous, even gesturing errantly. Mages. He would roll his eyes if he weren’t so captivated.

“Bitter and spiced—like a welcome home,” Loua pinches her fingers together, as if capturing the meaning with her hands could convey its verity. She wants to meet his passion for fine coffee, wants them to bond as she has with their gathered outfit so far.

“Ah, see, you are mocking me.” And he’s still smiling and it’s like they’re both in on this joke.

“No! I’m serious!” She laughs and laughs. “If I had to describe such a feeling, it would be like coming home. The kissing—first, goodbye or otherwise, I’m not entirely sure.” A new busker has set up near the counter, plucking away some slow melody. She wants to sway to it, feeling light enough to dance.

“Though some might say no kiss is sweeter than that of a welcome home, no?” Lucanis is messing with her and quietly Loua wishes they could have met in a time of peace. She could do this all the time with him, she decides. Sitting, laughing, ribbing. Flirting, surely, in some weird way.

“Some might—but not you? You assassin types love the heady, tragic stuff.” Ease up, you oaf. Don’t push, don’t nudge, don’t ruin this.

Though again, the sea air and gentle chords pull something loose between them. Lucanis does not respond with annoyance or discomfort. He’s still smiling at her.

“We assassin types aren’t often given a choice in that. It’s why I prefer the romance in novels. Much more range.” He’s still joking with her. Loua should take this and his tone and his quips and grasp them tightly. Move on. And yet…

When had she ever left well enough alone?

“More range than your own romances?” Perhaps if she keeps smiling, he won’t recoil at her clumsy attempt to know him. Perhaps he won’t care that the hapless leader of this crew throws her good sense away in a conversation when she carries even a mote of curiosity. Perhaps, hopefully, he will simply say ‘that’s not your business’ and they can move on—never to speak of this again.

Ah, but they were doing so well.

For a moment, to Loua’s horror, his face does betray discomfort.

Then, to her surprise, something relents and he unspools further still.

“I, personally, have none to speak of. No time, you see.” His head bobs from side to side as he contemplates explaining further. “No time, and not much vested interest, in truth. Mine is a solitary work. I don’t seek out things that are fleeting, and from there, my options are—well. It has not been a priority for me.” It shocks him that he isn’t entirely embarrassed to tell her this. Once, Lucanis believed it would shame him to be so comfortably isolated. At some point, perhaps even before the Ossuary, he must have come to accept the inexorable nature of his desires.

It helps, he supposes, that Loua only nods along. “I understand that. Between you and I; I would have benefited a lot from your foresight,” she offers in turn.

“Oh?”

“Well,” she pauses to take a sip. Stalling. “I certainly never thought to pursue anything fleeting. That doesn’t stop them from fleeting anyways.”

“Ah. My apologies—“

“No—I mean. Kaffas, that sounded bitter. Things just happen. It’s life, yeah?” Creators, maybe we should have gone back to the Lighthouse.

Lucanis nods. “Sure. Still, the heart and mind are often at odds, even as time passes. I’m sorry all the same.” And she supposes he knows a thing or two about hearts and minds. The grief and loss.

“Thank you. The novels are more fun, anyway.”

“You think?”

“Of course. Impossible trysts, impossible battles, love conquering all? What’s more fun than that?”

The lights are beginning to dim around the cafe, giving way to the strange ambience of midnight. Her fumbling notwithstanding, there is a molasses ease to leaning back and tilting her head at him. They’re just people, doing what people have always done; holding out something heart-soft and vulnerable for someone else to take.

Lucanis swallows around the sudden hard ache in his throat. Spite has conjured the sound of a cat, scratching a hard wooden door in his mind.

“Is that what you want, then? Swords and combat? Love to be the answer to stopping the mighty elvhen gods?”

She snorts again. “It could be,” she says. “But no. Not the swords and combat part. At least, not forever. I’m a Shadow Dragon—the swords are probably inevitable for a while yet. But someday—I don’t know. Maybe a house by some water. Coffee every day. A family. The happily ever after stuff.”

He tips his cup in a slight ‘cheers’. “That’s wise. I don’t imagine the tragic, heady stuff has much of a shelf life.”

Loua tips her cup back at him. “And you?”

“What about me? I can hardly make an informed decision about this.”

She points a finger. “I’m only guessing here, myself. If not romance, then what’s happily ever after? You said you haven’t had much of an opportunity to choose for yourself, so imagine it. The world is wide open for you. We finish the evanuris, then what?”

“You’re especially optimistic this evening.”

“I’m always optimistic. It’s my best and worst quality. Go on.”

Lucanis takes a moment, chewing it over. There is a kind of comfort that comes with never having to decide these things. His life has been a ruthless straight line. Pushing onward, never stalling to question or process. Mourning only in the dark. There has never been another way.

His eyes stay fixed on hers, dark and bright like sunlit woods. Loua lounges in her seat. She’s smiling at him, encouraging as ever. Free of the loneliness that dogs him. Perhaps there has always been another way.

“A family would be nice, I think. Death is my purview and it’s a demanding employer, but if I could—if there were something else.” He swallows, tries not to stutter. “If I could even begin to consider something else, yes. A house, a family. Perhaps we’d all knit. Something peaceful.”

The song the busker plays has gone impossibly sweet. Loua knows without knowing that the fool is staring directly at their table and she tries not to pay any mind beyond that. She tries not to give them too much ammunition in the way that she cannot control her face around this man.

Is he blushing? Loua wonders. Am I blushing? Of course I am, look at him.

The crowd around the bar must have died down. The barista on shift strolls up, practically giddy to deliver them a refill and collect their empty mugs. Loua wrenches her gaze away to nod and thank them. Pointedly ignoring the glee and mischief.

This place…

Lucanis seems to gather himself after a long beat.

“Though, as I’ve said, who’s to know what I really want? My own body is housing a demon and the world as we know it may end. ‘Something peaceful’ becomes a loftier goal by the hour.”

Her brows furrow at his dismissal. Loua could argue, but goodness, when was the last time she fought for anything that had nothing to do with her cause. Had she ever truly planned on settling down one day? Had she ever planned on leaving Tevinter when it still had use for her?

There’s comfort in having a purpose, she supposes. Though very suddenly it all seems so heavy to bear. Is it so ridiculous to think they all might rest once the evanuris are defeated? Is it so greedy to want to pursue the purpose of finding peace?

Is it so bizarre that she wants that for him?

For all of them, of course.

What am I doing?

Loua taps the lip of his mug with her own.

“To something peaceful,” she says. Lucanis huffs a quiet laugh.

“Something peaceful for us both.”

[iknowher]

ㅤㅤㅤ˳ㅤ☎️  ͡꒱ㅤㅤ1-800-hot-n-funㅤ𝜗℘

💋⠀⠀❜୧⠀⠀sum｡⠀⠀a confident girl (you) and her cocky boyfriend!gojo always tease each other, until you ghost him for a month. however, now he’s your new boss— and he’s definitely not letting you go that easy! 💌⠀⠀❜୧⠀⠀cw｡⠀⠀⠀smut (18+),  semen,  rubbing clit, pussy eating, riding dick, public sex, reader is described as female, not proofread.. 🌷⠀⠀❜୧⠀⠀wc｡⠀⠀⠀2.05k

you were basically the it girl of the whole generation. everywhere you went, you’d be the talk of the town, setting new trends. the only clothing pieces in your wardrobe were cropped tees with a risky statement on it, skimpy microskirts that would probably get you canceled if you jumped once. but besides your slutty fashion choices, you had a sassy and confident personality. you knew you were THAT girl. i mean, any men that acted a bit too cocky, you could easily shut them down. your boyfriend, satoru gojo— was the literal equivalent of arrogance. you both were laying in bed next to each other, mostly decorated with gyaru posters, hello kitty merch and mean girls quotes. a bold girl obviously has a bold room. anyway, you both were basically doing nothing besides doom-scrolling on tiktok. "you know," gojo finally breaks the silence, smirking as he scrolls, "sometimes i think it’s gotta be exhausting for you, trying to keep up with me. like, imagine how lucky you are to date me— the most powerful sorcerer alive, a literal masterpiece. you’re basically dating a god, babe." he leans back, stretching his arms behind his head. "no offense, but you being with anyone else would just be… tragic." you roll your eyes so hard you’re sure they’ll get stuck. "a god? please, satoru. you’re like… a walking ego with nice eyes and a half-decent jawline. if i wanted non-stop arrogance, i’d just talk to my mirror." you give him a withering look. "and tragic? babe, the only thing tragic here is the fact that you actually believe your own hype. i mean, i’m dating you out of charity at this point." you lean closer with a challenging look. "let’s be real—if anyone’s lucky here, it’s you. imagine trying to keep up with me." gojo lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. "oh, charity? that’s rich, coming from the girl who practically worships my every move," he says, leaning in with that infuriating grin. "face it, sweetheart, you’re just obsessed. i mean, look at this room," he gestures around, "you’ve got style, sure, but deep down? you know i’m the best thing that ever happened to you." you raise an eyebrow, unable to let that one slide. "obsessed? you really think i’m the one who's obsessed? satoru, if your ego got any bigger, it’d need its own postal code." you let the words sink in, a smirk playing on your lips. "and honestly? with the way you talk, it’s no wonder you have infinity around you—you’re the only person who could actually stand yourself."

that shuts him up, leaving him blinking in stunned silence, just long enough for you to savor the victory. gojo stares at you, still processing the brutal comeback, a flicker of surprise giving way to something darker in his gaze. he leans in, voice low and teasing. "you really have a mouth on you, you know that?" his hand brushes your cheek, fingers trailing down to your jaw, pulling you just a little closer. "it’s almost like you want me to shut you up." your pulse quickens, but you manage a smile. "think you can handle that, mr. 'most powerful sorcerer alive'?" he grins, that cocky, arrogant smirk that drives you crazy, inching even closer until his lips are just brushing yours. "oh, i know i can. question is… can you keep up?" now alas, he’s on top of you, the order of your plushies that you specifically arranged in alphabetical order being ruined. you clench your jaw.. but you decide to ignore it. he knew the only way he could shut your running mouth up is by simply eating you out of course. he took off your victoria’s secret underwear. ‘’jeez, was my princess this wet the whole time?’’ he points out. yeah, you were absolutely wet, your pussy was a whole rain puddle at this point. he wasted no time swirling his tongue around your nub. you let out a high-pitched groan— he let out a chuckle against your clit, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. he loved how your annoying yapping changed into moans almost instantly when he pulled down your panties. his lips and tongue moving with a skill that has you arching into him, every flick and press sending sparks through your body. you swore you’d meet god at this rate. he chuckles low, pulling back just enough to look up at you with that infuriatingly smug expression. "what’s wrong?" he taunts, voice dripping with arrogance. "thought you were the one who could handle anything. but look at you—can barely keep it together." his fingers trace lazy circles as he smirks. "maybe you’re not as tough as you act, huh?" a moan slips out, but it’s quickly laced with frustration. "you… cocky… bastard," you manage, voice shaky. he just laughs, clearly pleased with himself. "oh, come on," he teases, lips brushing against your skin, "that’s all you’ve got? thought you’d be putting up a fight by now." you grit your teeth, fingers clutching the sheets. "maybe i’d fight back if you were actually good at this," you shoot back, knowing full well it’ll only make him try harder. you pushed him back with a hard force having enough of him. you pulled down his boxers, his boner springing out of it. his head slammed against the plush mattress, enjoying when you took control. ‘’eh? riding me?’’ he mumbles, thinking it was the most unoriginal thing ever. you let out a scoff, wrapping your fingers around his shaft to give one jerk. ‘’don’t play w’ me.’’ you mumble as you position yourself on it. his hands quickly latch onto your hips like velcro.

his cock clenched around your pussy, and he lets out a slutty moan. though you had intercourse almost everyday, he could never get enough— every time feeling like the first. you began moving around, ‘’mmm.. continue, pri.. princess..’’ he stutters, finding it hard to focus. you smirked, being the one to shut him up now. as you went faster and harder, he swore he could see stars when he closed his eyes. ‘’honey.. i’m close..’’ is the last thing he said till he ejected tons of cum in you. when you pulled away, strings still managed to latch on for a short second. ‘’another round?’’ he asks, desperate for more. you thought for a second, should i be petty.. safe to say, you were. you pulled up your panties and walked away. ‘’hmm.. maybe (never). you can call me though! it’s— 1-800-hot-n-fun.’’ however, even after gojo spam-called you 20 times per day, you gave him the silent treatment— he wasn’t even sure if you wanted to be in a relationship with him anymore! you were planning to still, ignore him but alas, that was cut short. a month after, you were walking to your office as normal. everything felt peaceful and the scenery was divine. ah, the moment you walked in.. you got bombarded with letters and presents from satoru gojo. you thought to yourself.. how does he know where i work at? coincidentally.. or maybe he did it on purpose (you’ll never know).. your boss decided to quit ‘cause quote on quote he wanted to go on a christmas vacation.. anyway, you rushed to your boss’s office, it couldn’t be that gojo would be your new boss.. shit! a man with terrifying blue eyes.. white hair.. glanced up at you and immediately smiled. but this wasn’t ‘cause he was happy— he could finally take revenge for what you’ve done. ‘’omg. don’t tell me you’re my new boss.’’ you gesture at him. ‘’what? you should be happy i’m your new boss!’’ he stood up from his office chair, putting his hands in his pockets. ‘’but you ain’t goin’ without consequence, missy.’’ you let out a scoff, yeah, sure, he could fire you.. force you to work overtime.. okay, nevermind— gojo walked to you, his steps intimidating. ‘’so, why did you ghost me, babe?’’

you furrowed your eyebrows, but you didn’t have a good reason to ghost him, you just felt petty. ‘’cus’ i can!’’ he let out a scoff, grabbing your chin to force you to stare at him. ‘’do you know how scared i was that you basically broke up with me?’’ gojo was never this serious, usually light-hearted or joking around in solemn situations. his eyes dropped down from your eyes to your outfit. his voice also dropped an octave.  ‘’you wear that to work everyday?’’ he points at your micro skirts, ‘’i have even shorter than this.’’ you roll your eyes. his jaw clenches, not taking pride from you wearing that in front of your men colleagues. your attention shifts to how he looks at you. though you didn’t wanna get mad at him so early in the morning (it was 7am), you balled your hands into fists. ‘’shut up. i don’t need an insecure man who gets jealous of what i wear. you know damn well i wouldn’t cheat.’’ you storm out his office, but when you thought you were safe— he followed you to your cubicle. he smiles when he sees the still unopened gifts on your desk. ‘’open them.’’ he swirls the ribbon around his finger. you open the velvety box reluctantly, and you get surprised. it was a bunch of… (sex) toys. ‘’what the fuck is this?’’ you point to the array of toys. ‘’i thought you’d buy me clothes!’’ he raises an eyebrow. ‘’you have enough clothing for a whole continent, you definitely don’t need more.’’ you roll your eyes, yeah sure, you had a shopping addiction.. but that's none of his business. well, maybe a bit— you did spend his money frequently on american eagle.. brandy melville.. whatever was pretty, you bought it. you crossed your arms. ‘’fuck off. i quit!’’ you shout abruptly. he lets out a chuckle, convinced you were lying. ‘’i forbid you to quit. you will have to sign documents anyway.’’ suddenly, he picked you up and set you on the empty area of your desk. ‘’let’s test those toys i bought.’’ he put the opened present onto your lap. for some reason, he tossed it away somewhere. ‘’nevermind, let’s just do this normal route.’’ you looked around, surprised he’d wanna do it basically in public. ‘’uh.. it’s so busy..’’ you whisper as the commotion gets even louder. ‘’don’t be such a pussy.’’ he mumbled as he took off your panties in an intimate and slow way. ‘’speaking of pussy.. i think i’ll fuck this one.’’ haha, so funny.. you thought to yourself. he unbuckled his belt and his pants to the knees. ‘’be quiet, you don’t want anyone to hear, right?’’ he whispered, signaling you to stop yapping. he slowly entered your hole, and you let out a gasp that was a bit too audible. he pinched your mouth shut, before slowly moving. ‘’mmm..’’ he moans quietly. he ramped up the speed, to be faster. let’s just say the sounds coming from your specific cubicle were very suspicious. your colleague basically next to you, the only thing separating you both was a cheap divider. ‘’ey, can you print somethin’ for me?’’ she asked. you both immediately went quiet. ‘’....hellooo? i need this as soon as possible, you know!’’ she says, getting increasingly more impatient. after a few minutes, she let out a scoff and stood up to go to the printer herself. ‘’fine, fuck you—’’ she mumbled to herself. your thighs were shaking, feeling like you were gonna orgasm any second now.. as soon as his dick pressed against your g-spot, he spurted out a ton of cum, it coming in long, sticky ropes. ‘’woah, that was early.’’ he smiled. ‘’yeah.. must’ve been the adrenaline...’’ you let out a sigh, knowing you probably ended the friendship between you and your neighbor colleague. gojo looked at his expensive rolex, and his eyes widen. ‘’shit. babe. i’m like 20 minutes late for the meeting.’’ he hastily put on his pants and belt before storming off to the meeting room. you jumped off from the desk, to discover that you were sitting on some important documents and they’re are all.. wet, and you didn’t even notice. how are you gonna explain this to your new boss?

✿.⠀⠀˙⠀⠀story 'n header by @ iknowher ,, do not plagiarize my works｡ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗ ᶦᵈᵉᵃˢ

[s1ut4evan]

overworked - colin zabel x fem reader

*smut* not proofread

✨ you go out to a bar and meet Colin Zabel, a stressed out detective that needs to get some tension out✨

wattpad: s1ut4evan

•

•

•

I collect my things and open the door to my uber, "Thank you!" I say before hopping out. The neon light of the bar sign reflect off the wet pavement. God I can't wait to have a drink. I make my way into building.

•

Once I got inside, I head straight for the counter. I sit down and rest my arms on the bar top. The bartender looks my way and nods as he's working on a drink. I watch him deliver it to a dark-haired pale looking guy across from me.

•

"Hey (y/n). The usual?" the bartender asks. I half smile and nod while rummaging through my purse to find my wallet. "Uh no need for that. The guy over there said he'd take care of it." he pointed back to the pale guy. I peak around to see him pointing with a wink at me. I then raise my eyebrow, "Oh? Okay then."

•

I study the stranger while I sip my drink. He seems to be well put together. He's got soft dark eyes that have been scanning me as well. We made eye contact quite a lot. I assumed he was leaving when he downed the last of his beer and stood up but then he walked my way.

•

A knot formed in my stomach as this man sat next to me. His cologne hit me, God he smelled good. "Hi there." he said, "I'm Colin, Colin Zabel." and stuck out his hand. I shook it, "Hey thank you for the drink." I took another sip. "No problem, I told the bartender when I got here that I'd buy the prettiest woman's drink tonight."

•

I laughed, "Oh yeah? You should have waited longer." Colin shook his head, "Nope. It's definitely you, you're by far the most beautiful I've seen tonight." I turn as my face flushed with heat. Colin waved at the bartender for another drink then looked back at me, "Let's talk. I'd love to get to know you."

•

Conversation was easy with Colin. He told me about how he was a detective called from another town to help with an ongoing investigation. I could tell he was stressed by the way he described his long hours that turned to days of work. He still managed to ask questions about me, as a way to get to know me.

•

I could listen and talk to him all night. His energy overtook me. The air felt thin between us, as if the universe was pulling us closer. I needed this man. I looked him in the eyes and licked my lips. He stared back, "Can we go somewhere?" he asked. I nod without hesitation.

•

At this point in the night, the bar was near empty. I don't know if it was the alcohol talking but I was super impatient and desperately horny. So I suggested the bathroom. Our drunken minds found nothing wrong with it.

•

I step in the dark ill-lighted room and Colin follows. He struggles with anticipation to lock the door. I knew I was in for the best fuck of my life when he turns around biting his tongue. I lean back against the sink counter, Colin moves slowly towards me. His large hands cup my face as I place mine on his chiseled torso.

•

We began kissing heavily until our tongues met. His fingers pushed my hair behind my ear before he lightly kissed my neck. I reached down to massage his hard member through his tight chinos. Colin groans against my neck and takes ahold of me by my hips. I gasp as he picks me up and places me on the counter.

•

My thighs caress his narrow hips. His large cock teases me through layers of cloth. Colin holds me by the small of my back with one arm and pushes down my dress strap with the other. He nibbles on me from my collar bone to my breast while he pushes down the fabric.

•

I moan as his lips tug at my nipple. His tongue flicks it gently. With my hands wrapped around his neck, I grind my hips into his. The tip of his cock presses roughly against my swollen clit through our still clothed bodies. Colin stops to remove his blazer and unbuckle his belt. I move my hand down to touch myself as I watch him struggle to get his pants off.

•

He presses his lips together in frustration. I smirk because I love the thought of him taking it out on me. My eyes follow as his pants drop onto the tile floor. I reach forward and grasp the waistband of his boxers to push them down. Colin pushed my legs apart before his hand felt up my thigh into my heat, pushing my panties to the side.

•

Our lips collided once again as I began to stroke his large member. His finger tips danced around my pulsating clit. My wetness allowed easy entrance for his slender fingers as he slowly pushed them into my pussy. My breaths became heavy, I had barely noticed the stickiness from his pre-cum seeping into my fingers.

•

Colin stops kissing me and removes his fingers from my tight walls to taste me. He looks me in the eyes as he does so, “You taste so fucking good.” I bite my lip as I watch him slurp up my juices. He places his fingers back into my heat and swirls them around my clit while I lean back onto the cold mirror.

•

I whimper as I feel him pull his fingers away but only to pull my hips closer. Colin places my legs into his shoulders and pushes my panties to the side once more. I feel his hard tip at my entrance, I nod to give him the ‘okay’ before glides into me. His hands hold onto my waist as he finds the pace of his thrusts. Every bit of his length makes way into me, stretching me, and hitting all the right spots.

•

He moves his hand to make circles on my clit, I arch my back at his touch. The sheer force of the thrusts began to shake the counter top. My hands help to keep me stable as our moans echo off the bathroom walls. I look into Colin’s eyes. They are tired and exhausted but they are also full of lust. I could tell he really needed this. He really needed me.

•

My legs fell from his shoulders as he leaned forward to become closer to me. He placed a secure grip on my waist while the other leaned against the mirror. I pulled his face to mine before softly kissing him. One hand held to the back of his head while the other wrapped around his toned back. It was then I realized I could see a future with this man. It’s as if we connected on another level.

•

My senses overcame me as I felt myself come to a climax. My legs shook as they wrapped around his hips. Every thrust felt as if it were the first. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back to relish the ongoing orgasm. I felt Colin’s cock flinch inside me as he watched me cum. He groaned out while his pace became sloppy. “Fucking cum for me baby.” I yelped. Colin’s eyes widened.

•

With my legs wrapped around him, Colin came in me after 3 more poorly made pumps. I smiled as his frustration flushed away. His face practically lit up. We both sighed as he pulled his sopping cock out of my cunt.

•

Colin helped me get cleaned up before dressing him self. “God that was…” he paused, “the best thing that’s happened to me in a while.” I ran my fingers through his messy brown hair,“I’m glad you chose me to be the one to help you get some steam off.”

[writeforfandoms]

A Lonely Place - 1

Find my Soap masterlist

My first entry for the SoapItUp challenge by @glitterypirateduck - I used the prompt "Don't move" for this chapter.

This is set in the same universe as my Gaz zombie fic "Little Talks", but you don't have to read that to understand this. This starts six months later.

Reader is female and described as American, no other descriptors used.

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse, swearing, canon typical violence, alcohol mention.

Word count: 1.6k

You shifted your pack on your back, resisting the urge to groan. You'd been walking most of the day, you were tired and sore, and you wanted nothing more than to find a safe place to collapse for the night. 

Fortunately, you could see a building up ahead. 

It didn't take long to clear the area - no infected around, no bodies either. Which wasn't all that surprising. You weren't sure where exactly you were, but this was the first building you'd seen in a while. 

The door creaked as you pushed it open, and you winced at the noise. But when you looked, you still didn't see any movement around. 

Good enough. 

Your pack thumped against the floor, and you took a few moments to stretch out your neck and shoulders, hoping to alleviate some of the constant ache. Next was some food - you were running low, hopefully you'd find more soon. You chewed while you cleared the rest of the house, checking for anything useful as you did. 

No weapons. Of course. But some of the clothes would work, including a thick jacket. That would be helpful - the weather was already turning cold, and you couldn't exactly jog down to the nearest store to buy more. Socks were always handy, too. 

You brought your new loot down to your pack, humming a little as you carefully re-packed things. 

One more perimeter check, because you didn't want to leave anything to chance, found you outside just before sundown. You shaded your eyes against the light, admiring the splashes of color across the sky, even as you checked the ground for movement. 

You had just turned to go back inside when you heard the engine. 

It took a moment to register what you were hearing. It had been a long time since you'd heard a car. Since before the end, really. Your head swiveled towards the sound, eyes wide. 

A car! Someone had a car! They could–

Well. They could do all kinds of things, possibly. Not all of those things were good. 

So you went back inside, hunkering down near a window to watch outside. The car, a big SUV, rolled down the road outside, slow enough to you guessed the inhabitants were looking for infected. Or survivors. 

You were suddenly very glad you had come back inside, and had no lights. 

The car rolled on out of sight and you breathed out in relief. Good enough for you. 

You used the last of the light to knit, working on the sweater again. Sure, you'd found the big jacket, but it never hurt to have layers available. You weren't sure what to expect from winter in this part of the world. 

The night passed quietly, and you were on your way again the next day, knitting once again securely tucked away. This spot wasn't bad - maybe you'd come back, after you found some supplies. 

Like food. 

With a soft groan, you shouldered your pack and followed the road. That was your best bet to find more food. 

Walking by yourself was, quite honestly, boring. You'd seen so much of this damned country by now that the sights no longer inspired awe, and the way your feet ached from constantly being on the move didn't exactly make you want to stop and sight see. You'd learned the hard way that knitting while walking was a terrible idea. 

Which left you with time to think, and lots of it. 

You still weren't quite sure what you were doing, not really. You just knew that you were stranded on a different continent, unable to go home, unwilling to trust anyone enough to get close. 

Not after last time. 

You got lucky - there was a town less than a full day's walk from the house. Everything looked silent and deserted, signs long gone dark. A liquor store door was smashed in, glass precariously littering the ground. 

You avoided the glass as best you could, all too aware of the potential noise, and crept inside. This place had probably been looted, but you could hope… 

You didn't find much. Some chips that had been overlooked and a half-empty bottle of scotch.

You took it with you. 

The rest of the town was just as quiet, and you went through all the stores. Most of them were empty, looted. 

But you struck metaphorical gold. One store had a stash of yarn tucked away in the back, in the office. You nearly did a little happy dance. That would come in handy. 

You were stuffing the third skein in your bag when you heard the shuffling. You froze. 

Silence for long moments. Long enough that you wondered if you'd imagined it. Then the shuffle came again, the scrape of a shoe across the floor.

You swallowed hard, hands shaking a little as you closed your bag. The zipper made almost no noise as you pulled it closed so, so slowly. 

There was a back door, you'd seen it past the office. You could get out that way. 

You took one step out of the office, hands clenched so tightly around your bag that they ached. 

The wet thunk of something, or someone, being hit hard nearly made you startle. The soft swear that followed it was no better. 

“Nice kill,” a soft, masculine voice murmured. 

You shuddered at the wet squelch, like a knife being removed from a piece of meat. Okay. Probably two of them, at least. Maybe more. 

Time to hit the road.

You moved down the hall as silently as you could, pausing in front of the back door. One deep breath in helped steady you, at least long enough for you to shove the door open. 

A shout behind you made you move, booking it out of the building. You spared a wild moment to look, searching for the nearest good hiding place, and then ran for the trees. 

Maybe you could lose them in the trees, or they'd decide you weren't worth the trouble. 

That notion didn't last long. Only as long as it took to be tackled to the ground. You fell with a yelp, hitting the ground hard. 

“Got a runner,” came the voice from the person perched on your back. A man, you guessed from the voice. Local, from the accent. 

“Get off!” You tried to twist out from under him, heart beating hard, nearly panicking. 

“Don't move.” Something firm pressed against the back of your shoulder. Kind of rectangular. Hard. 

Your blood went cold at the implication. A weapon of some kind. Possibly a gun. You stilled, though you were still breathing fast, gaze darting around for any possible escape route. 

“Let her up, Soap.” A pair of boots planted firmly in your vision. The weight lifted from your back suddenly, unexpectedly. It took you a moment to push back up to your feet, a little wobbly, pack clutched to your chest.

Two men stood in front of you, both armed. One wore a kind of bucket hat, while the other had a mohawk, gone a little shaggy. They were both imposing, and your shoulders curled in. 

“What are you doing skulking around here?” The hatted one asked, eyes a little narrowed as he visibly sized you up. 

You thought about being snarky, you really did. But fear won out. “Looking for food.” 

He blinked, just once. “Sounds like you're on the wrong side of the pond.” 

You grimaced. He wasn't the first to point out your obviously American accent, but it still didn't feel friendly. “I was on vacation,” you answered shortly, looking down, fingers tightening on your pack. “When it all started.” 

They were both silent for a few long moments before the mohawked one stepped forward. “Mind if Ah look in yer pack?”

You eyed him. If you said no, he'd probably take it by force. “Just… be careful, please.” You held out your pack, trying to hold back your nerves. 

He nodded, taking the bag and taking a look through it. “Hate to tell ye, bonnie, but ye cannae kill infected with yarn.” He shot you a grin, clearly amused. 

You huffed, warming with some mixture of embarrassment and indignation. “Of course not,” you grumbled. “But you know what I can do with yarn? Make a sweater.” 

He looked at you again, assessing, before he handed your bag back. “How long ye been on yer own?” 

You shifted your weight from foot to foot. “I mean… It's… been a while.” 

He looked back to the hatted man, and the two seemed to have a silent conversation. Two more men came out the back door you'd used, walking over to join the little meeting. Your gaze flicked between all of them, nerves rising the longer their little conference lasted. 

“Right,” the hatted one said with a sigh, looking at you. “Come with us.”

“Why?” You pulled back a little, clutching your pack to your chest. 

“We've got supplies,” the Scottish one volunteered. “Safe place to stay.” 

You eyed them warily. Sure, they could be telling the truth… but there was a good reason you didn't trust people anymore. 

“Here.” One of the newcomers stepped forward, pulling out a bigass knife. He flipped it easily, hilt towards you. “Any of us try to hurt you, you defend yourself, yeah?” 

You took the knife slowly, fingers curling around the hilt. It wasn't a lot, but it did make you feel better. You breathed in deep, looking between them all. The Scottish one looked kind of hopeful. 

“Okay,” you finally agreed, cautiously hopeful. “I'll go with you.”

[helloalycia]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 [𝐓𝐖𝐎] — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐃

summary: as your relationship with Lucy Gray grows, it becomes a little harder to keep it a secret from your dad, especially when Mayfair has something to do with it.

warning/s: mentions of minor violence and the Hunger Games obvs.

author's note: okay so the song mentioned in this part and the next is called ‘forever & always’ by zeph, which i chose for the lyrics, not necessarily the rhythm as it’s not a folk song. But i did imagine it in a more lucy gray-style, so i thought it worked! plus it’s a really good song and i’ve tagged it below if you wanna have a listen :)

one / three / masterlist / wattpad

Being in a relationship with Lucy Gray was all I could have dreamed of and more. Of course, it was a complete and total secret from my father, who could never know I even befriended the girl let alone dated her. It meant sneaking around was a regular thing for us, to my dismay, but she didn't seem to hate it.

I was visiting her home one Saturday, hoping to spend some time with her since it was a lovely day. Even if it meant helping out the Covey with some chores or simply rotting away inside, I didn't mind as long as it was with her. But she seemed to have other plans when she answered the door and kissed me hello.

"I was just about to come get you," she said with an excited grin. "I have a date planned if you're up for it."

I quirked a brow curiously. "Oh, really?"

She curled her fingers between mine as she nodded, humming. "Best part is, your daddy won't find us neither."

i couldn't help but laugh at the prideful expression she wore. "That sounds perfect, Lucy Gray."

And just like that, she grabbed her guitar case and a basket before leading me into the meadow behind her house.

"You gonna tell me where we're headed?" I asked her, taking the heavy guitar case from her hand as we walked.

"This one has manners," she teased, making me nudge her in the arm as she continued, "To the lake. I got a whole day planned."

We chatted about everything and nothing as we strolled through the woods. Having grown up in town and having no need to visit the meadow or woods, I was a little unfamiliar with it all. But I knew that I felt at ease immediately, finding the scent of the earth and the view of the trees and ripples of sunlight peeking through the leaves to be refreshing. Lucy Gray reminded me of it all, I soon realised, of nature, and it only made sense why she put me at ease, too.

We soon reached the lake, which she'd told me about many times, but it looked even more beautiful than she was able to describe. She wasn't wrong about my dad not finding us here, that was for sure.

After setting down her guitar case in the cabin beside the lake, which she told me was nobody's in particular but the Covey used it when they were out here, I watched as she grabbed a cloth bag from the basket and led me outside.

"You ever been foraging before, darlin'?" she asked with an amused smile, already knowing the answer.

"I have not," I said, somewhat entertaining her teasing.

"Then we can start there," she said with a girlish grin, before tugging me by the hand into the trees.

Through vast experience and knowledge, she knew all the spots to take me to then showed me which plants were edible and which weren't. We collected a bunch of edible roots in our cloth bag, conversing in between, and I was growing accustomed to nature as we worked. Personally, I found it was an activity made even better because of Lucy Gray, who was as radiant as the sun was as it shimmered down on us. She looked so carefree, and I couldn't stop stealing glances at her.

"Oh, Y/N, come here!" she called to me as I was picking some berries from a bush she'd confirmed was safe.

"One sec," I said, tying off the bag, before heading to Lucy Gray not far behind me.

She was kneeling down into some taller grass, before glancing back at me with a delicate smile. Waving me over, she returned her attention to whatever was in front of her, and I had no choice but to kneel beside her. As soon as I saw the snake coiled around her right hand however, I fell back onto my butt reflexively, startled.

"You're okay, she won't bite," Lucy Gray said between a chuckle, resting a hand on my leg and meeting my eyes. "She won't harm you if you won't harm her."

I swallowed thickly, trusting her words but also still very much scared of the brightly coloured snake before me. This was normal to her, as evident by her nonchalance and intrigue when handling the snake, but the opposite for me.

"Lucy Gray, I don't think I–"

"You trust me?"

I blinked, eyes glued to the snake, as if it would come at me if I dared look away.

"Hey, sweetie, over here," Lucy Gray coaxed my attention away, and I relaxed slightly when I saw the way she smiled at me. "You trust me?"

"Of course I do."

She nodded. "Then come here, slowly. I promise she won't bite."

Knowing it was awfully embarrassing to look so terrified before something so small in front of someone I liked, I sucked up a breath and kneeled beside her again, though not letting go of her left hand which was still on my leg for assurance.

"They're harmless," she said softly, admiring the snake as it stretched up her hand. "I love 'em because of their bright colours."

"Naturally."

She chuckled, glancing at me sideways. "You're doin' good."

"Uh-huh..."

Again, she chuckled, before lowering her hand into the tall grass and watching as the snake uncoiled itself before shooting away. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding as Lucy Gray helped me stand up.

"Thanks for not runnin' away," she said appreciatively. "I know snakes aren't everyone's thing."

I shook my head. "It's okay. I'm scared, sure, but they're not that bad with you."

Her smile widened and I wasn't sure what I said to make her so happy, but she kissed my cheek and began to walk away. I followed after her, eyes acutely aware of any tall grass around us now, until we reached the lake yet again.

After grabbing some fishing rods from the cabin, we sat at the edge of the dock and cast our lines, hoping to catch something good for an afternoon picnic. I'd never been fishing before, so Lucy Gray was, expectedly, much better at it than I was, catching a few small fish that wouldn't be filling on its own. It wasn't until I felt a tug on my line that I grew hopeful, eyes widening.

"I think I've got something!" I exclaimed, before standing up to get a better grip on the rod.

"Pull back and gently wind the rod," she encouraged brightly, standing up too.

I did as she said, but whatever I had was a strong swimmer and pulling me forward slightly. So much, in fact, that I almost stumbled over the edge and into the water, making me drop the rod completely to catch myself.

"That was close," I said with a racing heart, but knowing I'd need to somehow collect the rod now.

"Can't you swim?" Lucy Gray asked with a mischievous smile, and that should have been my first hint. 

"I can, but I wasn't planning to get my clothes–" I didn't even get to finish because all she had to do was nudge me slightly and I lost my footing, falling straight over the edge and into the lukewarm water.

My first instinct was to swim upwards, head resurfacing as I spat out the water from my mouth and wiped my eyes. Lucy Gray's laughing caught my attention, and I raised my brows with disbelief.

"Seriously?!"

"You had to get the rod somehow," she joked, and I shook my head disapprovingly before grabbing the rod that was floating beside me.

After Lucy Gray accepted it, she surprised me by jumping in next to me, still fully clothed, and splashing me in the process. Again, I wiped my face and narrowed my eyes at her as she resurfaced, eliciting more laughter from her.

"Oh, c'mon, it was funny," she tried to defend, swimming up to me and wrapping her arms around my neck. "Plus, don't you feel nice and refreshed now?"

I sighed, unable to stay mad at her when she was grinning at me so carefree. "I suppose so."

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my lips. "Knew it. Now let's stay here for a little longer then I'll catch us a real fish and we can start on some dinner. Sound good?"

I nodded in agreement, and we did just that. It was fun to just be able to swim around and do nothing but enjoy each other's company. My heart was full as Lucy Gray filled the forest with her laughter. Between the terrible jokes I told and her contagious happiness, she was just so bubbly, and I couldn't blame her because I felt the same.

She ended up catching a big enough fish for the both of us and, using the roots and berries we picked earlier, we cooked up a lovely little bit of dinner to share by the water. I'd eaten some pretty good food, by District 12 standards anyway, thanks to my dad's job. But this was truly the best thing I'd ever eaten in my life, no doubt because of the company also.

Just as I finished rinsing our plates off in the lake, I heard Lucy Gray leaving the cabin with her guitar case in hand.

"Come here!" she called, waving me over.

I left the dishes to try on the basket before joining her where she was sat under a tree, pulling out her guitar.

"Am I about to get my own private concert?" I asked playfully, raising an eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes, though a smile ghosted her lips. "I'm startin' to regret this."

I chuckled, crossing my legs and getting comfortable opposite her. "No, go on, I'm all ears."

The truth was, I'd never get tired of listening to Lucy Gray sing, and to have her sing just for me would be a downright honour.

"I actually wanted to show you a song I was workin' on," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I haven't finished it yet, but I was just too excited to show you and thought today would be perfect. I hope you like it."

It took me a second to realise that she'd written the song for me, and my playful nature subsided momentarily. "Wait, what? A song for me?"

"Well, duh," she said with a laugh, before strumming her guitar gently, tuning it. "Remember, it's not finished, so be nice."

Still surprised she'd written a song for me, I could only nod in response. She strummed for a few more seconds, trying to settle on a pitch, before clearing her throat.

"Love songs are fleeting,

but the melodies stick with you.

I have learned your heart,

and memorised the tune.

It's my favourite,

I'll sing it in any occasion.

It'll be my soundtrack,

beyond our youth..."

I was entranced by her voice, the softness of it and the way it carried towards me like a siren to a sailor. She was always beautiful, but when she was singing, it was something else entirely.

The tune played aloud as she strummed gently with her fingers, and her eyes found mine, a brief smile on her lips before she continued to sing.

"Every note you hum,

is a classic through and through.

I'll add them to a list called

'All Things I Look Forward To'.

It's my favourite,

even if no one will play it.

I only want a future

filled with you..."

She strummed a little longer, a delicate tune that was a little different to her jauntier tunes she performed at the Hob, and then she left her last note hanging and finished. My heart was suddenly racing, in a good way, and I was embarrassed by the tear that escaped my eye, rushing to wipe it.

"Well, gee, was it that bad?" she joked, but I still felt the need to shake my head quickly.

"No way," I told her, meeting her eyes. She was more nervous than she was letting on, so I grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. "Lucy Gray, that was beautiful. Is that really how... how you feel?"

Her cheeks turned pink and she avoided my eyes with a shy smile. "Of course. The song's not finished, but I wanted you to hear it. To know that you mean a lot to me."

I nodded slowly. "You mean a lot to me, too. Nobody has ever said such heartwarming things to me before, let alone written them into a song for me. I'm honoured."

Her smile relaxed as she met my eyes again. "I'm glad you liked it."

My heart wouldn't stop beating so fast, not when she was sitting right there, making me forget the world existed. I couldn't stop myself as I leaned forward, taking her bottom lip between mine.

Nobody had ever made me feel the way she had, and though I'd never truly experienced it before, I decided that this had to be what falling in love felt like.

There was no other word for it.

"... and I thought I liked the colour, but it just reminded me of that time she threw up on my favourite shirt."

I blinked, trying my hardest to care about what one of my classmates was telling me over a drink at the Hob. How I'd ended up in a conversation with him was beyond me, but it felt rude to just walk away.

"Hey, isn't that Billy Taupe with your girl?"

At this, I tuned back into the conversation, confused. Following my classmate's gaze, I saw Lucy Gray standing by the bar, drinking from a glass of water and trying her very hardest to ignore Billy Taupe, but he was adamant on speaking to her. I would have left her any other time, knowing she could handle herself, but she'd mentioned recently how he'd been annoying her and trying to make things right despite being in a relationship with Mayfair. And because of this, I approached them calmly.

Lucy Gray spotted me and relaxed a little, but if Billy Taupe noticed me, he didn't acknowledge me in the slightest.

"Lucy Gray, can we go somewhere private?" he asked her desperately.

"Why would she do that?" I answered him, quirking a brow.

He glanced at me sideways, irritated. "It's none of your business."

"Hey, don't talk to her like that," Lucy Gray scolded him. "This is over, Billy Taupe, now leave me alone."

"It's not," he retorted.

"I'm saying it is," I told him in a warning tone. "Now go."

Scoffing, he finally turned to look at me. "Don't you have some whorin' around to do?"

Before I could even register his words, Lucy Gray slapped him sharply across the face, surprising even me. I opened my mouth, taken aback, as he widened his eyes and touched his face. He looked from me to her, and as soon as his expression contorted into a scowl and he took a step forward, I didn't think, I just shoved him backwards so he couldn't hurt her. That was probably the second mistake from the two of us, as he immediately stumbled back into someone with a drink, making them drop it.

"Oh, shit," I mumbled, before grabbing Lucy Gray's hand and making a beeline for the exit.

In no time, a fight broke out and the once calm, lighthearted atmosphere of the Hob turned into a violent, rough boxing ring. After some shoving and avoiding the odd swing, Lucy Gray and I successfully managed to make it outside unscathed, away from the rowdiness.

I was bent over, catching my breath, as I witnessed several peacekeepers nearby rushing in to break up the fighting, and then I looked over at Lucy Gray questioningly.

"Did you really have to slap him?"

She straightened up, having caught her breath. "He doesn't just get to talk to you like that."

I sighed, a reluctant smile on my lips. It was nice of her to defend me, but starting a fist fight wasn't on my schedule for the evening. She began to smile too, the two of us amused with what just went down, but our happiness was short lived when Mayfair came out of nowhere, spotting us.

"There you are!" she shouted angrily.

I swallowed hard, losing my smile. "Mayfair, look–"

But before I could sweet talk my way out of it, she was already yelling for the nearby peacekeepers to get us, and there was no way for us to escape this time.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek as my dad paced back and forth, his anger threatening to burst out. Stupid Mayfair and her stupid big mouth. Because of her, Lucy Gray and I were sat before him in his office at the peacekeeper's base.

"Witnesses say they caught you both arguing with Billy Taupe," he finally spoke, stopping to look at me with a disappointed stare. "Then all hell broke loose."

"It wasn't her fault," I defended Lucy Gray, not wanting her to be punished because of my father's irritation with me.

"What the hell were you doing there, Y/N?!" he asked. "You're supposed to be at home! It's–" he checked his wristwatch, "–almost midnight!"

I avoided his eyes awkwardly, trying my best to sound believable. "I just wanted to hear the Covey perform and I knew you'd never let me go. It was only tonight. But then I saw Billy Taupe harassing Lucy Gray and I stepped in. Just tried to do what was right, like you taught me."

Okay, maybe a little on the nose, but it could work.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head. Deliberating momentarily, he finally said, "Go home, Y/N."

I raised my brows. "Lucy Gray too, right?" He narrowed his eyes warningly, but I continued, "Dad–"

"Now," he ordered in a voice that meant I wasn't to argue.

I glanced over at the quiet Covey girl beside me, and she nodded reassuringly.

"It's fine," she said in a low voice. "Thanks."

I frowned, feeling guilty, but was forced to obey my father and leave. As I closed his office door behind me, I lingered for a few seconds longer.

"You should stay out of trouble, Miss Baird," he told her authoritatively. "We don't tolerate–"

"Y/N, c'mon," my father's second in command found me listening, stopping me from hearing the rest of their conversation.

I nodded reluctantly, hoping Lucy Gray wouldn't be punished, and followed the peacekeeper outside.

My dad hadn't uttered another word about the Hob incident when he came that evening. I was waiting for him to yell at me or punish me or something, but he didn't. it wasn't until the next morning, after half my night was spent thinking of Lucy Gray, when my mum told me I was grounded for the next month, only to leave the house for chores. School was finished for the summer now, so I wouldn't even be able to see my friends and Lucy Gray that way.

It was annoying, especially because I just wanted to check on her, but I couldn't exactly fight my punishment when I was caught red handed.

That same morning, my mum forced me to accompany her to the markets to pick up some things. I was lucky enough to see Y/BF/N hanging around, also buying some things, and subtly slipped away to see her as my mum asked about some carrots.

She instantly pulled me in for a hug, mumbling, "I was sure I'd never see you again. I heard what happened last night."

"It wasn't intentional," I said with a sigh. "But I'm grounded for the next month, so you won't be seeing me much."

"Y/N, you've gotta be careful," she said in disapproving voice. "No more sneaking around. You're lucky it was just a fight and your dad didn't find out everything else."

"I know, I know," I mumbled, glancing over my shoulder to see my mum still talking to the vendor. "I should get back to my mum. She might kill me if she sees me doing something other than helping."

Y/BF/N tried not to laugh as she nodded. "Good luck, Y/N. I'll see you around. Please, try not to get an extended punishment."

"Yeah, yeah."

By the end of the first week of my punishment, I couldn't take not seeing Lucy Gray anymore. So, I concocted the perfect plan to visit her on the way back from nipping to the markets for my mum, sneaking a detour to her and the Covey's place in the Seam. I could always use the excuse that there was a queue at the meat stall if my mum asked why I took so long.

After buying everything I needed, I headed straight for Lucy Gray's, anticipating seeing her. I hoped she wouldn't be upset at me, though I wouldn't blame her if she was, considering my father was the one who had punished her. Or, at least I was assuming he had.

When I knocked on her front door, I held my breath until she opened up. As soon as she realised it was me, she exhaled deeply before pulling me in for a hug. I returned it instantly, closing my eyes and savouring her presence.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't see you sooner," I said quickly. "I've been grounded and I wasn't allowed out. How have you been?"

She shook her head. "It's okay, I've been okay. He didn't do anythin' when you left, just yelled at me a bit then sent me home with a warnin'. I think he was just annoyed at you."

I frowned, but was relieved she didn't get the brunt of it. "Good. I mean, not good obviously, but it could've been worse."

She cupped my cheek, thumb rubbing gently on my cheekbone. "I'm sorry you got caught. It was Mayfair. She's still pissed at me and now you by association."

"It's not your fault," I told her, taking her hand and kissing it gently. "Have they been annoying you still? Her and Billy Taupe?"

"Not since then, no."

"Good," I breathed out with relief, before hugging her again. "I can't stay for long. My mum will be expecting me back. I'll try to visit when I can, but I won't be able to sneak out for at least another month."

She chuckled quietly. "It's okay. Try not to get in trouble, darlin'."

I cracked a small smile. "I'll try."

My punishment ended quickly enough and everything returned to normal, kind of. My dad had bigger fish to fry with work, and seemed to forget about my mishap at the Hob, so his suspicions of me disappeared and I was able to sneak out again sometimes. My mum was satisfied after my punishment and didn't suspect a thing afterwards.

I enjoyed another few weeks of my relationship with Lucy Gray before the energy in District 12 grew rotten once Reaping Day arrived. It was the tenth annual Hunger Games which meant a boy and girl would be chosen to fight to the death with tributes from the other eleven districts. It wasn't a happy time, for obvious reasons, and it was the worst part of the summer break. It was a slim chance of being picked, but a chance nonetheless, and all I could think about was who would be chosen.

The morning of the reaping, my parents pulled me into a group hug at the breakfast table, and I couldn't help but hug them back.

"I'm praying for you," my dad mumbled as he kissed the top of my head.

I smiled a little, hoping to reassure him, but I knew it wasn't genuine. It was a hard time for everyone today, but I always pitied my parents the most, knowing if I was chosen, they'd have nobody left and, somehow, the thought of leaving them alone was scarier than facing the Hunger Games.

My dad left sooner than my mum and I, needing to make sure all the peacekeepers were doing their job in the square where I'd be lining up soon. And then after my mum and I finished eating, she walked me down to take my place. After exchanging a final hug with her, she went to join the other parents in the crowd and I was left to find my place with the other sixteen-year-old girls.

Before I could even attempt to, Lucy Gray found me. I was going to ask her how she was, even wish her luck, but I didn't get chance to as she approached me with a determined expression before kissing me hard. I accepted the kiss, though when she pulled away, her hard stare met mine.

"I'm in love with you," she said the words we'd never uttered to each other before.

I widened my eyes, surprised, but a peacekeeper broke us up before I could reply, and we were separated though in the same line. Of course, it soon made sense why she'd chosen now to tell me how she felt.

She was chosen as tribute.

It all happened so quickly after that. Lucy Gray's name being chosen, the snake she threw down Mayfair's back, the mayor slapping her onstage and in front of the cameras, her song of defiance, and then her getting ushered into the Justice Building never to be seen again.

She was really gone. She'd been chosen to participate in the Hunger Games, which clearly had something to do with Mayfair, and I would never see her again unless she won. I could barely believe it, still in shock, even when the reaping ended and everybody began to disperse or rejoin their families.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," someone said, and I turned to see Y/BF/N approaching me with a frown, pulling me in for a hug.

I was admittedly still in disbelief – denial if you will. Because she couldn't just be gone, not when she'd told me how she felt only minutes ago.

"Y/N!"

It was my dad. Y/BF/N pulled away as he found me, soon taking her place. Again, I was too awestruck to return the gesture. Lucy Gray. My Lucy Gray. Gone.

"I'm so glad you didn't get chosen," my dad said with relief. "I'm sorry about your friend, but I'm glad it wasn't you."

His words only bounced off me. I was too numb to acknowledge much more after that, stuck in my own head as my mum appeared and began to lead me home. I was quiet the whole way, trying to replay the events that had just happened. Only when I reached home and went to my bedroom did I finally realise all I'd lost in a single moment. And that's when the tears finally arrived.

How could she be gone?

I was swinging on the swing gently, next to Y/BF/N in the park. I appreciated her company, feeling a little better having someone who understood the severity of what Lucy Gray being gone meant to me.

"She might have a chance," I muttered with a broken voice. "She could hide. Wait it out."

"Maybe," Y/BF/N said softly, but I knew she didn't agree. It didn't matter though. Hope was all I had left at this point.

Since yesterday at the reaping, I couldn't help but think about what Lucy Gray was doing. Was she scared? Was she strategising? Did she stand a chance against the other tributes?

Fucking Mayfair and her jealousy was the cause of this, it had to be. Why else would Lucy Gray throw a snake down her dress? It meant she must have known. It explained why she told me she loved me before going in. She'd discovered Mayfair's plan. Why didn't I tell her I loved her too? Now she'd never know.

"Do you wanna go to the Hob tonight?" Y/BF/N asked as I continued to sulk.

I shook my head. I wasn't sure I could ever go to the Hob again, not when it held so many bittersweet memories of Lucy Gray and I. It was where I'd made my first move on her, where I'd watched her perform many times, where we'd shared our first kiss. How could I step foot in there again without seeing her everywhere?

After spending some time lost in my thoughts with Y/BF/N to keep me company, I left to go home for dinner. But before I made it there, I found myself making a detour for the Seam, where the Covey lived. I hadn't spoken to them since before the reaping, and if I was taking Lucy Gray's fate hard, I could only imagine how her family were feeling.

Only after I knocked on did I realise I had no idea what to say. What if they didn't want to see me? Or if I said the wrong thing? What if I–?

"Y/N," Barb Azure said once she answered the door. "Hi."

I swallowed hard. "Hey, Barb Azure. I– I just wanted to stop by and see how you were all doing. I'm sorry for not showing up sooner... I'm so sorry about Lucy Gray. And I just want you to know that I'm here if you–"

She suddenly hugged me, and I was glad because it said more than words could. I relaxed into her embrace, feeling comforted in our shared grief. I wasn't alone, even though it felt like I was at first.

"I'm sorry too," she muttered apologetically. "I know she meant a lot to you. We're here for you too."

I nodded, squeezing her tight.

[sjsmith56]

Make Believe

Summary: Bucky’s cover gets blown during an undercover mission and he scrambles to get out of town, with the help of two civilians.

Length: 4.2K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC (named, not described), OMC (named, not described), Sam Wilson, several other Avengers.

Warnings: Cursing, mostly.

Author notes: Just a silly little story with a fluffy ending.

🚪 🚖 🦾

Well, that could have gone better. All the planning, all the preparations, the creation of the back story for his fake identity, was for nothing when the nano sleeve on Bucky's arm suddenly stopped working and his cover blown. He had barely made it out of the building, leaving a trail of broken bodies behind him. Jumping into the first taxi he saw, he just told the driver to go, until he asked him to stop at the bus station. Arriving there, he threw some money at the driver, then bolted inside.

Quickly, he found the locker that held his possessions, and opened it with the key he had hidden inside his boot. Pulling the backpack out he reached in for his phone and dialled Sam. It was answered on the first ring.

"Where are you?" asked his partner. "You didn't answer your comms."

"Didn't have them," he replied. "The nano sleeve stopped working and they made me. Had to pull the comms out and lay them on the table or they would have killed me. Did you know they had alien pulse weapons? Even I can't outmaneuver them." He rubbed his face. "I'm at the bus station but my exit plans are shot as they took everything from me, Sam, everything except the key to the locker here and that's only because I had it hidden in my boot."

"Alright, you stay there, and I'll arrange for a pickup with a friendly face."

Bucky kept scanning the interior of the bus station for any signs of the cartel, fully expecting them to show up at any moment. It was good he did because he made the pair of men as soon as they entered. Quickly, he turned away and hid behind a pillar.

"Sorry, they're here. I have to make myself scarce. I'm going to go off-grid and get back to you."

"Buck? Stay safe."

"Always."

He hung up, putting his phone in his pocket and slipping his gloves on. Then he hefted the backpack over his shoulder and went out a door marked as Authorized Entrance Only that led to a service hallway. Eventually, he found the outside exit and went through it, stepping into an alley. He headed towards one end of it, then stopped when another door from the bus station opened and the two men who were in there looking for him came out. As they looked in the other direction, he yanked open the nearest door in the alley, breaking the lock, and stepping inside. He closed the door most of the way and looked out the slimmest of cracks towards where the other two men had just turned this way.

"What the hell?"

Whirling around, he saw a woman who had just come out of a change room with several articles of clothing draped over her arm. Grabbing her, he pulled her back into the change room, pushing her against the wall, while placing one hand over her mouth and dragging the curtain across with the other. Her eyes were wide with fear as he leaned close to her and whispered in her ear.

"I'm one of the Avengers on an undercover mission. My cover was blown and I'm trying to stay out of their hands. If I remove my hand from your mouth and show you my metal hand, you'll know I'm telling you the truth. All I ask is that you don't raise the alarm."

She nodded and he took his hand off her mouth, then pulled his glove off. Looking from his hand to his face then back again, her demeanour relaxed somewhat, and she leaned back against the wall in the change room, as she studied him. Before she could say anything, they heard the door to the alley open and the sounds of someone coming in. Bucky peeked out the curtain and mouthed the word "Fuck." Smirking at him, she put her hand on his arm, pointing to herself then towards the men. Shaking his head no at her intended action, he had no choice when she slipped through the curtain with the clothing she was going to buy and accosted the two.

"Hey, what are you doing back here? Help! There are two guys in the ladies' change room!"

They both ran back through the door into the alley and Bucky stuck his head out, then looked at her before ducking back in when the store employee came into the change room, finding the broken door. The two women both opened it and the one who helped him pointed to the two men who were at the other end of the alleyway. For a moment, he thought he would be stuck in there then the woman who helped him suddenly said she had forgotten something and returned to the cubicle, while the other went to the front to call the authorities.

"I'll distract her," she whispered. "You go out the front door."

He nodded in agreement and pulled the curtain back slightly, watching as she and the employee returned to the front of the store. As she kept the woman occupied, Bucky kept low, sneaked out past them through the front door and onto the street. Raising his hand to hail a cab he heard the woman's voice.

"I have a place nearby you can hide," she said, as she slid her hand into his arm.

"I don't want to put you in danger," he protested as the cab pulled up.

She got inside, then leaned out from the back seat. "You owe me. Now get in here."

With a sigh, he joined her, then turned around to make sure they weren't being followed while she gave the driver her address. Facing forward again, he extended his right hand to her, shaking her hand.

"Bucky Barnes. Didn't you want to stay and give the police your statement?"

She shrugged. "The lady phoned the owner, and she didn't want to deal with the hassle so they're just going to get the door fixed. I'm Julie North. So, who were those guys?"

"Drug cartel," he answered. "They were getting into arms dealing of weapons they had no business having." He raised his hand. "I had a nano sleeve on disguising this and it shut down at the worst possible time. They took everything from me, except a key to a locker at the bus station where I stashed my stuff. I need to arrange for an exit."

"Sounds exciting," she said. "I did alright back there, didn't I?"

He smirked. "Yeah, you did good, but I mean it. I shouldn't be putting you in danger. If they figure out you helped me, they'll come after you."

Just as he was about to tell the cab driver to pull over, they were sideswiped by another vehicle. Looking out the window past Julie, Bucky saw the two guys who had been in the alley in the other car, with one of them aiming a gun at them. He pushed her down onto to the floor and yelled at the driver to slam on the brakes then turn right. The cabbie complied, doing exactly what Bucky told him.

"Speed up," he said, "take the next right."

Pulling his backpack up while he looked behind them, Bucky pulled out a gun and made sure the magazine was full. He had enough time to pull a couple of full magazines out, handing them to Julie, before the cabbie calmly got his attention.

"They're behind us again. What's the plan?"

"You've been under fire before," said Bucky.

"Yup, ex-military," said the cabbie. "Doan's the name. I heard your story."

"Sorry for this," said Bucky. "You own the car?"

"Nope, but it's a piece of shit, anyway. Might be better to put it out of its misery."

"Alright. Doan, just don't let them herd us into an isolated area. Chances are they're going to try to set up some crossfire and take us out."

He pulled out his phone and dialled Sam again, putting it on speaker. Doan swerved in and out of traffic trying to dodge the following car, jostling Bucky, and Julie in the back seat.

"Hey, are you in a safe place?"

"I wish." Bucky rolled his eyes. "I'm in the back seat of a taxi and we've already been sideswiped. I have a civilian in the back seat with me and an ex-military cabbie. Can you lock onto my signal and get a safe exit route?" He looked at Doan. "You have a tracker on this piece of shit?"

"Yup." He relayed the code assigned to his taxi loud enough for Sam to hear.

"Got it," said Sam. "Torres, you into the street cams and satellite images, yet?" There was silence for a moment then he came back on. "Okay, we have you, and Peter's hacking into the street light system to get you further away from the guys chasing you. We think they're trying to force you near the waterfront so stay away from there if you can."

Suddenly, a second vehicle pulled out in front of them, making Doan swerve the wheel to avoid being hit. He turned left with enough force to send Bucky into the right door. The impact of 220 lbs of super soldier muscle was too much for the piece of shit taxi door, and he hung halfway out, desperately bracing his legs to keep from sliding out completely, while still holding on to the phone and the gun. With a yell, Julie came off the floor and grabbed hold of Bucky's belt, trying to pull him inside the taxi. It was too difficult to pull him inside, so she crawled on top of him and reached for the phone, then the gun, to free his hands so he could pull himself in. Not wanting to give the gun up Bucky held it out of her reach. He suddenly had a flashback of holding on to the bottom of the Flag Smashers truck in Germany.

"I can't pull you in, you're too heavy," she yelled in his face. "Give me the damn gun."

"Fuck!" he yelled, then let her take it, pulling himself upright.

As she scrambled back Doan took a hard right and they were both moved to the left side where Bucky's face was pushed into her chest. After a momentary slight grin, he slid backwards and reached for the right passenger door, slamming it shut. Realizing that Sam had been shouting instructions all that time, Bucky grabbed the phone.

"What? I didn't hear you!"

"I said, to turn right at Lexington but you just went right past it. Dammit Bucky. Why can't you just take an order?"

"Because I was hanging out the back door of the taxi with my fucking head only six inches from the pavement, Sam. Didn't that show up on your video feed?"

There was no answer and Bucky shook his head.

"What's the plan, Sam?"

Still no answer, then a muffled voice. "Hold on, we're heading for the quinjet and Torres is trying to keep track of you with a tablet."

"You couldn't do that before we were being chased?" No answer. "Sam? Sam?!"

He looked at Julie, who was holding her hand over her mouth as if trying to stifle a laugh. Doan was grinning as well.

"What?" asked Bucky, exasperated. "What's so fucking funny?"

"Do you two always fight like that?"

"Yes," said Sam.

"No," said Bucky at the exact same moment. He glared at his phone. "We don't fight. We have differences of opinion, especially when we don't have a plan."

"Sorry, man, that sounded like fighting," said Doan. He looked behind them through his rear-view mirror. "We shook them ... maybe. I don't see anyone behind us."

"Sam, can you confirm that?" asked Bucky. "Did we lose them?"

"Hold on." There was silence for a moment then he came back on. "Yes, probably. There's a parking garage, two blocks over after the next right. Satellite imaging shows it has an open upper level big enough and empty enough for the quinjet but it will take about 20 minutes for us to get there. Can you make it there? We'll evacuate the civilians as well."

Bucky looked at Doan. "You get that?"

The man nodded and took the next right, then went two blocks down until he saw the parking garage. It was self service, so he pulled the ticket out of the dispenser and drove up to the top level, parking along one edge.

"Okay, Sam, we're on the clock. Don't be late."

Bucky hung up as all three of them got out of the taxi, with Doan walking around the outside and taking in the damage.

"They'll fire me for sure, now," he said. He looked at Bucky quickly. "No big deal. I've been fired by worse bosses than these guys. I'll be okay."

"Well, that was fun," said Julie, sitting on the hood. "It was like playing a very realistic make-believe spy game."

"Unbelievable," sputtered Bucky, standing in front of her. "You thought that was fun."

She shrugged. "You weren't about to let anything happen to us, right? It was the highlight of my life, really." He scowled and turned away. Sliding off the hood, she ran to stand in front of him, placing her hand on his chest and looking up. "Don't get me wrong. I was scared, really scared, but you were amazing and being with you made me feel safer. For someone like me, who works in a really boring office job like a drone in an ant colony it was something I never thought I would experience. Hell, I climbed part way out of the door of a speeding car to get the phone and the gun and I didn't even hesitate. I always wondered if I came up against a situation like that if I had the guts to handle it."

Her look was so earnest that Bucky couldn't hold on to his irritation. Softening his tone, he put his hand over hers.

"You did good. Both of you did." He looked at the taxi then at Doan. "We'll cover for you with your boss, tell him you were vital to a mission of national security."

Doan smirked. "Yeah, that'll do it. Really, it's no big deal. Cabbie is the easiest job to get because no one wants to deal with the shit we deal with. Not that this was shit. The lady was right. It was like being in country again, dodging IEDs and Taliban insurgents. Just without the heat and the dust, and I actually knew what the hell I was doing."

About five minutes later, Bucky's phone rang, just as two cars appeared at the top level from the ramp below. They parked in a way that blocked the taxi from leaving. Answering the phone, Bucky heard Sam.

"They found you and we're still 10 minutes out."

"Yeah, they're already here," replied Bucky, hanging up. He looked at Doan and Julie. "Get behind the car. Now."

Neither of them hesitated, retreating to the driver's side which was beside the wall of the parking level. Standing in front of the vehicle, Bucky watched as the doors opened on both other vehicles and four men got out carrying pulse weapons. Another man opened the back door of the second car and an older man stepped out, wearing an expertly tailored suit. The six of them approached, stopping 20 feet away. Instantly, Bucky began his threat assessment of the men, calculating how many he could take out before one of them could fire the alien pulse weapon at him. No matter what strategy he employed, his best efforts would only take out two, maybe three of them before the others could fire on him, killing him in the process.

"Mr. Barnes," said the well-dressed man, lighting up a cigar, Cuban by the smell of the smoke that wafted over. "I have a proposition for you."

"You know who I am?"

The man shrugged. "No one else has an arm like that. You have a skill set that could be worth millions to you."

"I'm used to not having much money," replied Bucky. "Wouldn't know what to do with it."

"Then I'll make you an offer you can't refuse," smiled the man. He grinned at his men. "Always wanted to use that line." His face became deadly serious. "Work for me and I'll let the woman and cab driver go. You have my word."

"You see, I know who you are, too, Senor Escobar. You're not known for keeping your word. The other cartels call you cobarde y malo for a reason."

The man's face reddened, then he sneered.

"You dare call me a coward to my face?”

"If the shoe fits." A faraway sound became audible to Bucky's ears, and he chose his next words carefully, trying to give them the time they needed. "If you let them go now, I might consider your offer but that's the only way I'll listen to you."

"No," said Julie's voice behind him, as he heard her stand up. "We're not leaving you."

The cartel leader started laughing and pointed behind Bucky. His men smiled. "So brave of the woman and cab driver to think they can go up against these pulse weapons."

"Julie, Doan, stand down," said Bucky. "He's right. Those weapons will disintegrate you. Why do you think I haven't acted against him yet?"

"I don't care why," said Julie. "We're in this together."

"You're civilians!" He yelled, glancing back, then faced the cartel men again, while rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Jesus Murphy. Doan, please, stand down."

"Nope," said the cabbie, firmly. "Sometimes, you have to stand up for the right thing. L'aide est presque là."

"What have you done?" asked Bucky, ignoring the cartel men now, as he turned to the two, who were standing there with guns from his backpack trained on the others.

"Just called the police on my cell phone," he admitted. "Told them there was a bunch of cartel guys with nasty looking guns." He looked up to the buildings surrounding them. "The SWAT team should be in position now."

A shot rang out, hitting one of the men holding a pulse weapon in the shoulder, sending him toppling. As Bucky hit the ground, there was a hail of gunfire as Red Wing showed up and began spraying shots at the cartel men, sending them for cover towards their car but the gunfire forced them to halt. Two sets of wings appeared as both Sam and Torres hovered over the scene targeting the cartel leader, focusing two red dots of light onto his chest.

"Stand down, Escobar," ordered Sam. "Order your men to drop their weapons or I'll let SWAT finish what they started."

The other three men instantly put the pulse weapons down and backed away, placing their hands behind their head. Escobar reached out for a weapon, but his hand didn't even come close as Bucky jumped up and leaped towards him, picking him up by the neck and holding him up in the air. Sam and Torres landed nearby, approaching the pair as Escobar's face began to turn red.

"Hey," said Bucky, still looking up at the struggling cartel leader. "About time you got here."

"Well, once we found out SWAT was on the scene we slowed up a bit. Looks like you have it under control."

"Please," gasped Escobar. "Can't ... breathe."

Around them, the police were arriving, frisking, and placing cuffs on the other men. Sam placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder, and he released Escobar, who fell hard onto the pavement of the parking garage. Two police officers picked him up and frisked then cuffed him before leading him away. The quinjet landed on the large open space next to the taxi; the ramp opening almost at once as Kate and Peter came out, fully ready to engage. Yelena followed a moment later as she had been piloting and had to do a quick checklist first.

"We missed all the fun," she pouted when she appeared at the top of the ramp and began walking down. "Why are we even here?"

Bucky ignored her and turned towards the taxi, where Doan and Julie were leaning. He jerked his head at them to bring them forward.

"Everyone, this is Julie North and Doan. They helped me. It was Doan who phoned the police."

"Good thinking," said Sam. "Either of you injured?"

"Nope," said Julie, nonchalantly. "Before the bad guys got here, we were just telling Bucky how much we liked being involved in this. I don't know if Doan's interested, but are you guys hiring?"

"Doan is ex-military and kept his cool," said Bucky. "He would fit right in." He looked at him. "You spoke French to me. Any other languages?"

"Spanish and some Pashtun."

Sam looked at Doan. "That's high praise coming from Bucky. What about Julie?"

Bucky studied her for a long time, at least it seemed that way to her, hopeful that he would say something good about her.

"She did good, but she'll need a lot of training and I mean, a lot," he finally said. "I don't know if she can handle that."

"I can," she declared firmly. "Especially if you train me. I think we worked well together."

A flicker of a smile crossed Bucky's face. He leaned his face close to her ear.

"Be careful what you wish for, Julie North. I can be a hard man to please when I'm training recruits."

Both Yelena and Kate coughed, then smiled behind their hands.

One Year Later

The quinjet landed at the compound, the ramp opening to a welcoming party. As Tom Doan and Julie North walked down in their tac suits, applause began for the successful completion of the two rookie's first mission. Scott Lang stepped forward, offering his hand to shake theirs.

"You do know that the first round is on both of you," he said. "After that, we'll pick up the tab. Just remember that Bucky and Thor can drink anyone under the table, and don't have any of Thor's Asgardian mead. You have an hour to shower and get ready for the Ubers. Meet out front."

"Mission report and debriefing first thing in the morning, 09:00," said Bucky, to the groans of everyone.

He headed for the armoury, putting his firearms in his gun locker for cleaning in the morning. Normally, he would do it as soon as the mission was over, but this was a special occasion. Heading towards his quarters, he undid his tac suit jacket as he walked, and opened the door, noticing clothes on the floor. Shaking his head, he picked them up and draped them on a chair, then toed off his boots and took the rest of his clothes off. As he approached the bathroom, he could hear the shower going and smiled. When he opened the shower door, Julie was already there, standing under the stream of water.

"How did you get in here?" he asked.

She handed him the shampoo.

"I just asked Friday in a really nice way."

Stepping close behind her, he poured some shampoo into his hand and applied it to her hair, bringing up lots of lather while he gently massaged her scalp. When he was finished, she rinsed it off and turned around, looking up at the super soldier, gazing at him while he applied conditioner to her hair.

"You know, you were supposed to do this in your own quarters," he said.

"I know, but now that I passed the test, and completed my first mission, I thought we should come clean with everyone. I'm tired of playing make-believe, that there's nothing going on between us."

He saw the chain around her neck with the ring on it and picked it up in his hand.

"Alright, we'll tell everyone we got married. They may make you take the test again if they think I went easy on you."

Julie smiled, in that way that made him fall in love with her within a month of her starting her training.

"I have every confidence in my abilities after being trained by the best. They all know you don't make it easy. You're a hard man to please Sergeant Barnes."

"Not in everything," he smiled, taking her in his arms.

Thirty minutes later, they were dressed and ready to go. Bucky pulled his dog tags out and detached his wedding band from the chain, as Julie did the same with hers. Smiling at each other they slid the rings on their fingers then kissed for good measure. With a nod at each other, they left Bucky's quarters together, ready to show everyone what they really were, in love and married.

cobarde y malo – cowardly and mean

L'aide est presque là – help is almost here

One Shots Masterlist

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[kpop---scenarios]

Linked (1)

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun x Y/N

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Eventual Smut, Mean people, Language.

A/N: I'm back baby! I hope you all enjoy the first chapter!!

"Miss Y/N?" A woman says, breaking you out of your concentration of looking at tikok’s. 

Startled, you look up and standing before you is a very pretty, well dressed woman holding files between her petite fingers. "Are you ready for your interview?" She asks. 

Taking a small breath, as you nod your head and smile at the woman. "I'm Ava, and I'll be conducting your interview on Mr. Byun's behalf." She says, walking through the office hallways. It's so plain, the white walls just dying for at least a pop of color, or even a picture of some sort. Ava leads you into a plain white room, nothing in it but the necessary items. Did you really want to work somewhere so boring? You were lost in your thoughts again after answering only a few routine questions. 

"I think you'd be a perfect fit for this job." Ava smiles. You'd only been talking for 15 minutes before she decided. 

"Thank you." You smile. 

"I'd like to offer you the position as the Senior Data Analyst. You'd be working directly under Mr. Byun." She tells you. 

"Sure. Yes, thank you so much." You say. One thing checked off your list. Find a job, find an apartment, and get settled in this new town. Luckily you had an apartment view right after this interview, and considering you were hired on the spot you had an extremely good feeling. 

The apartment sucked, but you took it anyway. You would try your best to make the small studio apartment feel like home, but you weren't quite sure how. You weren't the most stylish, if you really had to describe yourself, you were quite bland. You knew the clothes you wore were a size or two too big, but you had no urge to change yourself. For what, or for who? You had no one in your life to care about, you didn't even care about yourself.

You laid in your bed that night, staring at the popcorn ceiling, as you remembered why you moved here in the first place, and your heart broke all over again. 

**

Slowly and quietly you pressed your ear to the bedroom door at this party. 

"Stop telling Y/N she has a chance with me. Please, it makes me sick to even think about it." You hear Hongjoong laugh loudly. "I can't even listen to her talk for more than 30 seconds at a time. I don't know how you do it. Her voice is so fucking annoying." 

"Right? I swear to go sometimes I feel like my ears are bleeding. And you should see her when she cries. So fucking ugly." You hear Maya giggle. 

"And is it just me or is she fucking dumb? How could she love me for all these years and not realize how repulsed I am by her?" He asks. 

Ouch. 

“I know math isn’t her best subject but Christ, can't she add up all the things you don’t do around her and see you’re not into her, and never will be? I mean, you try to leave the room whenever she enters." Maya laughs. "So there's no chance of you leaving me for her?" 

"You think I'm gonna leave a goddess like you, for that thing? Come on, baby, you should know me better than that. Plus, she doesn't have a set of tits like these." He laughs. 

As quickly as the hurtful words began, they stopped. You weighed your options of what to do but your body still felt too numb to move. 

You stood there, your ear pressed against the door feeling your stomach sink. You wanted to run away but it was like your feet were glued to the floor. 

The floor that made your knees feel weak as you turned the door knob and pushed the door open to see Maya, on top of Hongjoong. 

The music that was once pounding in your ears was now quiet. It was so muffled as you began to only hear your own shallow and fast breaths. You could hear and feel your heart pumping at a pace you were sure was off the charts, while also slowly ripping into tiny pieces. 

You felt like you couldn't breathe as his hands gripped her body. They hadn't heard the door opening. 

The walls were suddenly caving in as he slowly slid his fingers up and down her curves moving over her ass to squeeze it. 

Tears fell from your eyes as you watched him touching her in ways that you had once dreamt about. 

Your face begins to burn in complete embarrassment. The fucking betrayal you felt from someone who said they loved you. Maya was supposed to be your best friend. She was the one who was by your side when you cried, wondering why he didn't love you back. She held you as you sobbed into her lap, she wiped your tears away and always had comforting words for you. She would laugh at his Instagram page with you and acted as if she didn't even like him.

But here she was ripping you apart with him for their own enjoyment.  

**

Tears streamed from your face as you rolled over in your bed. You hated remembering that day. The day you lost your best friend. It hurt so bad and you know you needed to move on but that's always easier said than done.

The next morning you woke up, exhausted and not ready for the day but you had your first day of work. You'd tried to look up Mr. Byun last night, but there were no pictures of him anywhere. You thought that was a little odd, but didn't chalk it up too much. You got ready for the day in record time, putting on your too big skirt, with your too big shirt and oversized blazer. You put your hair up the best you could and avoided all makeup. 

Slowly, you walk into the building, making your way to the 35th floor, where your office was supposed to be. The entire floor was empty when you arrived. Just the way you liked it. You popped in your airpods, started your music and got to work organizing the 5 items on your desk. It took you roughly 3 minutes. You glanced at the clock, 6:55am. You still had 35 minutes until you were technically supposed to start, but it never hurt to get a head start. You worked for a little bit, listening to your favorite songs before you barely noticed a few people entering their cubicles. You mostly ignored them, offering a small nod of acknowledgement before getting back to work. You hadn't noticed anyone walking into the all glass office in front of you, until you felt your heart tug. A feeling you had never once felt before. You looked up and saw the most handsome, stone-cold looking man you'd ever seen. You couldn't take your eyes off of him, it was like you were drawn to him. 

"Handsome, huh?" You hear, breaking you out of your trance. 

"Who? What?" You say, looking up. Standing in front of you is a thin, blonde bombshell with a smile that could make you forget any worry in your life. “Hi. I’m Y/N.” You cough. She was so beautiful, it made you extremely nervous. 

"Hi, I'm Lisa, I work in that cubicle to your left." She says with a smile. “I just wanted to bring these over for approval from you, and introduce myself.” She explains, showing a small pile of papers in her hand. You were listening to her, but you had a hard time keeping yourself engaged in the conversation. Your eyes continued to dart towards the man who took your breath away and Lisa definitely noticed. She let out a small giggle to regain your attention. You swiftly looked back at her, giving her an apologetic smile. 

 "That's Mr. Byun.” She tells you. “Do your work, don’t get in his way and don’t question him and you’ll be just fine.” she tells you. 

“He looks mad.” You say, taking a quick glance at him before looking back to Lisa. 

“That’s just his face I think. He always looks like he’s got a painful stick up his ass." She whispers. 

"Why did you start whispering?" You asked. 

She sets the pile of papers on your desk, looking back towards Mr. Byun's office and looking back at you. "He hears everything." She whispers again, walking out of your office with a smile.  

Your eyes turned over to Mr. Byun, you were having a hard time turning your gaze somewhere else. There was just something about him that was driving you crazy. You watched as he shouted at someone on the phone, the veins in his neck and hands popping out intensely. His dark brown hair flowed perfectly on his head. His suit fit him perfectly, you could see the muscles all over his body. 

Suddenly he slammed the phone down onto the receiver, you were surprised it didn’t break with the amount of force he used. He rubs his eyes before running his fingers through his hair. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours without hesitation. Your heart pulls toward him. You wanted to get out of your seat and slip your tongue into his mouth. You wanted to be near him, holding him and you didn't know why. His eyes are still on yours as he walks out of his office, heading straight for you. Your heart begins to pound as he gets closer to you. 

"Who are you?" He asks, abruptly. You're looking directly in his eyes, you can’t help but almost get lost in them. They’re so dark, like they're filled with pure hatred. 

"Uh, I'm L/N Y/N. I'm your new Senior Data Analyst. " You respond. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Byun." 

"We’ll see about that. Get to work Miss. L/N." He says, walking out of your office and back to his. Your eyes meet again as he brings down his shade, his eyes still glued to yours. 

The rest of the day, you couldn't get him off your mind. You had a hell of a time trying to focus on any of your work. You just wanted to see him again. Anytime you let your mind wonder, it went to him immediately. You felt like you loved him but you didn't even know him.

After you had finally finished all your work, it was dark outside. You let out a big, loud yawn as you stretched your body from your desk. You gathered all your belongings and turned the lights out to your office. As you walked by Mr. Byun’s office, you noticed the lights were still on. You peaked in through a small patch of glass that was uncovered from the shade and saw him sitting at his desk with another extremely handsome man, sitting across from him. You knew you shouldn’t have been peaking in, but your curiosity got the better of you. Within seconds, Mr. Byun’s head whipped around, his eye’s shooting daggers towards you. 

You let out a small screech before you quickly take off to the elevator, hoping that either it comes fast or he doesn't come out of his office after you. You get onto the elevator and press the close door button as quickly as you can.

You made it home that night without incident and without Mr. Byun yelling at you for being nosey. You just needed to mind your business and not do that again. 

You dreamt of him that night. His hands gliding over your body, his tongue licking you everywhere, how he tasted, how it felt to have him on top of you. You woke up in a puddle of sweat the next morning. You had so wished it was real. 

The rest of the week went by, and he paid you no attention at all. He didn't even bring up your little snooping issue. Whenever he had a request from you, he sent Ava to ask you. Obviously he couldn’t be bothered to do it himself. You hated that. You wanted to see him again. 

He kept the shades of his glass office down, further avoiding any contact with you. It wasn’t until the next week that you’d finally be able to see him again. Lisa had ever-so apologetically placed a stack of papers on your desk, minutes before 5pm. You weren't one to just leave the papers for the morning, and honestly, you had no one waiting for you at home so why wouldn't you stay late and do them. Around 8pm, you’d finally finished and you were carefully planning Lisa’s murder for the next day. You were exhausted. You grabbed your coat off the back of your chair and rubbed your eyes while you walked towards the elevator. You were so tired you didn’t even look in Mr. Byun’s office as you passed it. You had expected him to have left hours ago anyways. You pressed the down button on the wall and waited silently. It wasn't until a few seconds later you felt someone standing behind you. The doors to the elevator ding, sliding open. You turn around and see him standing there, an unimpressed expression plastered on his face. 

He looks at you and at the open elevator doors, motioning for you to get in. your brain finally clicks and you get on as he follows behind you. You press the button for the first floor and prepare for an uncomfortable and silent ride down 34 floors. Mr.Byun takes a deep breath as he stands next to you, your arms just almost touching. “Why are you here?” he murmurs under his breath. You barely didn’t quite catch what he had said. 

“What was that?” You ask, turning your head to look at him. 

He sighs. Turning towards you, taking a few steps until you're backed into the wall. He places his hand next to your head, leaning himself in closer to you. 

“I said.. Why are you here?” he whispers, his lips so close to yours. “Do you have any fucking idea what youre doing to me?” he asks, breathing heavily. His head moves closer to you, his lips narrowly escaping yours as he places his head onto your neck, inhaling deeply. It was like he couldn't get enough of your smell. Before you could say anything the elevator dings, and he moves away from you as fast as he can, walking out into the lobby, leaving you there wondering what the fuck just happened.

**

Over the next several weeks after that incident, he kept trying his best to ignore you. Everyday. Occasionally you’d catch a glance of him, and the eye contact was so intense you could feel heat running through your entire body. Everyday that you didn’t see him, your heart hurt more and more. You couldn’t explain why but it felt like it was breaking you. You knew it was ridiculous, he was your boss, how could you love him? 

You didn't have an answer to why you did, but you did and you really didn't want to.

After working at your office for a few months, you decided you needed a change. You were tired of looking frumpy and exhausted while everyone around you looked bright and amazing. You needed to reinvent yourself, and spice up your life and you needed to do it now or you wouldn’t do it at all. That weekend you took the plunge. 

You went to the salon first. you got your hair done something that was better suited for you, a new style and new color. You went to the mall, and completely changed your wardrobe from the baggy clothes you were wearing to things you normally would never wear. You bought outfits that actually fit you, and showed off your body instead of hiding it. You bought proper bras and sexy panties. You felt good and different, but a good different. You couldn't wait to showcase the new you. You had never felt so confident in yourself before, and you loved it. 

Monday morning, you strutted into the office, your dress hugging your curves, your hair bouncing as you walked. You could feel all eyes on you as you walked to your office. You had never felt everyone watching you in a good way before and it felt amazing. You placed your jacket on the hook and sat in your chair to get to work. Lisa walked into your office with her mouth hanging wide open. 

“Girl.” She squeals. “You look phenomenal!” She eye’d you up and down, admiring your outfit.

You could feel your cheeks get hot from the compliment. “Thank you.” you laughed. “It feels weird, but good.” you tell her. 

“It should feel all good, girl. You look great.” she smiles. “Also Ava is out today, so i've been instructed to tell you that Mr. Byun needs to see you in his office.” She says, side eyeing his office.  

You try your best to swallow the lump in your throat as you nod your head. You hadn't seen him when you walked in, and you anxiously wondered what he would possibly think of your new look. You stood up, smoothed out your dress before heading towards his office. You stood in front of the door, breathing heavily as you knocked lightly on his door. 

“Come in.” you hear from a gruff voice. 

You turn the handle to his door and walk in and it’s like you can’t breathe. He sits there, his hands in his lap, leaning back in his chair. Fuck he looks so good. 

“You wanted to see me?” you ask. 

“You changed yourself.” he points out. His eyes trail your body up and down as he admires you. 

“Just a few things. What did you need to see me for, Mr. Byun?” you ask. You wanted to get out of there as fast as you could. Your heart was racing, you could feel the sweat covering the palms of your hands. 

“Call me Baekhyun.” he says, getting out of his chair. He walks towards you, almost in slow-motion, like he was gliding towards you. You step back as he gets closer to you. His head reaches out, caressing your face. 

“It’s getting too hard to fight, Y/N.” he whispers, looking deep into your eyes. “I don’t want to want you.” 

“I don’t want to want you either.” You admit. 

“You feel it too? The pull, the urge, the desperation?” he asks. You can’t speak, you can only nod your head. “Then it’s true.. You are my mate.”  

“I'm your what..” you ask. Before he can answer, his door swings open. Baekhyun backs away from you and in walks a brunette bombshell. She was absolutely stunning and you’d never seen her before. 

“Jennie.” Baekhyun says, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

“Poor girl looks frightened, Baeky.” she smiles. “I hope you're not scaring your staff too much.” she giggles. 

“Who are y..” you begin before she cuts you off. 

“Oh!” she laughs. “I’m Jennie Kim.” she announces, moving closer to Baekhyun,  wrapping her arm around him. 

“I’m his fiancee.”