#*fucking just...runs Branch over with angst*

[fangomango]

Hey

Hey guess what I just thought of :>

Once Grandma Rosiepuff died branch only wore Floyd's vest which is why it left with him when he escaped the troll tree

It's because he never took it off

(He also totally had nights where he just missed his brothers so much and didn't sleep and just laid in bed curled up into the vest crying...totally)

[sweetnans]

Pairing: Fem reader/Bakugo Katsuki. Tw: Mention of injuries. Some angst with happy ending.

You turned on the TV, lately it was the only thing that could get you out of your head after you (mostly you) and your (ex) boyfriend decided it was better to go separate ways. Gladly, you sat in awe when you watched the main character of your favorite reality show (a guilty pleasure that only Katsuki knew about). You were very attracted by the fights, the plots, the drama, and the challenges.

The male character was about to kiss his enemy, the one and only that sabotage his new cabain made of leaves and branches when the Tv went all black, then the news started.

The helicopter was flying above a big villain who was making the hell of a mess downtown. Dozens of heroes were fighting with their quirks and abilities, trying to put it down, but it seemed like the fight was just in the beginning, and that monster was the kind that need a lot of time to knock down.

"Shit" you whispered to the TV when familiar faces started to appear.

You didn't miss Kirishima's red hair. The man himself was being held by his classmate and friend Todoroki while they slid on ice. Kaminari was there too, putting his electronic devices everywhere near the villain.

Your eyes were darting all over the screen. If you could enter to it to see further, God knows you would. You were looking for him, searching all over the place, discharging everyone who didn't look like him. It was hard. Everything was happening so fast that you were missing everyone you laid your eyes on.

"Dammit, please don't be there, please don't be there..."

It was selfish and unrealistic. Even if he wasn't on duty (like you), he would've run to the scenario, that is why he chose a place near his agency, to be there when he's needed.

Emergency messages started to ring on your electronic devices, the authorities called to an immediate evacuation to the zone.

You were far away. Bakugo made sure of that when he made you look for a place near the coast rather than downtown. You told him that you would be so far from him, and he said he didn't mind taking the subway or calling for a cab.

You were lost in your thoughts when you spotted him, but suddenly the helicopter ended the transmission when it got hit by the villain, and everything went blury. In an instant, you grabbed the television in despair like if holding onto it with that strength would make everything appear again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck"

That's it, fuck the alarms, fuck the commission, you were going in.

You were aware that at least twenty heroes were there and a few more were about to arrive but you couldn't care less, you needed to see him.

You ran to your closet to find your gear when the Tv started the transmission again. You spotted him again, Deku was on his back, laid on the floor with Uravity on his hands. The cameraman zoomed, and it seemed like she was brutally injured but still breathing. Your heart started to beat so fast. He was the first in line, and you knew that his hands were starting to hurt just for the look he had on his face and the little twitch on his left eyebrow.

The back-ups started to appear one by one, some of them on foot, other through the air. Mina bathed the villain in her acid, and it made him go down on his knees. That was a huge help for the ones that couldn't fly. The sparks that you know too well appeared close to the screen. While Bakugo ignited his hands, Deku and Todoroki immobilized the Villain while Sero caged him with his tape, Creati appeared out of nothing and started tossing granades that exploded against the villain's body, penetrating through the thick layers of his skin. The villain fell right after.

Everybody cheered, they have reporters in different places along the city, recording the reaction of the people who were gathered watching the fight.

On the other hand, the heroes...

They. Were. Beated.

And you were on your knees right in front of the TV, processing everything that could've happened but didn't. Tears started to fall down your cheeks.

You hated what you were feeling. You didn't want to be that kind of person. The kind that realizes what could have lost once you can't have it anymore. He was a fucking person for God's sake and you played with him just because you were scared and now you were mourning something that didn't happened.

You wanted to be there every time he gets home all messy and full of scratches, you wanted to sooth him, to hold him and let him know that everything will be okay, you didn't want to experience anything like this again, not being all alone.

Instead of your gear, you fetched your keys and started to hyperventilate.

What would you say when you see him?

What were you going to do if he hates you?

What if it's too late?

You wanted to apologize for being a coward. You wanted to tell him that you loved him. You wanted to be his again.

You hated yourself for the time you lost with him, but you would hate yourself even more if you didn't try.

You avoided the news and social media. You knew that at least the fourth part of the heroes ended up hospitalized, but you were optimistic. Your guts told you that he was safe and sound in his place, and you wanted to believe that for his (and your) own good.

The time you spent on the cab was infinite. You have done the same path at least a hundred times, but the traffic was horrible because of what happened, and the shortcuts that the drive had to take ended up being even longer.

In an hour or so, you were on the entry of his building. You were bold enough to assume that he would go to his place instead of the agency. Didn't know if that was the most clever thing to do knowing him like you do.

The man on the entry desk greeted you like you never stopped coming, and that was like a pat on the back to keep going. You made it to the elevator even though you hated closed spaces like that and used to avoid them when you were all by yourself. But you lost an hour on the way here. You weren't wasting any more time.

The bell on his door was broken, and he didn't want to fix it because it was too annoying, his words, so you knocked, one, two, three times.

The door opened, not even a minute after the third knock, and Katsuki came into sight with a towel on his hand and his hair wet. He loved to come home after a rough day and jump to his beloved shower.

"Hi" you said, short of breath.

"Hey" He greeted like he wouldn't believe like you were there.

God. This was the first time you saw it after the breakup. First time in a month, and he looked exactly the same as the day you met him.

"I took the elevator," you explained, looking back to the metal box.

"Yeah?" He looked right above you and leaned in the door frame." It didn't seem like it"

Your chest was rising and falling fast.

"Are you going to...

"I'm sorry, I'm the most stupid person you will ever meet." You interrupted him, and he stared at you trying to figure you out like you were some kind of puzzle.

Silence. He stared at you in complete silence. It was a bad idea after all.

Everybody knows him for being this mess of a person who always says what's on his mind no matter if he's being an asshole or not, no matter if he has earned some kind of trust with you, no matter if you even met him. So, being quiet like that wasn't a good omen.

You shook your head, and your right hand went straight to cover your face. You were an idiot, but you couldn't help it. At least you tried.

Your hand didn't even get to touch your face when he wrapped around his fingers and pulled you to his chest.

The warmth that you felt was immediate.

"I fucking missed this" he said lower, just for you to hear.

"I fucking missed you" you complete while your nose scrunched against his chest. The smell and softness of his t-shirt invaded your senses. "I know I can live without you but I don't want to do it anymore"

You looked up, and he was looking down to you. His lips were firmly shaped in a line, but his crimson eyes were full of hope and happiness.

"Yeah, cut that shit, you ain't going anywhere any time soon," He whispered.

You let a laugh out and noticed the little scratches he had all over his face. He noticed how your eyebrows knitted together and showed you a grin.

"Don't ruin the moment," He warned you jokingly.

"I'm sorry, man, but I will," Kirishima emerged out of nowhere and pointed at you. "THAT was manly, not like you, Bakubro, weeping all over the agency with her number on your phone screen, but too coward to hit the button, she just crossed the entire town to say that she's sorry. SHE EVEN TOOK THE ELEVATOR! Do you know how's the traffic out there? Mina is still on the cab she took thirty minutes ago, and she was just four blocks from here.

"Shut up shitty hair, no one asked your fucking opinion" He separated from you to face his friend but never let go. His arms were still on your back, tracing patterns up and down.

"It's not an opinion. It's a fact," shouted Kaminari from the room upstairs.

Do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere! All rights reserved.

[leclerc-hs]

it's cool, we're just friends? - cl16

pairing: college!charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends with benefits!) summary: in which you and a guy in your class are friends with benefits OR you and your friends with benefits might be more? warnings: smut under the cut! thigh-riding, throat-fucking, p in v sex!, no condoms (bad!), badly translated french (pls correct me), angst, pining, NOT PROOFREAD!!!! word count: 4.8k! author's note: so i ALMOST scrapped this entire thing because i wasn't sure how i felt about it so if it sucks, i understand LOL. i had a lot of fun writing this and can see myself writing a lot of scenarios for them like before there was this many feelings involved? like maybe a spring break one shot for them, when they hooked up for first time ;) PLEASE let me hear your thoughts and any comments you have. I love hearing from you guys xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE WEIGHT OF his eyes bore into the back of your skull, a palpable presence as you immerse yourself in the lecture before you. It’s almost become a ritual at this point: a magnetic pull compels you to glance his way, and there he is, a smirk stretching wide across his face, as if he holds the upper hand.

In that fleeting moment where your eyes meet his verdant gaze, a fierce intensity ignites within you. It’s as if a wildfire unleashes, consuming you with an unbridled mix of desire and exasperation. Your stomach tightens with a fervent ache, betraying the absolute irritation you feel at his ability to rile you up with one look.

Internally, Charles wrestles with the urge to gaze at you as though you’ve strung the stars and moon just for him. Yet, outwardly, he remains steadfast, unwilling to reveal his vulnerability when it comes to you. Instead, he masks his emotions behind a practiced smirk—a façade. And the blushing reaction you give him almost every time, only enthuses him more.

“Arrête!” You half-shout, though it emerges more as a whispered urgency amidst the large lecture hall.

Charles leans in over his desk, his lips hovering dangerously close to the shell of your ear, a proximity that sets your heart racing with a rapid intensity.

“Est-ce que je te verra ice soir?” Will I see you tonight?

You kept your head straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the warmth of him being so close, resisting the allure of his voice. 

“Peut-être.” Maybe.

At the front of the lecture hall, Professor Bernard stands tall, his expression grave as he prepares his common ‘you guys are smarter than this’ speech about the recent exam grades. He highlights the alarming fact that more than half of the class received a 70% or lower. And true to his reputation as the kindest professor, he extends an olive branch by offering retakes to those who seek improvement before dismissing the lecture.

You gather your belongings, ready to make your exit, when suddenly, a heavy arm wraps around your shoulder just as you cross the threshold of the door.

You? Aced it. Charles? Not so aced it.

Which you knew meant you were helping him study as usual.

-

You watch as Charles runs his fingers through his disheveled locks, each movement betraying a hint of frustration and determination. His lips form a subtle pout as he fixates on the study material you laid out before him, his furrowed brows highlighting the depth of his concentration.

“Mon chou, je ne pensais pas que tu m’avais invite pour ça.” I didn’t think you invited me over for this.

With a gleam in his eyes, he wiggles his eyebrows playfully as he collapses on the many pillows of your bed behind him. The papers scattered across the bed threaten to take flight, but your swift reflexes saved them from soaring away into chaos.

You narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, but the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrays your amusement at the situation.

“Tu dois étudier.” You need to study.

Charles stares at the corners of your lips, his eyes not straying once from them even as you spoke. 

“Embrasse-moi d’abord.” Kiss me first. He nearly begs; his face almost completely covered by the hood of his sweatshirt as he laid on his back beside your cross-legged figure.

“Étudie.” Study. Your words were firm, yet you could feel your resolve slipping under the intensity of his gaze, as it traces a path from your lips to your eyes, igniting a warmth that stirred whenever he was near.

His arm reaches up behind your neck in a swift motion, too quick for you to even see it coming. His fingers grabbing the nape of your neck in a tight grip as he brings your face down to his, your body toppling over his in an unnatural position from his force. His lips collide with yours instantly, and the squeal you elicit gives him easy access to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

He groans softly against your mouth, something about how sweet your mouth tastes. The moan that escapes your lips and melded into his mouth drove him absolutely crazy. The grip on the back of your neck didn’t loosen as he held you to him, giving you no opportunity to pull away from him.

Your tank top cladded chest was pressed against the side of his body, embracing you in his warmth. You press a hand to his chest, attempting to push yourself up, but he groans against your lips in detest before loosening his grip on your neck. 

“Est-ce vraiment necessaire.” Do we have to? He begins to pepper kisses all around your face, his fingers dipping under the straps of your tank top, tracing intricate patterns of the soft skin beneath.

You slip your hand under the warmth of his hoodie, his toned muscles flexing under your cold fingertips as you trail your hand up his chest and slip one leg over him, straddling his thigh. His skin was so warm. Almost like a furnace.

He sucks in a breath, as if your touch hurt him, but really, he craved it. He wanted you everywhere. The tight leggings that adorned your body did little to prevent Charles from feeling the heat and arousal of your pussy against his thigh. A smirk widened on his lips almost instantly. He knew he had you right where he wanted you.

He could sense your contemplative thoughts by one glance at your eyes. As if you knew he needed to study, but you needed this more.

 You could barely concentrate the minute Charles sprawled onto your bed earlier, his legs spread and shorts riding up to expose the muscles of his thighs. It was even harder to think with the way his soft green eyes look up at you, and the way his fingers felt on you.

His hand trails from beneath the strap of your tank top, your hardened nipples more than visible through the thin fabric of it, to the front of your breasts.

“No bra?” His thumb rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger above the fabric of your shirt. “Planning on getting fucked, hm?” 

Your hips rut against his thigh almost instantly in response to his words. The feeling of his thigh against your clit, causing a soft moan to slip. It was then, that Charles seemed to lose all restraint as his hand grasped the side of your neck and squeezed lightly, his thumb resting in the center of your neck. He flexed his thigh, his eyes gleaming at the sight of your blown out pupils.

“Regarde-toi,” Look at you. He edged you on. “Just wanna ride m’thigh, yeah?” 

Your hips move in their own rhythm, unable to stop. It just feels too good. You nodded repeatedly as you lean over, pressing your chest to his, as he claims your lips once again. His hot, tongue sliding against yours as the stubble of his facial hair scratches your chin.

You struggle, losing the rhythm of your hips until Charles slid his hands down to your waist, guiding your movements. “C’mon mon chou, tu dois travailler pour ça.” You have to work for it.

“We should study.” You mention, the pace of your hips not stopping. As if your body has a mind of its own.

“Nous sommes.” We are. He argues, his fingertips squeezing into the skin of your hips even more. “Now, keep rubbing that pretty little pussy on me.”

-

“Oh, what about her?” You point to the pretty brunette that was currently leaned against the wall, a red solo cup in her manicured hand, as she was deep in conversation with a few other girls that you haven’t seen before.

Charles sighs heavily, rolling his eyes just slightly. “Why are you pawning me off?” He cracks a smile, his elbows gently hitting your side.

You let out a small laugh before bringing your own cup to your lips. The liquid of your drink resting on the top of your lip as you finished a sip and turned to look at Charles. “M’not!” You shrug your shoulders. “Elle est jolie and keeps looking at you thinkin’ no one’s noticed.” She’s pretty.

He wouldn’t know about the ‘pretty brunette’ you claimed was there. He didn’t know about any other girl that was here. His eyes haven’t left your figure the entire night. Since you stepped in the entrance of the house he was by your side, it was like his body knew you arrived.

“Peu importe ça, m’gonna go dance.” Whatever. You stick your tongue out at him, earning a deep laugh, and saunter off to find one of your friends already on the makeshift dance floor in the living room of the house. 

Charles leans casually against the wall, his eyes tracing the contours of your radiant smile from afar. Despite himself, a soft grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he takes in the sight of you.

“Are you sure you’re not together?” One of his friends, Alex, teases, leaning in close to Charles and handing him a red solo cup, its contents mostly frothy beer foam from an evidently lazy pour. “I was thinking of asking her out.”

Charles’s gaze drift from the frothy mess in his cup to Alex’s expectant face, a furrow forming on his brow. It wasn’t the foam that troubled him, rather, it was Alex’s words that unsettled him. How was he supposed to respond? We aren’t together but I think I’m in love with her?

Charles clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to speak his truth, as the words “have at it” slip past his lips with a forced nonchalance. With a hollow smile, he raises the cup to his lips, swallowing the acrid liquid with a newfound eagerness that masked the bitter taste of envy and longing festering in his chest. As Alex made his way towards you, Charles couldn’t help but feel a pang of anguish, knowing that he was relinquishing his chance to confess his feelings, drowning them instead in the depths of a cheap beer.

-

“Mmm, tu es tellement douée.” You’re so good.

You weren’t quite sure how you ended up in this scenario. All you remember is being dragged away from a game of beer-pong with Alex, his fingers gripping your wrist so tightly it could’ve left marks, and shoving you onto your knees as soon as he shut the bathroom door. 

Dwelling on the how’s and why’s seemed inconsequential now. Especially with his cock buried deep down your throat like it is right now, and especially with the praises that slip past his lips.

Charles lulls his head back with a loud groan as he flexes his hips into your mouth, giving you little to no opportunity to breathe. No opportunity to speak. But you didn’t care. You would do anything to please him.

“Tellement putain de jolie, mon dieu.” So fucking pretty, my God.

“Bet you’re soaked under that dress, hm?” His grip on your hair tightens. “Got you all wet without even touching you.” His laugh is deep and mocking. You feel your thighs clench, like it was an automatic response. “Only I get you like this, yeah?”

You press your face forward, not even needing his force as you take full enjoyment in the feeling of him in your mouth.

“So eager, mon chou.”

You moan at the feeling of his smooth cock against the walls of your throat. The vibrations of your moan, immediately sending him over the edge. His white, hot cum spills down your throat, filling you up, before he pulls out. A long string of saliva follows, your eyes completely teary. 

He lifts you from your knees, the cool tile of the bathroom floor no longer your support, his thumb gently resting on your chin as he studies you for a mere second. Taking in the streaky tears under your eyes and your swollen lips. He could already feel the blood rushing back to his cock.

“Bet you’re leaking all over yourself, yeah?” You catch the smirk that pulls onto his lips before his lips crash down onto yours. His teeth nibbling on your bottom lip for a brief second before he’s pulling away, pushing you up onto the bathroom sink counter as he stands in between your spread legs. “All achy?” He cocked his head to the side a little, like he knew something you didn’t.

It was so fast, you weren’t even able to ask questions before he leaned forward, his fingers slipping into the lace of your underwear, pushing them aside, and pressing his hot tongue to your soaked core.

You swore you’ve never moaned so loud in your life as you just did in this moment.  At the feeling of the kitten licks on your clit, at the feeling of him shoving two fingers into you, finding that spot he knew you loved most almost instantly.

Your fingers franticly reached into his tousled locks, pulling his hair probably harder than necessary, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he moaned right into your pussy. Like he couldn’t ever get enough of you. Like he would stay licking you for forever if he could.

“Mon dieu,” My god. You squeal as your head lulls back against the cool mirror behind you and bite your lip trying to conceal the moans.

You look down at Charles, his eyes already staring at you, his green eyes completely darkened now. It makes your stomach do a multitude of flips. Your attempt to squeeze your legs shut from the pressure building in your stomach, but Charles grips his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh, holding them open.

A series of knocks are heard on the bathroom door which sends you into a total panic to which Charles yells “Va te faire foutre!” Fuck off!

 Your body squirms against Charles’ mouth and the granite of the countertop, but he holds you in place as if to say you’re not going anywhere until you soak my mouth.

He ate you out like a possessed man. Your chest is flushed red as the speed of his tongue picks up, sending you into overdrive. It wasn’t until he sucks harshly on your clit, the pressure of it, has you leaping over the edge into your orgasm. You came hard enough that your body arched, your fingers clenching his hair, pulling hard.

Charles doesn’t come up right away, he licks and licks until you’re pushing him off you. Both of your chests rose and fell in rhythm with each heavy breath, the lingering echoes of the lively party beyond the door gradually seeping back into your consciousness. It felt as though you had just descended from a faraway realm, returning to the bustling reality surrounding you.

His lips glistened, coated in you, as he stares at you completely fucked out on the bathroom counter. An unmistakable smugness in his expression.

His heart clenches as he drinks in the sight of you, so many emotions swirling in his chest. As you stretch your lips into that smile he loves so much, he feels a swell of warmth flood his senses, a tender ache stirring in the depths of his soul.

“Qu’est-ce qui te prend?” What’s gotten into you?

Not that you were complaining at what just happened. If anything, you wouldn’t mind if he wanted a repeat right now.

He nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, one hand leisurely slipping into his pocket, while the other moved to grasp the door handle. With a patient stance, he awaited your readiness before even considering opening the door. “J’avais juste besoin de toi,” Just needed you. He whispers, his voice carrying a tender resonance, emphasizing the depth of longing.

And then he’s swinging the door open, guiding you both back to the party.

-

“Je pense que nous devrions arrêter.” I think we should stop.

The words felt heavy in your throat as you said them, your hand clasped in Charles’ hand as you sat across from one another in the campus coffee shop.

Charles chuckled softly, taking a leisurely sip of his drink, but when be caught the seriousness in your expression, his laughter faded. His eyebrows knitted together, a pang of pain igniting in his chest and spreading like wildfire.

You watched as he leaned his head back against the booth, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if unable to meet your eyes.

“Que veux-tu dire?” What do you mean? He met your eyes again, and you noticed a subtle shift in their hue—they were slightly darker than their usual shade of green.

“Je ne pense pas que ç ava marcher.” I don’t think this is going to work out. As you uttered the words, a queasy sensation churned in your stomach, making you feel like you were going to be sick. Similarly, Charles felt a wave of nausea wash over him upon hearing your words, his own stomach in knots.

Just looking at him had your eyes burning, but you refused to let the tears fall. Despite the overwhelming love you felt for this man, you couldn’t ignore the reality that it was unlikely to progress beyond the messy situation you found yourselves in. What were you supposed to do? Be friends that fuck for the rest of your lives?

You couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. No, you’ve been thinking about this for so long, but cutting it off was just too hard. Cutting him off was too hard.

As you watched him slowly retract his fingers from yours, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose while he blinked, a fiery ache within your chest grew.

“We’re friends, always, right?” You asked, offering him a soft smile, though inside, your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest. You reminded yourself that this was necessary. You needed to go on dates. Not that he was exactly holding you back. It just felt wrong to go on dates while sleeping with another.

“Right,” he responded, his expression devoid of a smile. “Friends.” He nodded slowly, as if carefully considering the weight of the situation before him.

“Est-ce que je peux demander ce qui a déclencé cela?” Can I ask what brought this up? His fingers tapped restlessly along the edge of the table, betraying his impatience as he awaited your answer.

Meanwhile, you sat twiddling your thumbs in your lap, occasionally stealing glances at them. Why did this conversation feel so unbearably difficult?

“Quoi?” What?

“Est-ce que j’ai fait quelque chose?” Did I do something?

You shook your head instantly, a small blush forming on your cheeks. “I just,” You began, but felt flustered as you took a pause to look back down at your fingers and then him again. His eyes made you feel hot all over, the way they never strayed from your face whenever you spoke to him, the way they dropped to your lips every so often as if he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you. He couldn’t.

“I just think I need to go on dates.” You nervously smiled.

“You think?” He scoffed, throwing one arm over the top of the booth, and resting it there as he fell into a relaxed position. His eye twitched slightly, as he flexed his hand and clenched it like he was holding himself back.

You’re not sure how to respond. You had anticipated this conversation to be brief, perhaps along the lines of “I think we should end this,” followed by his immediate agreement. But apparently, that wasn’t the case. You could feel yourself growing flustered the longer you sat here. Why couldn’t he just simply agree, no questions asked.

You nodded, with slight hesitance. Did you really want to end it with him? No.

He shrugged his shoulders, pulling a little smirk on his face as he usually did. “Très bien.” Fine.

And that was that.

-

Charles decided that he had it up to here when you strolled into the house party, lips shiny with gloss, and you hand held in none other than Alex’s. It was as if you were trying to torture him. Like you knew that he loved you and you just wanted to hurt him a little more.

He’s watching, you can feel his eyes burn into you as you turn your head, pretending to listen to Alex as he rambles on about some story. You don’t let yourself glance over to Charles until later in the night, when he’s leaned up against the kitchen counter, a half-empty beer bottle gripped in his hand, eyes already on you.

You felt your stomach do a multitude of flips from the eye-contact, that you even almost pulled your hand from Alex’s. Like you were caught doing something wrong.

You quickly realized that you had little to no self-control, especially when it came to Charles. With his hair pushed back and the linen shirt half-unbuttoned, allowing the toned and taut muscles of his stomach to peek through, it almost seemed as though he wanted to make it even harder for you to resist. Like he wanted to punish you for not choosing him.

He had you right where he wanted you, sort of.

“Shh,” Charles nips at your earlobe, eliciting a mewl from you as he presses you against the mattress of his bed. “You want everyone to hear what a whore you are, hm?”

Another string of moans leaves your lips as he thrusts into you, the pads of his fingers gripping the front of your neck tightly. His eyes fixed on yours, the pace of his hips was slow, but so deep. 

“Tell me,” Charles began, his tongue trailing along your collarbones and up your neck until his mouth hovered over yours. “Still wanna play stupid games with me, jolie fille?” Pretty girl.

You whined as his hips picked up in pace. “Ouvrir.” Open. You did so without a second thought, only to be met with a string of saliva meeting your tongue. Charles groaned as you swallowed his spit, eagerly.

“Still wanna pretend we’re just friends?” He could feel your walls trembling as her hand snaked its way to the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers. It was a tangle of tongues and moans.

“Does he fuck you as good as me?” You couldn’t handle the way he was talking to you, staring at you, touching you. “Gripping me like you’re gonna come.”

You shook your head repeatedly. 

“That’s it,” His voice was gentle in your ear. “So good, mon chou.” 

Your breaths were jagged and heavy as he took you harder and harder. “Rub your pretty little clit for me, yeah?” 

Your body was shaking as you trailed your fingers down, fingers playing with your clit. Charles rested on his knees, his eyes staring at his cock being swallowed by your pussy, and the way your fingers toyed with your sensitive clit. He groaned at the sight of his cock coated in you. 

It wasn’t long before you careening forward with a cry, your body arching off the bed, as you came around his cock. Charles fell forward over you, an arm on each side of your head, as he cocooned you. His hips didn’t let up as you sobbed out, your toes curling.

Charles could feel his resolve slipping at the feeling of your soaked walls clenching him. He threw his head into the crevice of your neck, the rhythm of his hips faltering as you wrapped your legs around his waist, allowing him to thrust even deeper than before. He rolled his hips, pumping into you with such a fervent rush. 

“Mon dieu,” His groans were soft in your ear. “You feel so good.”

It wasn’t until you moaned in his ear, begging for him to come in you, that he lost all control. A deep moan, pressing his hips down against yours as he held you down, pumping his cum deep into you.

For a few moments, it was silent. Just the sound of your heavy breaths as Charles collapsed to the side of you. You both felt oddly at peace, even with the thumping of the house party music heard from the other side of his bedroom door.

Charles stood up, grabbing a towel from his bathroom, before bringing it to you to help clean you up. Something primal filled his chest as he stared at you sprawled on his bed, his cum dripping out of you. 

It was the last swipe of the towel when he finally spoke.

“We’re not friends.” He stated. He was sick of teetering around the topic. He was sick of seeing you with other guys at his house.

You opened your mouth to retort, but he held his hand up, essentially silencing you. 

“Stop pretending you want any other guy’s cock.” He stood before you as you sat up on the edge of the bed still naked, hands clenched at his sides in a fist. You began to stand up, your face turning red with anger, not because of his words but because he was right.

You grabbed your dress that was in a pile on the floor, slipping it on in a hurry. “Je dois partir.” I need to go. You began, “Alex me cherche probablement.” Alex is probably looking for me.

It was then that Charles raised his voice, if it weren’t for the loud music, you could’ve sworn the entire house would’ve heard.

“J’en ai tellement marre de ça!” I’m so sick of this! He runs his fingers through his hair, pacing the room back and forth. You felt your words caught in your throat as you stood still, your eyes following his every movement until he stood before you, his hands gripping your waist.. “Je t’aime!” I love you! He laughs after he says it, like he’s so pathetically in love with you and you have no care in the world for it.

“I cannot handle seeing you with another man.” He rambles off. “I cannot handle seeing you showing up here, to my home, holding another man’s hand.” He seethes, bringing his thumb and pointer finger to pinch the bridge of his nose as he breathes in, attempting to calm himself down.

“I know you love me.” His fingers grab your hand, pulling it up to his chest and holding it where his heart beats. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed at him, his eyes reflecting a wild intensity, his hair disheveled hair adding to his untamed allure. Sensing your vulnerability, he gently cupped your face with his other hand, offering you a tender touch. You leaned into his comforting embrace, as if seeking solace in his presence. With a silent nod, you pressed your head against his hand, a single tear escaping down your cheek, bearing witness to the depth of your emotions.

“I’m so sick of seeing people with what is mine.” He urged. “You can’t be someone else’s, not when you are already mine.”

“Charlie,” You drew in a deep breath, locking eyes with him, drowning in the depths of his green gaze. Every fiber of your being resonated with love for this man, an unshakeable devotion that consumed your soul.

“S’il te plait.” Please. His voice was a whispered hush as he begged. “Put me out of my misery.” 

He opened his mouth to continue, but you didn’t let him. You stood on the tips of your toes, leaning forward to press your chest against his as you pressed your lips to him. His arms immediately wrapping around your waist as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He groaned at the taste of you in his mouth again, his cock already hardening for you.

You pulled off him, “Really?” He let a small laugh escape his lips as he pulled your mouth back onto his for a small peck.

“I’m a man in love.” He grins, like he has nothing to be ashamed about.

“Je t’aime.” I love you.

Charles tenderly pressed his lips to the side of your neck, his tongue tracing delicate patterns along the velvety skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Répète-le.” Say it again. He whispers, his voice husky with desire. As his lips continue down their intoxicating dance on your neck, his fingers trail the straps of your dress, gradually easing them down your shoulders with a tantalizing touch.

“Je t’aime.” I love you. He placed a small nip to your neck, eliciting a small squeal, as he lifted you up and carried you back to his bed.

“M’so in love with you,” He presses a kiss to your lips. “Don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

[1980shorrorfilm]

hopelessly devoted to you

click here. resources for palestine, congo, sudan, and other countries.

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…a certain someone remembers your birthday.

before you read…fluff. angst. cutie patootie ellie <3

it was a grueling day. the sky dim from the consistent storming, the rain damping your body and hair, up until you and jesse had taken cover at a moldy gas station. you sat there for an hour, listening to him talk about dina and their separation…their tenth separation? you lost track a while ago.

but you don’t judge, you hummed in agreement to his frustrations and nodded the entire time. you get him, you do. your failed love life could be a ten-minute-long monologue, you think. relationships are hard in the small community of jackson, everyone has their person or keeps to themselves. you prefer to keep to yourself. you don’t necessarily need anyone— not if you can’t have her.

infected that were migrating through had run you out of the gas station, you and jesse dodging branches and heavy rocks throughout the forest as you ran back home. you, of course, tripped over a dead stump and banged your head on nature's floor.

if you were jesse you would have laughed at yourself, but your generous friend could only watch in horror, worry painting his features while he helped you up, practically dragging your stumbling self until you were in the clearing.

every single muscle in your body was aching when you arrived at jackson’s gates, it felt like seeing the gates of heaven itself. you don’t know what time it is, the sky has been dark the entirety of the day, and your head is pounding.

“we should get you to the infirmary, just in case,” jesse tries, however, you are ready to call it a night and worry about your current issues tomorrow. probably a bad idea, sure, but you don’t care that much in the worn out state you’re in. “i’m fine, jesse,” you lie to the man, but the smile you give him is enough for him to back off, “just need a bandage and a very comfortable bed. not one of those cots.”

“you’re stubborn…ellie’s rubbing off on you.”

“shut up,” you jokingly tell him, chewing your bottom lip as your mind goes to ellie. the idea of seeing her sweet face after the day you just had would provide you more comfort than the bed you so desperately yearn for.

to hear her voice, telling you about the day she had, that you know for certain was miles better than yours. and that’s amazing— ellie williams doesn’t deserve a hard day in her life. you would take all of them for her, even if each one felt as cruel as today.

jesse walks you all the way home, an illuminating glow coming from your windows, despite turning the lights off before you had left. or at least, you had thought you did. you say goodbye to jesse, having to promise you will take care of your injury before bed so he would leave.

you open your door with a deep sigh of relief, eager to shred your backpack and soggy clothes, and slip into something comfortable.

you drag your feet down the hall, stopping in place when your shut bedroom door, swings open before you.

“fuck.”

“ellie?” your brows dip, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at the surprise, “what are you doing?”

“i, uh, well,” she scratches the back of her neck, turning around, waiting for you to follow her into your bedroom. you do, mind drifting to the thought of how unkept you left it earlier, not having time to deal with the laundry at the end of your unmade bed. ellie had seen that; you’re embarrassed.

you gulp, stepping inside the room, and the sight you’re met with confuses you. your bed is made. your clothes are gone. instead, there’s a beige teddy bear, one that’s unfamiliar to you, that’s never been in your room before. it’s undeniably cute, even with its left ear ripped and its eye poorly patched back on.

laid against its belly is a large and flat square object wrapped in old newspapers, tiny pieces of duct tape holding it together. where a classic and beautiful ribbon would be, are shoelaces, making a bow. or an attempt at one.

and laid against that, is what appears to be a doodled on piece of paper. you glance at ellie, then your bed, then ellie.

“i…” she begins, the soft expression on her face suddenly hardening when her eyes trail to the single droplet of blood falling from your temple, and down the side of your face.

“what the fuck happened?” ellie takes a few short steps towards you, grabbing your face with her coarse hands, and turning you so she can inspect the area. even when you try to turn your head, she keeps you still.

“gonna tell maria to pair us. i love jesse but—”

“i tripped, ellie, it couldn’t have been prevented,” you cut her off, but her suggestion does make your heart flutter, and you wouldn’t be opposed to it. you’d spend every last second you have in this universe with her.

“you don’t know that,” ellie says, the woman thinking she could do anything to protect you— even simple mistakes you cause yourself. she exits the room for a moment, and you can’t help but walk to the foot of your bed to get a closer look at the objects on it.

you pick up the paper, realizing it’s not just a piece of paper, it’s a card. a makeshift one. and the doodles aren’t just doodles, it’s a dinosaur holding three balloons. three of your favorite colors. happy birthday, it says. birthday…your birthday…it’s your birthday.

it had not crossed your mind once today, this week, or this month. you only thought about it a couple of months back when it was briefly brought up in a conversation. how the community you were born into utilized calendars even if there was nothing to look forward to anymore, and how you almost wish you weren’t informed on the day you were born. there was nothing to celebrate, no one to celebrate with.

ellie was determined to change that, and she did.

you open the card, a paragraph in the center of the paper.

hey y/n, guess what day it is :) if you couldn’t tell by the extremely beautiful dinosaur in a party hat, it’s your day!! happy fucking birthday, y/n. probably doesn’t feel like much of a celebration today. little do you know i celebrate you everyday. don’t tell anyone that. i honestly think i’d die without you so never leave me, yeah? i love you y/n. i could take up this whole page telling you every little thing i love about you but i’m not going to do that because i don't think i could stop. i hope you had a good birthday. if not i hope this helps. love, your ellie.

“sit down,” ellie reenters the room, not noticing the card in your hand, too focused on the medical supplies in hers. when she does, her face heats up, her pale face flashing red. you continue to hold it as you obey her, sitting next to the teddy bear. she waits for you to speak first, and you do the same to her, which causes a moment of silence as she kneels on the floor before you.

you’re taken back, utterly shocked by how fucking precious the girl could be, how good it feels receiving appreciation from her. getting love from her. not the love you have for jesse or dina, something different, something incomparable. she has your heart clutched tightly in her fist.

“thank you, ellie.”

“it’s nothing,” she shrugs, pouring a bottle of water on a bathroom towel, then bringing it to your face. she’s gentle as she wipes the dark red liquid away, dabbing the injury, scanning your face for discomfort so she can stop immediately. she’s definitely going to yell at jesse.

“it’s something,” you tell her, “and it means a lot to me…it really does.”

she halts her movements for a second, the embarrassment that maybe she did too much, vanishing from her body. “yeah?”

“duh,” you laugh slightly, “i didn’t even remember it, ellie. i was too busy having a shitty day. so thank you for making it better.”

ellie smiles slightly, holding back the grin threatening to spread across her face. she continues to clean your injury, knowing she could scold you for not seeking medical attention right away, but she won’t ruin the moment.

she finishes up by placing a clean bandage over the wound, pressing it delicately against your skin, an odd urge to place a kiss on your forehead to signal she was done. she thinks it’s weird, and doesn’t do it.

ellie reaches for the newspaper-wrapped object beside you, taking the card from your hands and replacing it with the gift. “open it.”

“you didn’t have to—” “open it.”

you groan, doing as told, fighting the annoying strong duct tape and peeling the paper off carefully, not knowing what’s beneath it. ellie keeps her green irises steady on your face as you do so, watching your mouth part faintly when you see the uncovered gift. “ellie…”

it’s a vinyl. an old one. one you’d listen to on a cassette tape until it deteriorated, and you had lost access to the heavenly vocals of the band you so greatly adored. ellie’s not familiar with them, but she had told you she would like to be after how highly you had spoken about them.

she hadn’t forgotten that conversation, or that band, and excused herself on patrol to seek out the damn vinyl in every music shop. she didn’t know it would be so hard, but even if she did, she would search again and again and again. it’s not only a gift, it is a reflection of ellie’s admiration of you.

“how— why— i don’t even have a record player,” you point out, eyebrows dipping slightly at the harsh reminder. “so?” she asks like you just said the silliest thing in the world. “i do…we can listen to it together.”

it’s then that you notice her hand on your knee, thumb grazing through the denim of your jeans in a repeated motion. you forget about the throbbing in your head, and you no longer care about the soreness of your body. that, along with the entire world, seems to fade away right now.

it’s not just your heart in her hands. it’s you, your mind, your soul, everything you have is in her palms. everything she tells you makes you feel weightless, like time pauses and you don’t have to worry about a single thing. just her. nothing else. just ellie. no one else.

“i love you.”

ellie smiles, “love you too.”

“no, ellie, i…” you hesitate, sucking in the air and then exhaling. your eyes are on the birthday card next to you, the vinyl in your hands, and then her widened pupils. you realize then, that you don’t need to repeat yourself, you don’t need to emphasize it. ellie gets it. your hands are trembling, and she holds them. but something is wrong.

the moment stretches on endlessly, watching a shadow of sadness flicker over her beautiful features. without her saying a word, that she has yet to do, you understand. she won’t say it back. not in the sense that you wish for her to.

“i…dina came to me…after her and jesse…she…” ellie’s quiet voice drifts off, sparing you the details of the night dina first showed up at her door, a repeated pattern until they finally shared an intimate moment that led to a short-lived kiss.

something you missed, because you weren’t searching for hints they had something. something you crave. her head is down, “i’m sorry.”

your confession now hangs heavy over both of you. you feel sick. you feel dumb. and yet, you force a small, understanding smile. “it’s okay.”

the words feel hollow. ellie feels like shit. she’s never cried in front of you, and she’s fighting back the tears that so desperately want to fall right now. she hadn’t meant for this to happen. she hadn’t met to fall in love with her best friend, all while her other friend was falling for her.

she could’ve waited— she would’ve waited. but it happened so fast, and ellie had made a decision already.

“i’m um…really tired,” you chuckle, trying to ease the tension, but it somehow makes it worse.

“y/n—” “do you mind if we call it a night?”

“you hit your head pretty bad,” ellie says, the sorrow tone of her voice now mixing with worry, “you should stay up.”

“you’re not my doctor, ellie,” you immediately catch the snappy tone you give her the moment the sentence leaves your mouth, biting your tongue in response. ellie doesn’t point it out nor make an argument out of it. she is the most understanding with you. even if the context is her simply looking out for you. you fold in your lips, still holding the gift, ellie finally standing up.

she doesn’t know what to say. at all. she could say sorry a million times but eventually they will mean nothing to you. she doesn’t even know if they do now. “i uh…i’ll leave you alone.”

the worst words you could ever hear from the person you love the most in the world. of course, part of you wants her out of sight after the humiliation you just walked yourself into, but the other part of you wants to go with her, play the vinyl she had gifted you, and lay together in her bed as her finger taps in rhythm to the music on your thigh. but you can’t do that. not when her bed is reserved for someone else.

you barely nod, “okay.”

she gulps, hesitantly walking to your bedroom door, the one she was so happy to walk into just an hour prior. there’s guilt in each step she takes, her cheeks hot and mouth dry. she stops in your doorway, tugging at her bottom lip with her sharp teeth, glancing back at you.

whatever she was prepared to say, dies on her tongue, swallowing it down and opting for something else.

“happy birthday, y/n.”

then she’s gone. and you’re left alone with a teddy bear; a permanent reminder of this night. happy birthday to you.

[logansbaby]

FIX YOU - LOGAN HOWLETT

❥ summary: Logan Howlett is dying. You both know it, but it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

word count: 1.7k

pairings: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ NSFW, MDNI, angst!!!! so much angst, mentions of death, foreshadowing the events of ‘Logan’, smut, piv (unprotected— be smart irl), feelings, sadness

❥ a/n: guys!!!!!! i was listening to fix you by coldplay (highly recommend whilst reading) and it screams oldman logan and pain! this is literally just angst and smut but i hope you enjoy anyway <3

— ˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

MAROON blood tinged the white dress shirt Logan wore, groans of agony falling from his frown as he stumbled into the makeshift house.

The sound of heavy steps startled you from your position on the couch, and despite your drowsy state, you tossed the unread book and dashed to see him. Anxiety tingled your fingertips, anguish swirling within your belly at what you might find.

You were right to feel anxious, because the sight of Logan caused your breath to hitch, chest to heave, and your lashes to glisten.

“Oh, Logan.” It was merely a whisper, yet he’d heard it all the same. It was an ironic joke that his healing was almost gone, but his hearing was as good as it had been years prior. “Logan.”

It seemed his name was all you could manage, your throat choked up in feelings you desperately tried to push down, along with the pesky, salty tears.

The once crisp, white shirt was soaked with blood, bullet holes littering from his chest to his navel. The crimson liquid had dried long ago but you knew he ached. You could see it in the way his clenched fingers shook, in the way exhaustion draped over his features. The man before you was a ghost of the man you’d met so long ago and the realization had unwanted emotions clawing at your throat, begging to be let out.

Before he could open his mouth, you ran into him and wrapped yourself around his middle tight, your grip not unlike that of a koala on a branch.

Logan hissed, new painful sensations blossoming where you gripped him, but he ignored it in favor of returning the embrace. One arm came around the curve of your waist as the other held the back of your head gently, like you were made of glass.

Maybe you were.

“It’s okay, baby.” He whispered, lips pressed against your forehead. “I’m okay. I’ll heal.”

It wasn’t, he wasn’t, and he wouldn’t— something you both knew.

You’d never tell him this, but each time he left, fear gripped you tightly. Before any of this, you knew he’d always return home to you, alive and completely unscathed. But times had changed, and for the worse, it seemed. You noticed before he did, that his healing had begun to slow down, and it scared you horribly.

He’d refuse to talk about what it meant, instead choosing to ignore reality in true Logan fashion, but you knew. You both knew that he was on borrowed time, and you knew one of these days his regeneration would dry up and he wouldn’t get back up.

One day, you’d have to walk the earth without the love of your life by your side and the very thought made you fucking ill, threatened to bring you to your knees and release the trapped agony.

Your heart picked up, beating vigorously against your ribcage, causing Logan’s bruised mouth to frown. He pulled back, hands moving to cradle your face as he looked into unfocused, hazy eyes.

“Hey— can hear you overthinkin’, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m here, I’m here.” He muttered, the gruffness of his voice leading you back to the present. “There she is.”

“It’s not, you’re hurt. You’re bleeding and I— what even happened?” With your brows furrowed, questions spilled from your bitten lips without thought. “And don’t lie to me.”

He sighed.

“Just had a run in with some bad guys, that’s it.”

“Logan—“

“Should see the other guys, baby.” He joked, the need to ease the tension bubbling in the air was overwhelming. He was desperate to lessen the worry blanketing your face. He hated that you rarely smiled anymore.

When you let out a wet laugh, he knew he’d succeeded, despite the unshed sadness dusting your eyes.

For a moment, you just stared at him, eyes wide as they traced every inch of his face, as if to savor Logan’s face to memory. Then, you leant up and pressed sweet, soft kisses wherever you could reach— his neck, chest, chin, and bottom lip.

Even after all the years you’d been together, butterflies danced around wildly in his stomach at your touch.

“C’mere.” He was already trailing beside you because the taut grip you had on his hand refused to leave him behind. “Let me clean you up.”

And despite the throbbing of his bones, he followed you, because of course he did. If he hadn’t had you, he would’ve been two whisky bottles in by now, and the blood would’ve stayed crusted on his skin as he fell asleep. You never let him spiral, though, and you refused to have him do so now. He’d never said thank you for that, but he hoped you felt it in his kiss, in the way he held you.

Logan was pushed onto the couch then, his thoughts melting away as your hands gently pressed him until his body folded on the cushion. You disappeared for a moment, before returning with the necessary products to clean his wounds.

Instead of sitting beside him, which would’ve been more practical, you plopped yourself onto his lap. When he groaned at the sudden weight, you smiled sheepishly through hooded eyes.

“Sorry, just want to be close to you.” It was mumbled, just loud enough to be heard and you knew it was understood when a tiny smirk graced Logan’s lips.

“Don’t mind, princess.” His amusement grew and spread into a full-on smile at the way your face grew rosy. He always did like riling you up, no matter the situation.

Wordlessly, you got to work; unbuttoning his ruined shirt and tossing the bloodied fabric to the floor mindlessly. With a warm rag, you began wiping away the reminders of a fight. Logan let out a couple groans as your fingers prodded at some deeper wounds, urging out the bullet casings until they plopped on the sofa. His body had stopped any massive injuries from forming, but he still wore the aftermath of his attackers.

Logan lost track of time as he opted to stare at you; he’d rather not think about how his body continued to fail him anymore.

From the strands of your hair framing your flushed face, to the plushness of your lips, of which were taken hostage between your teeth in concentration, he admired you. You were so, so beautiful, so angelic, that it shook him, even after all this time.

He hoped that when his body failed him for the last time, when he sucked in his last breath of oxygen, you were the last thing he saw.

“Done! Good as new.” Though your words were teasing, your tone was anything but. Your eyes were somber, filled with so much emotion it devastated you. The reflection of his own powerful feelings mirroring yours comforted you.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, handsome.”

For a while, the both of you stared at each other in a heavy silence. Both sets of eyes were tracing every detail before them, to ensure nothing was missed when he was finally gone, but none of you were brave enough to say so. The unspoken heaviness threatened to crush you both with the weight of it all.

And then— you’re unsure how it happened, who leant in first. All you knew is that the overwhelming, crushing need to be as close as possible to one another, in every way possible, suddenly became the most important thing in the world.

The minute your lips met, everything else faded to static. It was slow at first, gentle as you both savored the feel, before it was an abrupt burst of passion.

Your hands wrapped around his neck tightly, fingers playing with the graying hairs at his neck, yanking when his tongue slipped past slick, swollen lips. Logan’s hands gripped your hips possessively, and as your tongues danced together in a familiar rhythm, he began to drag you up and down across his lap.

It was dirty— the messy drag of lips, the spit connecting as you broke apart to gather oxygen into your lungs, the grinding of your clothed, sobbing cunt across his throbbing cock. It was so dirty yet filled with so much emotion, so much adoration and love.

It wasn’t long before he had you filled to the brim, full of him. Once you’d started bouncing up and down on him, drunk on how fucking good he felt, the tears spilled over the apples of your cheeks.

Maybe it was the sheer pleasure zipping through you, the lick of heat teasing your lower belly. Or perhaps it was the fact that you were reminded that everything with Logan was fleeting. The reason didn’t matter, not when you slumped against his chest and sobbed his name desperately, hips now moving in a slow grind across his lap.

“Logan— love you so, so much,” you cried out, the words mumbled against his sweaty chest.

“My pretty girl,” Logan spoke knowingly, hands going to the supple thighs and fucking you up and down on his cock once more. “I got you, I always have you.”

The mixture of euphoria with his words, a double meaning laced between them, had a loud moan tumbling from your mouth, hips jerking at the feel of your puffy clit bumping the hair smattered at the base of him. Every sensation flowing through you was heightened and when Logan thrusted up into your weepy pussy, you clenched around him so tight, he growled. The movement sent you both reeling, orgasms crowding your senses with the intensity of it all.

Logan kissed you then, thrusting his come into you as deep as he could. Your whine was swallowed by his mouth, so full of him in a way that made your heart swell, chest tingle bittersweet. Whispers of ‘I love you’ melted into the embrace of your lips, and all the pressing emotions and fears came hurtling back down full force.

Neither of you moved, content to stay connected, even as his cock softened inside you, as the mixture of your releases pooled on sticky, sweat-slicked skin. Your body wrapped around his, hands tickling the scarred skin of his back as his lips peppered wet kisses across the expanse of your neck.

It hit you once more that Logan was your everything and you wanted to cry.

So, you did. Water spilled down your face and onto his chest as you cried. Logan spoke mantras of ‘Shh, it’s okay’ and ‘I’m here, I love you’ as you let your tears go, even as his own eyes were wet with sorrow.

You both knew it was anything but okay. It was only a matter of time.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 12.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue. 

Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end. 

All he can see is your body. 

You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh. 

But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs. 

Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me. 

It was him, though, wasn’t it? 

He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.

But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.

“I…” Simon’s voice fails him. 

His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line. 

Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking. 

“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder. 

You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.

Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward. 

“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.” 

The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse. 

This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade. 

There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked. 

Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water. 

But a mortal could. 

Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it. 

Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver. 

Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing. 

Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds. 

Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.

He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.

But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.

Oh, you should have stayed away. 

His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing. 

There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment. 

Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds. 

Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.

This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too. 

Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you. 

With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him. 

He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well? 

Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you. 

From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.

“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”

He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens. 

Until it answers.

Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone. 

—

This place isn’t real. 

You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave. 

You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps. 

It doesn’t feel right to speak. 

If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here. 

You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking. 

He even knocks on the door.

It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.

You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory. 

But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…

You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale. 

Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him. 

“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.” 

Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast. 

All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault. 

You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold. 

“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.” 

Simon stares.

“How much?” You sigh and shake your head. 

“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you. 

Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath. 

“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”

“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you. 

Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?” 

“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.” 

“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other. 

You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before. 

“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose. 

“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?” 

You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”

That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking. 

“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it. 

You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon. 

But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.

So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst. 

What were you missing? 

The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster. 

“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.

If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.

Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it. 

The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it. 

He didn’t have control.

You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides. 

“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter. 

“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.

The thought didn’t bother you. 

You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.” 

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.

“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”

“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”

“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone. 

You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”

“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?” 

“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?” 

Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim. 

You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why. 

Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level. 

You liked Simon Riley.

“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.” 

“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”

Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship? 

He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched. 

“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting. 

You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks. 

“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.” 

Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms. 

Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank. 

You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.

“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him. 

“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat. 

Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it. 

Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast. 

You blink. “Mr. Riley?” 

“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.” 

You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.

It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife. 

It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up. 

But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—

There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.

A spark alights in your heart. 

“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling. 

Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood. 

The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant. 

Now or never. 

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness. 

So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles. 

Only you’re not touching the handle. 

Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened. 

The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors. 

A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts. 

“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close. 

You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints. 

He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”

He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside. 

Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.

It jerks with a bang of metal.

Locked. 

“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?

Your eyelids blink. 

The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right? 

You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this. 

Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.

“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!” 

Souls?

You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”

You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.

There was no way you were making it to the forest.

In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready. 

Hell, you’d already died once. 

But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear. 

Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.

“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”

Seven feet, five, four, three—

A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.

The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets. 

In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.

You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this. 

Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping. 

Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away. 

Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect. 

“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil. 

The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once. 

The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.

Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away. 

Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back. 

“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again. 

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.

You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again. 

A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—

The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you. 

You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here. 

Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls. 

Because that was what it was. 

The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you. 

Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.  

That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other. 

A Fated Pair.

The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can. 

Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. 

His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here. 

Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands. 

He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin. 

Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps. 

—

You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands. 

Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth. 

The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip. 

You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…

You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself. 

While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not. 

Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s. 

He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on. 

Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger. 

The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war. 

Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens. 

Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping. 

Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that? 

The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch. 

You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool. 

A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle. 

Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred. 

“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.” 

The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward. 

Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall. 

“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.” 

There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees. 

“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.” 

You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know. 

“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.” 

If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.

You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”

Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter. 

“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus. 

You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts. 

You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath. 

He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks. 

“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.

“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”

A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten. 

“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do. 

So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.” 

Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.

The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm. 

When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes. 

By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here. 

There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face. 

“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside. 

You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having. 

He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.

Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he? 

Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another? 

Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up. 

“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”

He grunts and is already lifting you. 

Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking. 

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.” 

You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly. 

As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much. 

He’d explain it all when you were better. 

So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.

—

You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.

It was where he met you, after all. 

He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him. 

Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion. 

As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.

When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different. 

You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners. 

There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well. 

New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size. 

There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone. 

Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat. 

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs. 

Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place. 

No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.

Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.

Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps. 

So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly. 

You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses. 

Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction. 

His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.

“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this. 

The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut. 

Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear. 

You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails. 

Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you. 

He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears. 

You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso. 

A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach. 

“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips. 

The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat. 

You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height. 

The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.

“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.” 

Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air. 

You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils. 

Simon’s face is above yours.

“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.” 

Literal or a metaphor, you care not. 

You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?

The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw. 

If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned. 

“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”

“I know,” he growls. 

You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse. 

At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates. 

Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”

Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear. 

The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now. 

You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.

“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.” 

Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.” 

His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins. 

There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all. 

With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters. 

“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls. 

Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form. 

Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles. 

“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds. 

Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.

“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?” 

“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs. 

The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core. 

Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way. 

The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white. 

As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm. 

“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.” 

He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently. 

“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.” 

“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!” 

“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch. 

Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze. 

“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath. 

Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting. 

You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.

“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees. 

You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you. 

“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs. 

Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs. 

“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.” 

You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too. 

Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.

Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace. 

Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light. 

All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second. 

Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder. 

Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath. 

Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp. 

“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response. 

“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly. 

In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn. 

Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything. 

“You should get some more rest—”

“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”

Simon watches you, jaw loose. 

“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness. 

“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation. 

“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”

Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you. 

The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low. 

After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more. 

This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you. 

Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?” 

Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you. 

You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.” 

“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you. 

You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against. 

Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over. 

“I’m sure, Simon.” 

“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”

“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up. 

You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.

Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control. 

“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat. 

“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?” 

There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.

“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”

The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch. 

You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh. 

“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?” 

The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core. 

“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”

Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”

He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right. 

When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair. 

The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that. 

“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.” 

You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.

Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open. 

 The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in. 

Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him. 

“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate. 

“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.” 

He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter. 

“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”

You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides. 

Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death. 

Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.

“I’ll always find you.”

In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.

[jjunieworld]

okay but an equally angsty idea for a pt 2 for a bed in your shape

it’s been awhile and kai’s relationship didn’t work out.

he regrets losing his best friend and realizes maybe there was feelings there, him and reader run into one another somewhere, he starts reminiscing and asks if reader ever thinks about their special place and reader hits him with

“it’s just a field”

a life in your eyes ⋆ 𓈒 ✧ 🎑 ˊ𓂃

part two to a bed in your shape — requested by anon, enjoy! ♡

pairing: huening kai x afab!reader

genre: angst, smut, fluff-ish (kinda if you squint), childhood bestfriends to strangers to lovers, slice of life, blonde!kai, kai is an asshole at some point, mentions of taehyun x reader, references to strawberry blond by mitski

synopsis: it’s been almost two years since your childhood bestfriend kai left you in your sacred shared field alone and your friendship ended. now the girl your friendship ended over is out of the picture and you saw him again for the first time since that field. try as you must, you just can’t stop the undeniable pull you’ve always felt towards each other.

warnings: drinking/alcohol, reader wears a dress at one point, unprotected sex (wrap it!!), somewhat public sex? (there’s nobody around), mostly soft-ish sex, petnames (baby), creampie, oral (f. rec), some praise

word count: 7k┊part one┊masterlist

author's note: anon your brain is so big and i love you ♡ i literally took this and ran with it so i hope you enjoy!! the context of this is kinda off, so make sure you read part one to understand all of it! this was fun to write, i haven’t wrote a super angsty fic in a while so i hope you all enjoy! all feedback and reblogs are welcome ♡

tears fell from your eyes as you followed the gravel road home, blurring your vision. the sky outside was darkening; the once vibrant bright blue turning into wisps of pink and orange against a dark backdrop. you tried hard not to let yourself break into pieces, but it was inevitable. it felt like you had just lost everything all at once and now you sat alone, empty.

you held the picnic basket limply in your arms. you guessed it was a good thing you had it with you. the walk back to your childhood home wasn’t a particularly long one, maybe around ten minutes, but now it felt like an eternity. you shivered as the passing cool wind flowed over your skin. you wished this day never even happened. wished that you would’ve just smiled when kai told you he was going to bring his new girlfriend to the field that was sacred to you. wished that you never had feelings for him to begin with.

the gravel road branched out onto one of the empty main roads of your town. you followed the white lines, your head turning from side to side as the day turned into night. you still couldn’t believe that kai would leave you there all alone. couldn’t believe that he would pick some girl who he only knew for a few months over you—his childhood bestfriend. that thought only seemed to break your heart more.

kai fucked up. he realized that as soon as he peeled away from the field, knew that once he saw your heartbroken face he had passed the point of no return. but his anger and his pride had blinded him. ‘some girl?’ she was his girlfriend, not ‘some girl.’

“fuck!” kai shouted, coming to a dead stop just before the main road. his hand hit his steering wheel, hard. kai debated on whether or not he should go back to you. put aside his pride and open up his eyes to see your feelings right in front of him. it was just a field, kai honestly couldn’t see what the big deal about it was. so what if he brought his girlfriend there?

after a long moment of consideration—and it was a very, very long moment indeed—he decided to drive back to the field. the sky was getting darker by the minute and he couldn’t just leave you to walk home alone in the dark. he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if something were to happen to you and it would’ve been all his fault.

kai turned the car around sharply and sped back down the gravel road and back to the field. he jumped out the car, searching for your figure amongst the grass but saw nothing. kai’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and guilt sunk into him deep. you were gone. you were gone and nothing between the two of you will ever be the same ever again.

you wouldn’t lie and say that you never thought about kai. you did. it's been almost two years and you still think about him everyday. he was your best friend, after all. you saw him in everything; the beautiful sunsets, the morning dew on the blades of grass, the freshly baked goods and the deliciously made sandwiches. you couldn’t escape him.

it didn’t help that all of your friends were also his. you constantly heard about him, even if your friends tried to not talk about him around you after noticing how separate you and kai were from each other. you guess if came with its pros as well as its cons. without your mutual friends, you never would’ve known that kai had broken up with his girlfriend. the very same girlfriend your friendship ended over.

from what you’ve heard from your friends, the breakup was disastrous. in fact, their whole relationship was seemingly disastrous from the very beginning. “are you sure you want to hear about this?” your friend, beomgyu, asked you seriously. “i know the two of you don’t really hang around each other anymore…”

you nodded, you had to know what happened for your own peace of mind. you had to know what everything ended over. beomgyu sighed, but told you anyway, “apparently she was one of the paranoid types—you know, the ones who always think you're cheating when you step out to go to the store or something? from the beginning she was really insecure that kai was seeing someone else, even though that wasn’t true.”

your brows raised. kai had never spoken about any of that when the two of you were still friends. “yet they lasted almost two years?” you questioned. beomgyu scoffed slightly and shook his head as he thought about it. “i know, that’s the thing. he was trying to break it off with her from the very beginning but she would always find some way to tie herself around him. then, he found her in bed with her best friend’s brother!” beomgyu exclaimed, pointing a finger down onto the table as he spoke in conjunction with his words.

a small gasp escaped you as your eyes widened. “so she was projecting?” you asked though you already knew the answer. beomgyu nodded as he sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. you shook your head as your phone went off. you briefly checked it and looked back up at beomgyu, “of course she was… i gotta go gyu, i’m meeting with taehyun. you still coming to yeonjun’s party next weekend?”

beomgyu stood with you as you grabbed your things. “you know i’ll be there! bye y/nie, tell taehyun i said hi!” you smiled at him as he pulled you into a hug, telling him goodbye in return. you rushed out the café and to where taehyun was outside waiting for you with a smile.

you didn’t get to take two steps towards him before your arm was being grabbed at. spinning in the direction, you furrowed your brows in question. what you weren’t expecting was to come face to face with kai after almost two years. “y/nie…” kai breathed.

glancing over to taehyun, he wore a look of confusion on his face that probably mirrored yours. you looked back to kai with an eyebrow raised. how dare he address you like you were still best friends? “kai,” you responded curtly. kai flinched ever so slightly, like he didn’t realize that you weren’t a figment of his imagination.

“h-how are you?” he then asked. you loathed looking at him. loathed how your eyes took in every detail of him and memorized it until all you saw when they closed was what he looked like. loathed how you noticed that even after almost two years his hair still turned golden in the sunlight. you hated him. “fine. look, not to cut our conversation short but i have to go,” you spoke fastly, wanting the conversation to end as quickly as possible.

but most importantly, you loathed how as soon as you laid your eyes on him all your feelings for him came rushing back like a tsunami. you hated how you still loved him, even though now you were with someone else. you jogged up to taehyun and pressed a kiss to his lips. “let’s go,” you murmured, willing yourself not to look back at kai as you moved to get into taehyun’s car.

it didn’t surprise you when you and taehyun didn’t last. you couldn’t help but feel bad about it because you knew it was your fault. you started to become absent in your relationship, too busy noticing kai. that’s all you seemed to do ever since you first saw him again. all you could see was how he avoided you every chance he got. it’s been months and your head has once again been clouded by him.

your being itched to go back to the field, but you refused the call. it wasn’t your field anymore—it wasn’t anything to you anymore. the once painterly hills wouldn’t afflict the same calmness in you as it once did. not without kai. you knew it deep in your heart.

thankfully, you and taehyun ended on good terms. “i just feel like you’re distracted, y/n. like your heart isn’t in it. your mind seems elsewhere and until you bring yourself back to earth, i think we should break things off for the both of us,” he had told you. you weren’t even sad, you were relieved, and that caused guilt to eat away at you.

now you were at a party being held for your friend soobin, completely unaware that kai would also be there since he’s soobin’s friend too. when you walked into the house, your eyes had immediately connected and you quickly looked away as you ducked to some corner. “shit…” you mumbled to yourself as you grabbed a drink. how could you forget? they were his friends before they were yours after all.

you downed your shot and walked over to soobin to tell him happy birthday, avoiding kai who stood a couple steps away from him. soobin pulled you into a hug as he thanked you with a big smile. the party was already in full swing when you arrived and a lot of people were already tipsy. you grabbed another drink to nurse through the night as you found an empty spot on the couch to sit on.

the cake was brought out about an hour later and everyone gathered around soobin to sing to him and watch him blow out his candles. through the crowd your eyes lingered on kai and the way the smile on his lips never disappeared as he watched his friends celebrate. you took another sip of your cup—which was now almost empty—as you made your way back to the couch, deciding to skip out on the cake.

a laugh slipped from your lips as you watched your drunk friends sloppily cut the cake and hand it out to people. they were barely able to stand on their own two feet, let alone handle sharp knives. not that you were faring better yourself. your eyes were getting more and more bleary with each sip you took and it made you wonder just how strong the drinks were.

you felt the couch dip next to you. blinking slowly, you turned to see who the culprit was and your eyes widened after a moment of processing who was next to you. kai gave you a lazy smile, very clearly drunk. “hi y/nie!” he smiled. before you could reply, he added, “why aren’t we friends anymore? i still don’t understand it no matter how hard i try. i just know that i made you sad.”

kai’s face turned solemn and he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers like he used to do when you were kids. when you were upset as kids, kai would intertwine your hands with his and let you rest your head on his shoulder. he would then tell you that everything would be okay because one day you would grow up and become adults and nothing would be able to stop you.

as much as you wanted to move away from him, you weren’t in your right mind to think clearly. “why don’t you ask your girlfriend?” you spoke, sharpness edging its way into your words. you knew that they had broken up, but you still wanted to see his reaction. kai just laughed, “i would if we were still together! haven’t been for months. you don’t have to worry about her anymore. it can just be me and you again like it always should’ve been!”

you took your hands from his, ignoring how cold your hands felt without the warmth of kai’s. “it can’t just be ‘just me and you’ again kai. you can’t just ignore me for two years and then come back because you have no one to pine over you anymore.” kai furrowed his eyebrows, “it’s not like that, y/nie.” you shook your head in return, “it is.”

“it isn’t,” kai stated firmly, or as firmly as he could while drunk and with slurred speech. “you don’t know how much i missed you these past two years.” you scoffed at him unbelievingly. missed you? it sure didn’t feel like it when he was avoiding you at every possible turn. “you missed my company, not me,” you shot back.

“i. missed. you,” kai said, separating each word. he moved to look into your eyes to ensure you got his message clearly. “did you miss me?” he asked—more slurred, as he took another larger sip from his cup. you rolled your eyes at him. “don’t ask me stupid questions,” you replied. kai smiled widely at you from the brim of his cup.

you took the cup from him and sat it on the end table near you. he really didn’t need to be drinking anymore. “you’re way too drunk. who’s taking you home?” you asked as you turned back to him. you hated how you still cared about his wellbeing after he clearly showed you he didn’t care about yours. kai slumped back onto the couch in your direction and stared openly at you. “nobody, i drove here by myself.”

sighing deeply as you ran a hand down your face, you shook your head at him. “you are so stupid,” you muttered loud enough for him to hear. kai chuckled at you, the smile lingering on his face after. you turned to him, “you’re walking home, i hope you know that.”

“as long as you walk with me,” kai replied without missing a beat. you rolled your eyes at his insistence. you rolled them once more when you told him you would. “i can’t in good conscience let you walk home alone like this. if i’m walking with you, you better say your goodbyes now.”

kai wobbly got to his feet at your words and the two of you separately went around the room saying goodbye to your friends. you were now helping him down the steps of the porch, his tall body practically completely over your shoulders. “and then step—yeah, you got it,” you said as he safely got down. he was lucky you weren’t as drunk as he was.

as the two of you walked down the road that led in the direction of his house, kai was obviously eager to strike up conversation. “so you did miss me?” he smirked over at you, his shoulder nudging slightly into yours more from the fact that he couldn’t walk straight. “i missed my best friend. you were my best friend,” you deadpanned. “were?” he repeated back to you. you stopped and looked at him, completely serious. “were,” you replied and continued walking.

“i’m sorry for hurting you y/nie,” kai spoke softly. you chose to ignore him and kept at your pace. he was two years too late. your heart has already broken and been put back together. and even then, the cracks still shown.

after a moment, kai suddenly asked, “do you ever think about our special place? our field? do you still go there?” it took everything in you not to scoff and explode in anger at him. now he wants to acknowledge how special the field was? “i think about it all the time,” you replied somewhat coldly. “and i went there twice since i last saw you there.”

“you did?” he turned to you and asked. there was a gleam in his eyes. you nodded, “taehyun and i went together when we were first dating. it really is ‘quiet but meaningful’ and ‘absolutely perfect’, you were right.” just as quickly as you saw the gleam in his eyes it left at the mention of his friend. “you took taehyun there?” kai asked. he couldn’t hide the hurt in his voice with how drunk he was. it gave you little pleasure to hear it.

you looked him dead in the eyes as you spoke your next words. you wanted him to see the expression on his face when you tossed his own words back at him. wanted to see the hurt in his eyes like he saw the hurt in yours. “what’s the issue? it’s just a field,” you voice was quiet as you watched his face fall and his eyebrow furrow slightly. his sad expression wasn’t as satisfying as you expected it to be. if anything, it just made you feel shittier.

the two of you reached kai’s house in silence. it wasn’t his childhood home you knew so well, but it was on the same street as it. you only knew where he lived because taehyun had to drop something off to him while he was with you.

you helped him inside and to his bedroom. you turned your back to him when he started to change into pajamas. “so…” kai started, finally breaking the silence. you heard the rustling of clothes behind you. “you and taehyun then…” he trailed. you inhaled deeply. “not anymore,” you exhaled, leaving it that. “oh,” kai said quietly.

you heard the bed creak and heard kai say that you could turn around. you did as told and put a hand on your hip. he was now in his bed halfway under the covers as he looked at you. you gave him a nod before turning to exit. “you can’t leave. it’s dark outside and you’re drunk. you’ll have to walk home,” kai rushed.

“it wouldn’t be the first time i walked home alone,” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. this is why you didn’t like to drink as much, your filter completely disappeared. “i wasn’t there then, so let me be there now. stay with me,” kai stated as he extended a hand towards you. you shook your head at him, “whatever. fine, but i’ll sleep on the couch.”

a small smile made its way onto kai’s mouth. “don’t be ridiculous, this wouldn’t be the first time we shared a bed,” he laughed a little. you shook your head again, flashes of his words rang through your mind. “don’t be ridiculous, i could never see them that way.” you felt a pang in your chest.

“it’s fine, really. besides, my clothes smell like alcohol.” you couldn’t let yourself get into that bed with him. if you did, you knew you would forgive him instantly, you were already on your way to it just from being near him for so long. you don’t know how long you could take his sulky expressions. it was his fault you two were in the position you were in, so why did you feel so bad about it?

kai pointed towards his dresser and your eyes followed in the direction of it. “take them off and wear some of mine,” he insisted. you sighed deeply. he wasn’t going to let this go. “i’ll look away,” kai added. you shook your head once again as you made your way towards his dresser and opened it. grabbing one of his shirts and one of his sweatpants, you sat them on the edge of the bed and shrugged out of your clothes.

all you couldn’t think about as you put his clothes on was how screwed you were. you were wearing his clothes, enveloped in his scent, and you were screwed. “done?” kai asked and you replied with a measly, “yeah.” he patted the bed and you shut the lights off before climbing in it.

you made sure to put some space between the two of you as you laid next to him in the darkness. you still saw the outline of his figure and felt his heavy gaze on you. “i’m sorry for letting someone come between us,” kai apologized, his speech still slurring. “i regretted it everyday.” you didn’t want to start an argument, so all you said was, “let’s not do this right now.”

“i missed you so much y/nie. i didn’t know what to do without you,” kai continued. you looked at his outline. “go to sleep, kai,” is all you said. you saw him shake his head at you. you tried your hardest to keep your mouth shut.

missed you? didn’t know what to do without you? that meant nothing coming from him and it would continue to mean nothing until he put his money where his mouth was. he could spew all this drunken gibberish all he wanted, but you didn’t believe a word—refused to believe a word until he said it back to you sober.

“i love you,” kai suddenly slurred, knocking you completely out of your thoughts. you stammered hard over your words. “i love you, love you,” he then clarified. heat rose in your face and you knew that if you were to feel your cheeks that they would be hot to the touch. “you don’t know what you’re saying, kai,” you said slowly after gathering yourself.

you didn’t want drunken confessions if what he was saying was real and not from his delirious state. you wanted romantic, dramatic. you want a confession that would steal your breath away and promise a love everlasting. you didn’t want this, no matter how much your heart raced at its potential.

“i do, y/n,” he said barely above a whisper, words suddenly clear. he was so close to you now that you felt his breath on your cheek. his lips just barely missed brushing against yours and you desperately wanted to close the gap. instead you pulled away from him, putting more distance between the two of you.

you shook your head at him, “go to sleep.” with that, you turned away from him and shut your eyes tightly. he didn’t get to do this. he didn’t get to suddenly waltz into your life like nothing happened and spit drunk love confessions. you refused. pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind, you forced sleep to overtake you.

your head was killing you when you woke up and you barely remembered what happened last night. you certainly weren’t expecting to be tucked into someone���s chest with their arms wrapped tightly around you. slowly, you looked around the room as your memories came back to you one by one. you stilled as you realized just whose arms you were in and flicked your gaze up to kai’s face.

his eyes were on the ceiling and you could see the confusion in his face as you watched the gears in his brain turn and turn to figure out how he got here. he must not remember a single thing. vaguely, you could feel him absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair like he would do when you were kids.

it was then that reality slapped you across the face and you realized how this must’ve looked to him. you were in his bed and in his clothes—things that haven't happened in years—after a night getting drunk at a party. he must think that the two of you had sex.

gathering up all the courage you could muster, you swallowed thickly. “kai…” you trailed off quietly. his eyes snapped to yours, widening slightly. the awkward tension in the air was unbearable. you slowly began to sit up and he unwrapped his arms from around you.

“we didn’t have sex… if that’s what you’re wondering,” you muttered awkwardly. “you were really drunk and i walked you home. you insisted that i change my clothes and stay with you. then we went to sleep.” you rubbed at your temples a little, trying to relieve yourself a little of your headache.

you stood up onto your knees, the blanket falling off of you, “i should get going…” kai’s eyes immediately trailed down your body and at the fact that you were wearing his clothes. his eyes then snapped back up to yours as you moved towards the edge of the bed. he grabbed your wrist lightly, causing you to look back at him. “stay,” kai said softly.

excuses were on your tongue but kai spoke again before you could. “at least until your headache goes away. i’ll walk you back to your car,” he added. your gaze flicked down to his hand at your wrist and back to him. slowly, you started to nod without realizing it, “okay.” kai gave you a small, shy smile as you sat back onto your knees.

he let go of your wrist and you both sat there for a moment in silence as you looked at anything but each other. you cleared your throat, “i’m guessing you don’t remember anything?” kai laughed sheepishly and shook his head a little. “not a thing,” he replied.

this was so awkward. you couldn’t tell him of last night’s events. of how he basically clung to you and told you he missed you and loved you. but at the same time, you didn’t know how long you could keep it inside of you.

“i’d rather not know if i did something embarrassing,” kai said as he climbed off the bed and to his feet. you echoed his actions. kai turned to you, “come on, let’s get you some medicine.” you nodded as you followed him. you looked outside to try and see what time it might be, but could only tell it was somewhere between morning and afternoon with the daylight.

kai took you to his bathroom and dug in the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen. once he acquired it, he shook some out into your open palm and got some for himself. you then followed him to his kitchen where he got the both of you some water.

everything felt so casual between the two of you when it wasn’t. there was too much between you. so many unspoken words and feelings ready to be brought to the light. “are you hungry?” kai asked you, already turning to dig for something to make. you swallowed thickly, words stuck in your throat. finally, you managed, “kai, we have to talk…”

he kept his back to you as he made ramen, “i know we do, but does it have to be now?” you sighed and sternly said, “kai.” he turned back to face you. “eat first. please, y/n,” his voice was quiet and almost desperate, like once you left his house he’d never see you again. and maybe he wouldn’t. maybe the two of you would go back to avoiding each other’s existence while at the same time acknowledging it— forever skirting around each other.

“fine,” you sighed as you slumped into the dining room chair. after a few moments, he sat a bowl in front of you and sat opposite of you. the two of you ate in quiet, but surprisingly comfortable silence. once you ensured he was finished, you looked at him expectantly.

kai swept the messy blonde hair out of his face before settling his gaze on you. “where do you wanna start?” he asked you. you thought about it for a moment. you knew you both should probably start from the beginning, go all the way back to the day he left you at the field, but you needed to know how much he knew of last night. “do you remember anything from last night?” you asked him.

“bits and pieces,” kai replied. “i remember walking home with you, but not anything that we may have talked about. everything from there is really fuzzy—god, what was in those drinks?” you chuckled a little and a smile formed on kai’s face. “why, did i say something weird?” he asked jokingly.

the lingering smile on your face faltered and you looked down to your noodles as you decided to take a bite of them instead of answering. “let’s start back at the field when you stormed off,” you spoke after eating. “you left me alone there. don’t get me wrong, i can understand why you were angry, but you left me alone there, kai. you refused to see my side of things.”

“i know, and nothing will change what i did,” kai said, his eyes falling to the table. “i realized too late that i fucked up. when i went back to the field you were already gone.” your heart pounded in your chest. he went back to the field?

“i shouldn’t have let my emotions cloud my judgement. that field was our sacred place, you were right. i should've seen that it wasn’t ‘just a field’ and i should’ve seen the hurt in your eyes earlier when i stripped it of its specialness,” kai looked up to you and searched your eyes.

you held steadfast onto your emotions. you wanted everything laid out onto the table, everything swept out from under the rugs. “was it worth losing me? cause i can tell you one thing,” you looked him directly in the eyes, “it wasn’t worth losing you. losing your best friend and the person you love most in this world in one swift motion over a girlfriend wasn’t worth it.”

kai’s eyebrows raised in shock at your words and he opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it. “don’t act like you didn’t know about my feelings for you. maybe you didn’t know then, but there’s no way you don’t know now,” you said, tucking your hands under the table to hide their slight shaking. you continued, “i have to know. was she worth it?”

“no,” kai said immediately. that wasn’t enough for you. “why?” you asked him. he gave you a nonchalant shrug, like it was the most obvious and plain information in the world, “she wasn’t you. she never was.” your mouth went dry and your words died in your throat. you knew that the potential of him loving you more than just as a childhood best friend was raised due to his drunken confession, but to hear him say it so straightforward while sober fully set ablaze the feelings for him you tried so desperately to hide away.

kai continued, “she wasn’t worth losing you, not in a million years. i knew that as i stupidly drove off, when i stayed with her for almost two years and all we ever did was fight over you, and i knew that as soon as i saw you again at that café. she wasn’t you.” you inhaled deeply as the two of you stared at each other for a moment, trying to ground yourself in some way.

you closed your eyes briefly. so much has changed in such little time it overwhelmed you. “what about when you told yeonjun you could never see me that way? at your birthday party?” kai’s brows furrowed as he tried to remember what you were talking about. you saw the gears turn until it finally clicked in his head. “we weren’t talking about you, y/nie… we were talking about the girl he was trying to set me up with. i told yeonjun i wasn’t interested if it wasn’t you and he told me that i needed to confess,” kai replied.

“and now that i’m right here in front of you?” you asked softly, quietly, as if you were scared of his answer. the corner of kai’s mouth tilted up, “would you forgive me if i don’t let you go?” you couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face and the butterflies in your chest. he was always the cliché. “always,” you responded, face breaking out into a small laugh.

you then smirked at him slightly, “you owe me a walk.” the both of you stood to put the dishes in the sink. once you were done, kai trapped you against the counter. he leaned in close to you, “and another picnic.”

humming, you placed a finger to his lips and pushed his face away. kai smiled and took a step back to let you free. “don’t push your luck,” you chuckled.

somehow on the walk back to both you and kai’s cars, he convinced you to let him take you to your field after you both went home and got cleaned up. “come on, y/nie! i told you i owed you another picnic! let me pick you up,” he whined slightly as he blocked your car door.

you rolled your eyes but agreed anyway. “good! i’ll see you in an hour!” kai quickly pecked your lips before running off laughing like a maniac towards his own car. “your pushing your luck!” you called after him, shaking your head as you got into your car.

so here the two of you were, sitting on the same picnic blanket the two of you would always use in the middle of your sacred field. you both didn’t have time to make anything, so you stopped at the store and grabbed whatever your hearts desired from the shelf. your picks were spread out on the blanket around you.

the sun was starting to set as it turned the sky purple. you took the last bite out of the sandwich you picked out as you looked up at the clouds. “that one looks like a dinosaur!” you exclaimed, pointing to the cloud. kai scooted closer to you until his chest was just about pressed to your back and your cheeks were touching. he followed your finger upwards, “that’s clearly a flower.”

you turned to look at him, a slight pout on your lips in protest. “like you are,” kai smiled and you playfully rolled your eyes. “lame,” you dramatically drawled out. kai laughed, “oh yeah?” you nodded with a smile, squealing a little when his lips suddenly pressed to yours.

pulling away, you looked at him with wide eyes, “at least take me out to dinner first!” kai laughed more as he pulled you onto his lap while kissing you again. the sundress you wore rode up a little as his hands trailed to your hips. the kiss between the two of you was getting real heated real quick and you broke away to give your burning lungs oxygen.

you and kai’s foreheads were pressed together as you breathed heavily. wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him again deeply. you grinded down onto him as the sudden need for friction clouded you and kai groaned. his hands on your hips tightened.

kai was then laying down onto his back on the picnic blanket, pulling you down with him with your kiss. he broke away, breathless, and looked in your eyes. his hands were on your ass now and he gently nudged you forward. “sit,” he breathed. your eyes widened as his hands moved towards your thighs that were around his torso. “please,” kai added.

his breathless desperate plea could’ve sent you over the edge alone. you sat up, pressing your hands to his chest as you moved to take off your underwear. you discarded it somewhere beside the two of you as you moved up his body holding up your dress. once you got around kai’s neck, you stopped to look down at him. his eyes were too busy focusing on your now exposed pussy.

“fuck, baby… you’re so wet for me already?” he asked as he grabbed your thighs and moved you more towards his mouth. you didn’t get the chance to reply before his lips was sucking on your clit. you let out a loud gasp as you doubled over, back arching as you grasped the picnic blanket. “that’s it, let me hear you. be as loud as you want,” kai said as he briefly pulled away.

he made quick work of you with his tongue. you would’ve thought that he was a starved man and this was his first meal in months with the way he ate you out. your legs trembled as loud mewls escaped your lips. kai held you steady, his fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs, as you let out a breathy moan. “k-kai—“ you started to warn him but him swirling his tongue around your sensitive clit halted you in your tracks.

you leaned back as you felt yourself cum on his mouth. you tried your hardest not to squeeze your thighs together and instead grabbed at the fabric at kai’s shoulders. breathy moans spilled from your mouth and kai’s tongue helped you through your orgasm. once you were finished, kai licked a strip up your pussy with his tongue, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

breathing heavily and with weak knees you moved down so that kai could sit up. his whole lower jaw was wet with your release, causing it to shine in the setting sunlight. you kissed him hungrily and your hands reached down to unbuckle the belt he was wearing. kai laughed against your lips at your eagerness, “you want my cock that bad?”

kai’s voice was low with an edge of playfulness in it that made you want him to strip you completely naked and have his way with you. his breath fanned across your ear and all you could do was nod as you pulled the belt from the loops around his jeans and threw it to the side.

you could feel just how big he was from the hardness trying to escape his jeans. and you weren’t wrong when kai got up to pull down his jeans and boxers. your eyes widened slightly, but you weren’t one to dismiss a challenge.

you had practically climbed kai like a tree, his soft laughs filling your ears as you climbed on top of him. you needed him, desperately. especially in the past two years with little to no contact at all with him. you were in the middle of lining the tip of kai’s cock with your entrance, fully ready to sink completely down onto it with the help of the white liquid still dripping out of you, when kai grabbed your hips to stop you.

“don’t rush,” he said. you could tell he was fighting the urge to not fuck into you with how strained his voice sounded. “go down slowly,” he added. you did as he told you to do and sunk down on him inch by inch. the stretch took you by surprise and you had to grab kai’s shoulders for support.

after a moment of you adjusting to him—more you preparing yourself as you already felt the tip of him pressing into your sweet spot—you gave an experimental roll of your hips. it was like you were suddenly blinded by pure bliss and you were sure you were hurting kai with how hard your nails were digging into his shoulders. “mmm, baby. you feel so good. keep going,” kai said with his eyes screwed shut tightly.

you moved from your knees to your feet and readjusted kai’s cock inside you before connecting eyes with him. you rolled your hips towards him as you bounced up and down on his hard cock. kai’s hands were on your hips, helping you move them with the rhythm you created. his whimpers sent fire to the pit of your belly as you continued to ride him.

kai brought his lips down onto yours sloppily and you wrapped your arms around his neck to bring him closer. your moans and whimpers intertwined with each other as you both inched closer and closer to your climax. the noises filling this field from the two of you was downright sinful, but you couldn’t help but become even more turned on from the sound of you bouncing on his cock.

you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the finish line and no doubt kai could feel it from how much you were clenching around him. kai’s head fell to the crook of your neck, his nose leaving goosebumps on your skin as his mouth found your ear. “don’t stop… please… please keep going…” he trailed breathlessly. “i want you to cum for me.”

it didn’t take much longer for you to fall into his chest as you dripped warm cum down his cock. that must’ve finally broke kai as he pulled you down onto his chest as he laid back and positioned your hips so he could fuck up into you. “j-just a little longer, baby,” kai cooed at your whimpers. the speed was so rapid it left you trembling again and had tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

you buried your face in kai’s chest, thankful it muffled your loud moans of pleasure, as you listened to your skin slap against his lewdly. you felt kai start to twitch inside you and suddenly his warm cum was filling you up to the brim, dripping out of you from around his big thick cock. you wanted to help him with his high no matter how sensitive you were, so you pushed up from his chest and started rocking your hips as best as you could.

when you couldn’t take anymore—and when kai’s hands were on your hips forcing you to stop—you fell back down onto his chest. you look up at him and ran your hands through his golden hair to get it off his forehead. kai’s eyes were closed and there was a ghost of a smile on his face like he was in heaven.

after a moment of catching your breath and looking up at the sky, you weakly commented, “the sunset is so pretty.” kai’s chest vibrated as he laughed. “not as pretty as you,” he smoothly replied. you smiled as you rolled your eyes, “that was so corny.”

you sat up and pulled yourself off of him, missing how much he filled you up. kai grabbed some of the napkins you had gotten from the store and began cleaning you up. there was a goofy smile playing on his lips. you sighed playfully and looked down at him. “what?” you asked, fully expecting him to say something cheesy.

kai’s laugh filled your ears, “now this place is really sacred and special.” you jaw dropped at him, which only made him laugh harder. “kai!” you exclaimed, slapping his shoulder as heat rose in your cheeks.

© jjunieworld - all rights reserved. please do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

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[written-in-flowers]

Her Mate: Demon!Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Incubi!Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

Genre: smut, fluff, angst, MINORS DNI

Word Count: 9k

Summary: Seonghwa's "unconventional" upbringing gave him a strong sense of self-control. Yet, whenever he is near you, he finds himself weakening at the sight of his "mate".

Tags: polyamorous relationship, open relationship, m/m/m/f relationship, light dom/dub themes, implied childhood trauma, implied underage sex, mentions of bisexual sex, incest, office sex, oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), anal fingering, rimming, rimjob, vaginal fingering, rough oral sex, window sex, mind games (not on reader), implied dub-con (not with reader), foreplay, nipple play, breast play, tongue fucking (vaginal and anal), messy cum stuff, spitting, light spanking, self-lubrication, cum swallowing. Also, if you happen to know who Marquis de Sade is...um, yeah, he's mentioned too.

Pretty Lady Masterlist

Previously on Pretty Lady

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***

“And if I only could, I’d make a deal with God and I’d get him to swap our places. Be running up that road, be running up that hill, be running up that building with no problems…”

He found the song suitable for your voice. Seonghwa often thought you had the soprano range of the singer, which befit the genre and eras you loved so much. Of course, you could sing a bit higher but not by much. Yeosang begrudgingly admitted you had a nice singing voice, though could use improvement. Seonghwa disagreed. He enjoyed listening to you sing while you tended to your plants or danced around your room or dressed or undressed or any other time he caught you. You often became shy or awkward when you knew someone watched you, like the beautiful singing birds on the branches. So, whenever he caught wind of your voice, he quietly approached. 

Seonghwa found you in your bedroom, headphones on and head nodding to the music while you worked. He noticed small bags of dirt and fertilizer beside your desk and on the other side bags of various seeds. He knew you sometimes grew plants in your bedroom, turning it into a smaller version of a greenhouse, but they’re usually stuck to the walls or floors. This one sat in a small pot. Seonghwa leaned against your bedpost, brushing his fingers over the peonies on the footboard, while he enjoyed your singing. It was similar to watching an animal in its natural habitat. You looked at ease, unguarded and peaceful. He liked you this way. The slave he’d known always remained quiet, obedient in doing what she was told. The Lady of Eden spoke her mind often and even bit back. Seonghwa wondered if that was the real you. He imagined the ambitious, clever woman who managed to break the glass ceiling into power with her looks alone. Just because you didn’t go to college didn’t mean you weren’t intelligent. A woman owning her own scamming company needed a brain. 

“Oh come on, baby. Oh, come on, darling. Let me steal this moment from you now. Oh, come on angel. Come on, come on, darling. Let’s exchange the experience.”

“What are you up to, Kitten?” he asked, unable to call you anything else now. 

You jumped at his voice, laughing softly from the small rush. “Gaia showed me how to make hybrid plants,” you told him, removing the headphones. “I’ve been giving it a shot.”

Ever since your family decided to train you themselves, your powers have grown exponentially. Your mother told him you’d taken to your training like a fish to water. She said you had a talent for regrowing and strengthening your “children”. He did note how the greenhouse plants thrived underneath your care, much more than they did with him. Rhea mentioned your stable control. Whenever she purposefully ticked a nerve, no doors blew open or plants shooting to strangle anyone. Seonghwa was glad for this. He’d worried he’d be replacing broken doors for all eternity. 

“Come look,” you beckoned him over to your desk. When he reached you, he saw a tiny sprout in the plant. About the height of a pencil, it had arrowhead petals the color of opals with a center a blood red. The flower moved to “look” at him, and he heard it give the softest of coos. “I thought of making flowers that have gemstone colors,” you said. “I think they’d look beautiful. This one is supposed to be opals. I hope when it gets bigger, the petals shine like them too.”

“It’s gorgeous,” he said, putting an arm around your waist. “Is this the first one?”

“No,” you frowned. “The first two didn’t take or die right away. This one has lasted overnight, so I have high hopes for her.” 

You cupped the top of the flower, running your thumb over a petal. He saw how lovingly you looked at your creations. 

“Sometimes, I wish I was a plant,” he said without thinking. 

“What?” you looked over at him, amused.

“Then perhaps you’d look at me the way you look at them,” he said, gazing over your face. 

“I do,” you admitted, turning to him. “You’re just not looking at me when I do it. It kind of ruins the whole ‘looking-when-they’re-not-looking’ if you knew.” 

You slid your hands up his chest to his shoulders. Briefly, he thought back to the first time he’d seen you. The glowing firelight behind you illuminated your features, and caught itself in your hair. You shook with fear, but that quickly dissipated when he licked your center. Not because you’d fallen in love with him, but because you saw you weren’t going to “die”. You understood the benefits of being a duke’s pet. Being a slave to one of Asmodeus’s heirs came with more pros than cons. However, as time went on, he hoped your feelings might have changed. Perhaps you no longer see him as your ‘Master’, whom you must obey and fear, but as a partner. A lover. A ‘mate’, as his mother had said. Gently, he caressed your cheek as he studied your face. 

“Which you’re doing right now,” you giggled, breaking him free of his thoughts. 

“Forgive me,” he said. “I…I get caught up in my thoughts, sometimes.”

“Well, what were you thinking about?”

“How my mother called you my ‘mate’ the other day.”

“She’d said that?”

“You weren’t in the room. She’d said, ‘I heard you have a mate. What’s it like biting from the same apple as your brothers, Seonghwa?’”

“Ugh, she’s the worst. What did you say?”

“That you’re more of a peach than an apple,” he smirked, pecking your lips, “And that sharing you with people I love doesn’t bother me at all.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I love my brothers. I love them more than what is considered appropriate,” he huffed a laugh, “So sharing you with them doesn’t bother me. I take it that it doesn’t bother you either?”

“Not one bit,” you grinned, arms around his middle. “I’m a lucky girl.”

“Very,” he said, hands going up and down your back. The sweet honeyed scent he loved threatened to overpower his senses. “Would you want to be?”

“Be lucky? Yeah.”

“No,” he chuckled, “Be my…Be my mate.”

“Like a girlfriend?”

“Sure.” 

“I thought I was?” you looked up at him. “Did you think we weren’t?”

“I didn’t know what to think, if I am honest,” he admitted. “This all happened quite suddenly, and I haven’t had a moment to really think about it.” 

“You? Mr. Brooding didn’t have time to mull over something for hours?” you teased, making him smile rather than scowl. 

“I’ve been concerned with more important things lately,” he said. “Also, I…”

“Was scared that I wouldn’t feel the same way,” you finished for him. 

“Yes,” he breathed bashfully. 

“I do,” you said. “I can’t believe I do, but nobody has ever made me feel how you and the others do.” You played with the serpent stick pin on his tie. “The guys I dated before felt so shallow and meaningless. They left just as fast as they’d appeared. Most of them had wives or girlfriends too, whom they always chose over me, their ‘mistress’. I…” you stared at the golden pin, not wanting to meet his eyes as you spoke, “I meant nothing to them. I want to say they meant nothing to me, but that wasn’t always true. I did like some of them. But, I always knew it wouldn’t last. I had goals, and sometimes I gave up nice things for them. My life seems so hollow now that I look back at it. I had no one. Nobody stayed or wanted to stay.” He spotted tears glistening in your eyes and you turned away. 

“You have me,” he said, gently lifting your chin. “I want to stay, and I want you to stay. I feared you might decide to live in Eden after all, and leave me. Thoughts of never seeing your face or hearing your singing made me feel empty.” 

You smiled softly, tracing his sharp jaw down to his neck. “And I thought San was the romantic one.”

“I can be too,” he said, taking your hand to kiss your knuckles, “When the mood strikes me.” 

“You remind me of those guys in those sappy dime-store novels,” you said.

“Dime-store novels?”

“You know, the little books they sell in the magazine section that have those dramatic, idealized covers? You remind me of them. There’s always these long love confessions and romance scenes that lead into steamy sex right afterwards. She’ll be a woman running away from something or have a traumatizing past; he’ll always be the small town farmer or the shopkeeper or a lumberjack with a stern face but heart of gold. They find each other through various circumstances-it changes all the time- and end up falling in love despite the odds.”

He chuckled at your description, supposing it might be true. “You mean bodice-ripper romances?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you shrugged. “The girl is always swooning and the guy has his shirt open, and he’s super muscular. You remind me of them a little bit.”

“That I’m muscular and always have my shirt open? Sounds more like San to be fair.”

You giggled, “Because you’re the sexy bookish guy who pretends he’s not interested in the protagonist when really he is.” He let your fingers hook around his lapel to bring him in for a kiss. 

“Except I make my interest in you very known.”

He gave you a few brief kisses, wanting desperately to go further. Seonghwa knew the result of kissing you too deeply, and the temptation reached inside him the longer he stood in front of you.

“Don’t go,” you said, your lips against his. “Stay with me.”

“I have work to do.”

“Is it really that important?” you asked, hands going into his black curls. You gave him a few pecks, then said, “So important you’d leave me behind?” You placed his hand on your chest, urging him to fondle you. “I thought you loved me.”

“I do,” he said, giving it a gentle squeeze, “But unfortunately I do one of the most important jobs in Hell.” He gave you another kiss, controlling his lust for you. “You know I come back at lunch time.” He tugged at the bra strap exposed by your off-the-shoulder shirt, pulling it as far as it’d go. Seonghwa started a trail of kisses from your neck to where the strap stopped. “I never pass on a good dessert,” he said, pressing his lips to the top of your breast.

“I suppose waiting makes it better,” you huffed. “Should I wear your favorite when you come home?”

Seonghwa groaned softly, kissing up your neck. An image of you in his study, wearing a short pleated skirt, cropped top, and knee high socks filled his thoughts. But, responsibility came before pleasure.

“Yes,” he breathed, tempted to tug down your shirt and bra to kiss your nipples. “I’d love that.”

“I can put it on for you now,” you told him in his ear. “Would you like to watch me put it on?”

“I would if I could, Kitten,” he said, forcing himself away from temptation.

“Fine,” you frowned, fixing your shirt. “I’ll stay and wait for you to come back.”

Seonghwa, not wanting to leave you frowning, kissed you one more time as he slid his hand into your shorts. You weren’t wet, but he groaned at the heat on his fingers. You clutched his arm suddenly, stiffening at the hand slowly rubbing circles against your panties. Even if you’d started going around without them, you wore them for him. He liked it because pulling them off you felt more like unwrapping a present, your sweet sex being the gift.

“Jongho,” he called out, watching you slowly uncoil at his touch. He heard Jongho appear from nowhere.

“Yes, Master?”

Seonghwa knew the butler did everything he could not to notice what was happening. He smirked over at him, “Your mistress needs some attention, but sadly I must head to the office. Why don’t you lend her a hand?” He gently pulled down your shorts to reveal the soft, cotton panties underneath. “Where do you want it?”

“I want you right here,” you brought him to you, sitting on the desk while you pulled him between your legs. “Just a few licks at least? Your tongue is so much better.”

“You’ll have my tongue later,” he said, knuckles running up and down your slit. “For now, you can enjoy Jongho’s tongue. Don’t you like getting eaten out by him?”

“I love it,” you said, “But I want you, Master.”

“And you will have it,” he said more firmly, “Later.” He kissed your lips, then turned back around. “Jongho, come here.”

Jongho took his place in front of you. Seonghwa stood and watched as your most loyal servant kissed and fondled you. He knew he was a goner when you passionately kissed him, both your tongues sliding over lips and teeth like eels. Leaning against your bedpost once more, he observed as Jongho started sucking and kissing your nipples. His low groans matched yours as you withdrew him from his trousers. Only half hard, Seonghwa knew with a few more kisses and the right strokes, his cock would be throbbing madly. Soon, Jongho sank to his knees to kiss your center. You held onto the edge of your desk as he deepened it, sliding his tongue over your clothed sex and hands gripping your thighs. Your face scrunched up from pleasure, body shifting to grind to his face, you looked too good to pass up. He knew with a bit of persuasion, his brothers would’ve jumped at the chance, but Seonghwa didn’t.

“Would you like me to take them off, Mistress?” Jongho asked you, “Or simply move them aside?”

“Take them off,” you said, looking over at Seonghwa, “So our master can see your tongue on my clit.”

So he did. You lifted one leg onto the desk to give him a perfect view of your naked pussy. Seonghwa bit his inner cheek, knowing you’re doing everything in your power to bring him back over to you. Jongho stuck out his tongue and flicked it against your clitoris, languidly rolling it counter-clockwise. Seonghwa intently watched the servant tease your folds, wetting them with his tongue and your stickiness. He moved back over to you, but only to remove your shirt and tug down your bra. Seonghwa groped at one of them, pinching and teasing your nipple as Jongho licked your cunt.

“I don’t want him to put anything in you,” he instructed, licking his thumb to rub on your hard nipple. “He can only rub and lick your holes. He can touch and lick any of them, but his dick goes nowhere near them,” he said, looking down to see Jongho sucking your throbbing clit. “Do you know why, Kitten?”

“Because they’re your holes, Master,” you smiled, loving the dynamic between you, “And nobody fucks them but you.”

“That’s right. You’re such a good girl,” he said, moving to grope the other side, “I want you to come to my office at exactly eleven o’clock. There, you’re going to sit on my desk facing the windows, legs open, and patiently wait for me. If you’re not there and/or my holes aren’t presented for me when I get there, I’m going to punish you in my favorite way. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Repeat my order back to me.”

“You want me-me at your office at eleven o’clock, sitting on your desk facing the windows, and presenting your holes patiently. If I’m not there or your holes aren’t ready, you’ll punish me in your favorite way.”

“Good girl,” he gave you a soft kiss. “And, yes, wear my favorite outfit today. No panties. No bra. Just the top, the skirt and those knee-high socks I like.”

“May I-I cu-cum, sir?”

He considered it for a moment. It will be a while before he sees you, and it’d be wrong of him to leave it for so long. “Since you thought to ask, yes,” he nodded, “You may only cum twice. Any more and I punish you.” 

Perhaps he was one of your bodice-ripper characters after all. Jongho sped up his lapping tongue, having you tense in his grasp. He’d kill a slew of men to stay by your side, admiring you as Jongho pleasured you over and over again. Suddenly, he reminded himself of another man he’d grown up with. He’d prefer not to think about him.

He kissed you one last time, a promise of ‘later’ on his lips before he left. The walk from your bedroom to the front door gave him a minute to shake you off him. The warm air outside blew your scent off his clothes, and dried the kisses left on his skin. Everything in him told him to go back inside and ravage you the way you deserved, but he’d learned a long time ago that promises and time make it much better.

‘You make your prey wait. You let them dangle by their wrists, keep the blindfold over their eyes, and let the fear stew inside. By the time you return, the sound of your footsteps amplifies all the senses. If you break them well enough, they’ll grow hard or wet at the thought of you.’

Seonghwa stepped into his carriage, hearing the driver crack a whip to get it moving. Unlike San and Hongjoong, Seonghwa did not grow up in the mountains and hills of southern Korea. He’d been born in a small hanok in a village before being taken away to be raised elsewhere. His mother’s “children'' did not only serve her from her homeland. They served in all corners of the world and came from all walks of life. From the beggar on the streets of London to an advisor to an Egyptian pharaoh, his mother had many followers. She decreed Seonghwa would be raised as nobility, considering he’d be a Duke of Lust when he came of age. She first sent him to the French countryside to live with a witch who’d served her well. Amaline was a Duchess by marriage, having gained her position through black magic and love potions. She told his mother she’d train and educate the boy but only until she birthed a child of her own. Judging by her husband’s crazed obsession with her and their nightly passions, this did not take very long.

At five-years-old, Seonghwa then stayed with a peasant couple in Paris. Dominique and Fabien Bacque owned a very popular bakery in the city, where they forced Seonghwa to work. They believed since his mother never came around, they could get away with treating him like scum. They forced him to go by a “proper” name that was easier to pronounce. 

‘Announcing his lordship, Jean Baptiste Bacque, the filthiest, loathsome rat this side of France!’ Fabien often proclaimed in his dingy bakery, ale in his hand as he and his friends laughed. 

Fabien did not laugh for long, however. When his mother arrived to see him, her fury flared at his condition. Her son, a child of the great demon prince Asmodeus, wore rags and was filthier than a street rat. Her son, a Lord of Hell and Duke of Lust, could not read or write. He recalled the vicious hounds his mother set upon the couple. Seonghwa still remembered their screams as the demonic hellhounds tore them to pieces before his eyes.

Seonghwa, twelve-years-old and still growing, went to live in Paris with a nobleman his mother knew well. While Donatien didn’t serve his mother, the Marquis de Sade served his father faithfully since his late teens. Donatien was not only a nobleman, Seonghwa learned, but a writer, political activist and libertine. If anyone was fit to care and educate her son, it was Donatien. This is when his name changed again.

‘Baptiste is such a common name. From now on, you are Jean Hercule Francois, the new Viscount de Sade.’

Still young and new to the world, Seonghwa took to his new position much faster than Hongjoong did later on. Donatien saw his eagerness to learn, his passion for poetry and music, and let him indulge in things like sword fighting, horse riding, croquet, astrology, botany and science. Seonghwa grew up alongside Donatien’s other children, forging close bonds through their lifetimes. It was when Seonghwa turned fourteen that Donatien took him away to the countryside. In a lavish retreat outside of Paris, Donatien told his protege that he’d be taking over his education from then on. Seonghwa thought he meant language, philosophy, literature, swordplay and etiquette. While he’d been half-way right, Donatien taught him more than just that. 

“We’re here, my lord,” the driver said. 

“Thank you.” 

Seonghwa stepped out of the carriage and walked towards a tall building in the middle of a bustling intersection. On the fringes of the main gates, crowds of lost souls wandered in through the stone entrance, crossed a wide bridge, and right into the bowels of the tower. There, they’d be funneled into the long, winding halls of the lower cells where they’d be taken into rooms to be assessed. Seonghwa led a team of demons who had the same mind digging ability as him. Seonghwa reached the glass doors, withdrew his employee ID and swiped to gain entry. He bypassed coworkers on their way into work, making idle chatter in the elevators just to keep up appearances. But, his mind kept going back to his old mentor and guardian, Donatien. 

He started with simple drawings and sharing the pornography he wrote. Donatien taught Seonghwa all about the human anatomy from erogenous zones to the various acts people can do to achieve pleasure. He often brought prostitutes to the estate to perform demonstrations. Donatien would lie with them while Seonghwa watched through a hole in the wall. He explained all the new thoughts, curiosities and sensations his adolescent brain took in. Soon, Seonghwa was sitting beside the bed as Donatien engaged in sexual acts with both men and women. Then, Seonghwa moved to the bed, where his teacher taught him how to pleasure his partners. Donatien hosted full on orgies in his home just for his “son” to experiment and indulge in all sorts of acts. If it weren’t for his demon blood, Seonghwa is sure he would’ve contracted a disease.

When Seonghwa was sixteen, Donatien showed him what he’d done with the servant girls he’d hired to attend to his son.

“Good morrow, Seonghwa,” an elderly demon said as he walked by the elevator. “A fine day for digging, huh? Lots of fresh prisoners down in the dungeons today!”

“As there are every minute of every day, Lord Byron,” said Seonghwa good naturedly. “How are things in your section?”

“Wonderful,” he smiled. “Absolutely wonderful. Our numbers have gone up since that terrible war ended. I forget which one, but it’s one of the larger ones. Yours?”

“We’ve kept good numbers. Nothing to boast of by all means, but my team does their best with what we’ve gotten.”

“You’ll come up soon, son. You’re very talented for such a young demon.”

Seonghwa and Lord Byron talked on their way to sections four and six of the office floors. The pair split up, and Seonghwa walked through a door into a long hallway. 

Bondage. Sadism. Masochism. Using ropes, whips, chains, and canes to bring pain and pleasure to his partners became the primary focus of his teenage studies. They did not have the advanced sex toys of the modern age, but they had the basics. Seonghwa didn’t like the bloody, violent extremes Donatien took his partners to, but he enjoyed breaking them. Not only in body, but in the mind. He learned how to turn a servant girl from reluctant to desperate with more than slaps to the ass. He learned about his talent for mind digging during this time. It was easy to persuade and trick others when he knew their deepest, darkest desires. He often used it for personal gain or to have an advantage over a rival, but he enjoyed it most in his dungeon.

“Morning, Mr. Park,” said a young woman sitting at a desk beside his office door.

Seonghwa noticed how Mya’s tight button blouse and pencil skirt made her scarlet skin pop. Thin stockings covered her long legs, ending just beneath the hem of the skirt. Behind her thin rimmed glasses, bright orange eyes twinkled at him flirtatiously. A look to tantalize him. Seonghwa didn’t particularly care. Mya looked like every other succubus he’d met throughout his life. He honestly had trouble telling them apart sometimes. 

“Morning,” he said. “Mya, I have an important meeting at eleven o’clock, and I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Of course, sir,” she typed out the order in her computer, “The person’s name?”

“YN,” he told her. “You’ll know her when you see her, trust me.”

“Shall I cancel your appointment with your brother then?”

“Yes, go ahead. Hongjoong will understand.”

Hongjoong would do the same thing if it were him, and he’d understand. 

He remembered the day he’d come to get his little brother from his village in Korea. A scruffy boy with crimson hair hanging over defiant eyes, Hongjoong didn’t like the posh life Seonghwa lived for so long. He didn’t share the French people’s catholic views, he scowled at their abundance and wealth, and spat at their feet when they criticized him. Seonghwa did his best to educate and train his brother to be a gentleman, but Hongjoong was far from it. At fifteen, he was getting drunk and gambling with the scum of the city. He bedded whores of all kinds, and engrossed himself in depravity. Donatien took a liking to him right away and so did Seonghwa. He’d never known a boy to be so bold and brash; he’d never met someone who scowled at priests, spat at city guards, and laughed in the face of authority figures. It intrigued him. He’d started sharing his partners with Hongjoong, but it seemed his brother only desired one person.

“Put it in me, Hwa. I want us to be one,” he’d said, whining and squirming as Seonghwa jerked him off during a hunting trip. 

When Donatien went to prison for his lewd, lascivious behavior, which was illegal at the time, it became only them. Seonghwa and Hongjoong disappeared into their own world in that retreat. They were two demons who’d found each other in an ever-changing world. Neither of them had ever met another demon before, but everything they felt came so naturally. Him admiring Hongjoong’s narrow, upturned nose and soft lips as he slept felt as natural as watching the clouds drift by. They didn’t hide their love. They didn’t care if the church and the law spoke against it. Hongjoong and him shared a bond that nobody else understood. 

Seonghwa logged into his computer, where a photo came up on the screen. San. Sweet San who loved freely and often. In the picture, he sat lounging by a window laughing at a joke Hongjoong told. His smile lit up his face and squinted his eyes, a look that made people swoon. San came along much later with slicked back hair and a fancy suit. Unlike Hongjoong and Seonghwa who arrived in Hell when they came of age, San had died in the living world. He didn’t like mulling over the details, and he never pushed for details. All he knew was his brother died young and brutally. Fifteen, skinnier than a twig with lost puppy eyes, the pair brought him into their ancient home right away. Seonghwa trained him to be the proper gentleman Hongjoong refused to be. He’d decided while they might be Asmodeus’s sons, they would not be scoundrels. They would uphold the family name and image. Hongjoong struggled with that most days. 

San, on the other hand, was a golden boy. Not only physically attractive, and kind-hearted, he proved to be an athlete as well. His skill with weaponry remained unmatched in Seonghwa’s eyes. He’d seen sixteen-year-old San take down a full grown demon with quick, fluid movements. Some people found it hard to believe San was Asmodeus’s son with his skills. The skinny boy who’d come to his doorstep bloody and weeping turned into a golden god. Seonghwa and Hongjoong found it harder and harder to ignore his physical beauty as he grew. They’d taken to watching him bathe through peepholes or finding excuses to get him naked in front of them. Seonghwa never admitted he’d bought the hot tub as another way to admire his sweet brother’s body. 

“If you wanted to watch me jerk off, you could’ve just asked,” he’d said when he confronted them in the lounge one night. 

The three of them became inseparable. 

“Seonghwa,” the call came after three knocks on the door. An older demon with stark white hair and olive green skin stood in a tweed suit in the doorway. “How are you, old boy?”

“Wishing I’d stayed home,” he snorted with a laugh that the man joined. 

“After seeing that lovely mate of yours, I don’t blame you,” he said. “Urik’s called a department meeting. He says it’s urgent.”

“I’ll be there.”

The man disappeared, and Seonghwa thought about what he’d said. ‘Mate’. He’d heard many people refer to you with the primitive term. He thought about what you’d both talked about, and it made him fonder of you. 

He wished he’d given in to you. 

****

“Minos dares to say we have been misplacing prisoners.” 

“What does he mean by that? We are the ones who see into their misdeeds and only give suggestions.”

The meeting would never end. Seonghwa leaned back in the leather chair, eyes constantly glancing over to the clock on the wall. It’d be eleven in fifteen minutes. In fifteen minutes, he’d have you in his arms. In fifteen minutes, he’d be entirely consumed by you. But first, he must suffer the most boring part of his job: manager meetings. 

This could’ve been an email. 

“He believes we’re being too careless with our suggestions. He says a person who should’ve been sentenced to Wrath was instead sentenced to Pride.”

“Yes, because the prisoners carried out their misdeeds through their pride.”

He wondered if you’d cum at all. You must have. It’s been three hours since he left home. You’ve likely already used up your two free orgasms by now. Seonghwa liked imagining Jongho, drunk on your lips, pleasuring you as long as he physically could. He already knew you could go for hours with your heightened sexual appetite and stamina. Seonghwa thought of every time he laid with you and his brothers. With the natural lust of demons and the constant burning desire combined with your special kisses, the four of you made love almost nonstop. Once Seonghwa tasted one of you, he found it hard to stop. 

“But he claims the wrath outweighs the pride.”

He couldn’t wait to taste you. He might take off the entire day just to have you to himself. 

“Seonghwa, what do you make of these claims?”

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked up. At a long table in a conference room, Seonghwa sat with the heads of departments and his boss, a demon named Urik. The whole table turned when Urik addressed him. He must have appeared too in thought. 

“That Minos is being his usual stubborn, complicated self,” he answered, grasping at an answer. “For thousands of years, he’s made claims that we’re not working to his standards. He sits in his chair, passes judgment, and acts as if it’s our fault if the prisoner is sent back. The man takes no responsibility for his own faults.”

“As I have said,” claimed another demon, Lucinda. “We cannot take him so seriously, Urik. His mind is going and his judgment wanes.” 

Urik, broad and red, nodded with his hands clasped on the desk. “Regardless, Prince Belphegor has commanded all of us to undergo training courses-”

“-Training courses?” exclaimed Bazil, green and horned. “Uh-uh, I will not retake a bunch of baby courses because Minos has convinced the Prince of Sloth that we do not take our jobs seriously. I am extremely thorough with my digs, and give the most sensible, honest suggestions I can make.” 

“Regardless, it is The Prince’s command and we must abide by it,” said Urik. He picked up a stack of binders that he handed to Lucinda. Seonghwa watched them be passed around the table. “These are the recommended courses. It details everything from basic training to advanced digging techniques. I want you to relay this order to your teams, and make sure they are done by the weekend.”

“You’re not serious?” asked an elderly, pot-bellied demon named Arthur. “My team has been working all week on a new batch of prisoners. They can’t be expected to put that aside to work on this.”

“They will have to find the time,” said Urik.

Seonghwa opened the binder to study the different courses. It’d be like Minos, Judge of Souls, to lay blame on the sin seers. He wondered who’d placed you. Personally, he would’ve sent you to Greed rather than Lust. A good chunk of your actions were fueled by a desire for more: more money, more power, and more respect. It could be argued that you enjoyed the feeling of triumph and superiority over the actual material rewards. 

“Urik, you know how ridiculous this is,” said Lucinda.

He then thought of your behavior this morning. You’d ensnared him with your charms and pouting, and he almost gave into it. You loved how sex made you feel, and not only the physical reactions either. It makes you feel desirable. It gave you the power others tried having over you. He knew he was powerless against your charms. Seonghwa could still smell your essence in his nose, driving him back into those desires again. If you’d lived in his time, he’d never want anyone but you and Hongjoong ever again. 

“I understand your frustration, but we cannot ignore a royal command,” said Urik. “I want all courses finished by Friday. You're dismissed.”

The group groaned and left the table. Seonghwa knew his own team wouldn't like the extra workload. They worked exclusively in the 4th and 5th sectors of Limbo, where souls are determined before being sent to Minos for final judgment. Seonghwa heard his department only existed because of Minos's constant deaths and rebirths. He pictured the aged god sitting upon a golden throne, nearly blind and half-mad. Members of his team already complained that he sent too many people back, and that he didn't know one day from the next. When Seonghwa tells them about Belphegor's command, they'll be upset for sure. 

Walking through the busy office, Seonghwa went to the elevator and punched in his floor number. His mind floated back to you, and wondering what you might be doing. He liked the idea of Jongho still in your bed, the both of you pleasuring one another every way possible. However, realistically, you would’ve stopped by now. He hoped Jongho hadn’t tired you out too much. Seonghwa didn’t want you to perform if you didn’t feel up to doing it. 

“The nerve of him, huh?” Lucinda entered the elevator after him, irritated. “I can't wait until the bastard croakes. Then Urik takes over while he’s gone.”

“It can't be long now,” said Seonghwa. His body buzzed with anticipation. In several minutes, he’ll be finding you on his desk wet and needy. He hoped, at least. “He already can't stand up.” Your pussy is so pretty when in the light, especially when wet.  

“Too bad he doesn't have the cane yet. I'd have a laugh knocking it out from under him.” The two shared a half-hearted laugh, then she said, “I saw your mate the other day.”

“Huh?”

“Your mate,” she repeated. “The Princess Lilith’s granddaughter. She's an absolute gem. I ran into her at the hardware place buying more gardening supplies. She's such a delight. You must bring her to the office party this year.”

“I wouldn't dream of taking anyone else.”

There was that word again: ‘Mate’. It had him thinking about it again. 

“But, I suppose you call her your ‘girlfriend’. All you young people use that word now.”

“It means the same thing,” they got off on the floor together. “They're interchangeable.”

“Barely,” she replied. “Girlfriend sounds so informal and distant. Mate,” she grinned fondly, “That one sounds much deeper.” 

“I suppose.”

Lucinda had a point. He thought about it as they parted ways. The word ‘girlfriend’ implied some kind of distance between the both of you. ‘Mate’ carried a sense of closeness: it meant a deep connection that others couldn’t explain. He liked the idea of you possibly being “The One”. His father never expected him to marry, and his mother's opinion didn't matter at all. Yet, the idea of you with his last name did not sound so bad. 

The tortured cries and pleas of the prisoners pulled him from his thoughts. Walking into a long hallway, he could hear his coworkers and their prisoners behind the doors. It became white noise at this point. He knew behind the steel doors, dozens of sinners fresh from the gates laid strapped to tables as a demon burrowed into their minds. Piece by piece, the demon pulled back the layers to see right into their soul. Seonghwa understood it to be an excruciating process to undergo. He’d seen it in the faces of those in his chair; he took in how they screamed and begged for mercy. He only laughed. Mercy? In Hell? Ridiculous.

The excitement fueled the arousal slowly rising inside him. Behind the door, he assumed, you’d be sitting on his desk with your legs apart for him. He turned the knob slowly and looked inside.

As he hoped, you sat propped up on your hands with your back to the door. By the way your feet were placed on the edge, he knew anyone who might be looking out the windows will see you splay out for them. You’d put on the outfit he requested, kindling his hardon. He closed and locked the door and walked over to you.

“There’s my sweet kitten,” he said, moving around the desk to you. “Oh, don’t you make a delicious sight?”

No panties, as requested, your smooth sex glistened in the sunlight coming from the wide windows. Without your bra, the shirt accentuated the natural curves of your breasts and the peaks of your nipples. You bit back your lip when he slid his hand from your knee to your inner thigh. He gave it a small squeeze as he stood in front of you. Seonghwa took a moment to caress and massage them in their bent position. You trembled each time his thumbs pressed to the sides of your sex before pulling back. His hands left your thighs for your sides, running up the dips of your waist to the bottoms of your breasts. He couldn’t stop himself from grazing your nipples through the shirt. He looked at your reactions while he lightly teased them. 

Eyes heavy with need and lust, you bit your lower lip to keep your moans from coming out. He saw the way your body slightly twitched whenever he touched your lower stomach, moving dangerously close to the bent position of your body. He sailed up your arms, moving up your shoulders to your neck where he pulled you in for a gentle kiss. There, he licked and tugged at your bottom lip with great risk to his own stability. He unfolded you from your position, letting your legs hang from the desk as his arms went around you. Being this close to you, surrounded by your sweet scent and feeling your soft skin made him understand what Lucinda meant. A mate is a partner for life. A mate is someone who's just as much a part of you as you are of them. Seonghwa slid a hand up the nape of your neck, touching your scalp and giving the roots a tender tug to keep you in place. As much as he loved his brothers, he found himself falling deeper in love with you.

Neither of you said anything as he removed your top, putting it to the side and giving him access to your naked chest.

“Undress me,” he said between kisses. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”

You started with his tie, removing the expensive gold pin and putting it on the desk. Heat flared in the middle of your passionate kisses. Seonghwa wanted to throw you onto the desk and pound you into the wood. Yet, he controlled himself. Donatien taught him all about self-control and restraint. He learned never to hasten the act. Drawing it out and letting it slowly simmer over time added to the bliss of the orgasm later. Seonghwa exhaled deeply once you unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders as you explored his torso. Your hands ignited him. Your delicate fingers traced the lines of his abdomen, sliding up them to his broad chest where your thumbs brushed his nipples. He shut his eyes to savor your lips dotting his neck and chest. He took in the softness sucking on the base of his neck; it was enough to bring a bit of pain before licking. The center of his pants grew tighter and more restrictive as his cock hardened. The feeling of your bodies brushing his stoked that further. He groaned when you nipped your teeth at his nipple, causing him to bring you to kiss him again. This didn’t stop you from pinching it instead. 

“How long?” he asked in a raspy breath, unable to stop kissing you.

“Not too long,” you answered.

“Did you cum at all?”

“Once. I wanted to save the other ones for you.”

He groaned after hearing this. Making a trail of kisses to your breasts, he took one nipple in his mouth. You started undoing his belt and the fly of his pants, whining at the slightest suggestion of his cock close to your hands. Your nipple hardly moved as his tongue flicked and rolled around it. The wrinkled areola tightened up to the pert tips, which he suckled softly before giving it a tender nibble. A low hum left him once you tugged down his pants, leaving his underwear on for the moment. 

“What else did you two do?” he asked, switching sides to repeat the action.

“I licked and stroked him back,” you said, grabbing him through his underwear. “I used my strap on him.”

“You did?” the picture he created pushed his hand between your thighs. 

“You said he couldn’t fuck my holes. You didn’t say I couldn’t fuck his.”

He chuckled through his teeth, giving your nipple another bite that made you jump. “Clever,” he groaned with one more suckle before gently laying you on the desk. “I bet he loved every second of it.”

“He did,” you said, straightening yourself on it. “Since he asked me to fuck him a few more times. I wish you’d been there too. Then you could’ve fucked me while I fucked him.”

“There’s always time for that,” he said, kissing down to the waistband of your skirt. “Right now, I want you to myself.”

He took a seat at the desk, and raised your skirt up to your stomach. Being close to your sex this way made him salivate. Your velvety folds showed small glimmers of your arousal, while your clit remained hard underneath its hood. Pulling at the top, Seonghwa stretched it upwards before giving it a gentle lick. You gripped at the bunched fabric of your skirt, ready for the waves of pleasure you’d soon be feeling. He loved knowing you anticipated it. He loved knowing how his tongue and fingers drove you over the edge over and over. It was like the prostitutes who used to come through his home: he’d be relentless and merciless when it came to that special place inside them. It made him feel powerful. It gave him control over them. 

He kept your pussy in this position as he lapped at it at a measured pace. You whimpered and cried out each time he swirled his tongue around your clit, jerking when he zigzagged over it right after. He licked down to your entrance, where more fluids leaked out when he dipped his tongue into it. The rim of your entrance opened easily at the tip sticking inside, your bumpy ridged walls nearly pulling at it each time he pushed inwards. He couldn’t get enough of your sweet taste. He’d choose your pussy over the finest meal Cook could make for him anytime.

You cried out when his fingers replaced his tongue. He’d seen loads of pussy in his life, but none as nice as yours. Perhaps it’s because he loved you, so he admired yours the most. Maybe your pussy really is the best he’s ever seen. Either way, he lazily traced the swollen lips with his tongue, barely grazing the aching clit and entrance. He dipped his fingers to the second knuckle to hear you mutter a curse under your breath. Seonghwa grew harder the longer he played with your sex. He rolled his fingers side to side over the nub of your clit; he drooled onto it to slicken the soaked puffy lips. You started playing with your breasts, needing more pleasure on top of what he’d given you, and he didn’t stop you. 

“You’re always so tight for me, Kitten,” he groaned when he slipped two fingers in sideways, watching your hole stretch to accommodate them. “Do you keep it that way for me?”

You nodded, “I don’t use toys or fingers when I touch myself. I only rub it so I keep your holes stay extra tight for you.”

He moaned internally when you said ‘your holes’ instead of ‘my holes’. The thought of owning you even without your collar made him harder. He fingered you slowly, watching his long fingers gleam with your juices. “How thoughtful,” he said, spitting on your clit again to spread it around. “All of my holes?” he asked, standing to push his wet fingers into your mouth. “Even your ass?” you only nodded while you sucked your juices from his fingers. “Let me see it then. Roll over for me.”

You stopped sucking fingers and shifted around until you were on your stomach. The anticipation made you grind into the edge of his desk, legs automatically spreading to give him more access to you. He dragged his hand up the backs of your thighs to then squeeze the bottom curves of your ass. When he gave one side a light tap, you twitched. Seonghwa continued doing this, keeping the slaps light and tender. He groped one cheek, seeing the fatty flesh knead like dough to his hand. Lifting and spreading them apart, he groaned seeing both entrances exposed to him now.  Your ass hole, clenched closed and hairless, fluttered when he slipped his tongue from perineum to the crack of your bottom. You trembled, but forced yourself to remain still. His tongue circling the rim of your ass, the other went back to caressing your dripping sex. You moaned when both digits stroked against your taut walls.

“Did Jongho lick you here, Kitten?” he asked, sliding over the rim of your hole while pushing two fingers deep inside you.

“Ye-yes,” you whimpered.

“Did he fuck you here?”

“No.”

“Good girl,” he praised, flicking at it the way you enjoyed. He knew just the vulgarity of the act aroused you. “I’m putting a plug in you the next time I take you out,” he promised, stopping to watch your pussy stretch around his fingers. “Just so I can watch you squirm from it being up inside you while you sit. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” you said, “Yes, so much.”

He chuckled, “Dirty slut. You’d do just about anything, huh? There’s nothing off limits for you, is there?”

“Hardly.”

He gave your ass a light tap before sticking his tongue into your ass in time with his fingers. It was then he noticed it. Your ass grew just as wet as your pussy. He knew his servants’ backsides self-lubricated when stimulated, but yours never had. Perhaps it did and he didn’t notice with the lubricant and saliva applied beforehand. It tasted just as good. Seonghwa’s cock twitched against his stomach realizing that your body truly was made for fucking. You were a beautiful half-succubus with a gorgeous body that carried the endurance and stamina to keep up with the appetite of a full-blooded demon. It made him want you more.

“Master,” you breathed, clutching the edge of the desk as his fingers continued penetrating and circling your insides, “Please don’t stop. That feels so good.”

“I know it does,” he pushed both fingers in deep, watching your legs kick up as he wriggled his fingers in your pussy. “There’s nothing my kitten loves more than having both holes filled at the same time.” He kept pulling them in and out, listening to you become a whimpering mess in front of him. “It’s a shame I wasn’t blessed with two cocks,” he said, withdrawing them to go back to rubbing. “Then I can fuck these at the same time.” Still fingering your sex, he bent down to flick his tongue on your ass hole. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Kitten?” he asked, listening to you moan at his warm tongue. “Wouldn’t you like me having two dicks for you to play with?”

“God, yes. Oh fuck, that’d be a dream.” 

“I happen to know people who do,” he sneered, standing up from his chair. “They’d love to meet you,” he slapped your ass again before finally pulling his dick out. He let it rest on your ass, groaning at the contact and how large he looked in comparison. “You’d have no problem taking both if you can take mine,” he said, spitting on his tip to rub it over your leaking hole. 

The sudden touch made you twitch and kick a leg up. Sensitive too. He loved that about you. The image of you taking more than one always excited him. He slid his head down to your pussy, rubbing his throbbing tip on it in slow circles.

“Master,” you whined, “Put it inside me, please. I need it so bad, please.”

“Is that right?”

In all honesty, he tortured himself as much as he did you. As he sunk up to the head, he hissed through his teeth. Your heat tried pulling him further, with your hips pushing back into his before he held you in place.

“I asked you a question, Kitten,” he said, “Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“How badly do you need it?” he withdrew to rub himself against your clit.

“Really, really, really bad.”

“Show me,” he said, removing his hands from your waist and lining himself up with you. He brushed the very tip of himself to you, “Show me how bad you’ve been wanting it.”

Your lack of hesitation amused him. Instant satisfaction came when you sunk your aching cunt onto his cock. His dick sliding in and out, filling and stretching you while you bounced against his hips became a mesmerizing sight. You kept your hands flat on the desk, legs further apart as you backed up against him as much as you could. Each time his tip reached your g-spot, he felt you grip him tighter. The tight sensation started in his balls, threatening to rise up to the base of his cock where his dick suddenly became sensitive. Pulling your buttocks apart, he spat onto your ass and started rubbing it. Slick, clear fluid lubricated your hole enough for him to slide two fingers inside. Neither pushing or pulling, he kept his fingers knuckle deep as a toy might. This had you grinding and rocking up to his balls, enjoying the whirl of sensations he created for you.

Soon enough, Seonghwa saw you clawing his desk and shuddering as your orgasm approached. This urged him to hold you by the hip and start thrusting with the same speed as before. The sound of his balls slapping your throbbing clit and your ass hitting his hips brought you right to the brink.

“May I cum, Ma-M-Master?” you whined.

“Yes, you may, Kitten.”

With a few more thrusts, your entire body stiffened at the climax. Thighs shaking, hips desperately meeting his own, your back arched as you moaned freely. He felt your pussy thickly coat him in your cum, making a sticky mess over his balls in the process. Seonghwa kept going even when your orgasm started subsiding.

“On your knees,” he ordered, taking in deep breaths as he pulled out. “I’m going to cum down your pretty throat.”

Immediately, you got into position and opened your mouth. Hands holding you by the hair, Seonghwa shoved himself inside your mouth. The back of your throat squeezed and hummed around his tip, causing him to hold you there for several seconds at a time. His orgasm finally arrived when you cupped and rubbed his ballsack. Your warm hand smearing your cum over each sensitive side had Seonghwa burying his dick deep. Spurts of thick cum squirted into your mouth, and you did your best to swallow them quickly. His dick became incredibly tender to your soft lips and tongue, twitching as each stroke brought out more cum for you to taste. When he pulled out, you spat what remained in your mouth back onto his tip to stroke him with it. He watched in amazement, panting as his body relaxed, as you licked and sucked every drop you could.

“I want you to keep sucking it,” he said, slapping his dick onto your tongue. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He sat back in his chair as you continued sucking his cock. Seonghwa’s first orgasm didn’t soften him at all. It would take a bit more than that to satisfy him. Since you barely took him out of your mouth, the combination of spit, cum and precum created a creamy substance that leaked around your lips. You used it to jerk him off in tandem with your mouth. He could tell you wanted him to give you more. He noticed the hand you’d put between your legs and it excited him.

“Does sucking me off turn you on, baby?” he asked, stuffing himself into your throat before you could answer. He chuckled softly when you nodded, bobbing your head up and down but never taking him out completely. “Enough to cum while you’re doing it?” he smiled at your eager moans, and realized how you lightly and rapidly brushed your clit. “I want you to do that for me,” he said, starting to guide your head on his dick, “I want my slut to cum while I’m fucking her mouth. I’d love that more than anything.”

Your obedience astounded him. He loved your duality. With Jongho, you’re a dominating mistress who keeps him on edge for hours. With him, you’re a submissive eager to serve. Seonghwa’s jaw fell, realizing you’d kept yourself on the edge of another orgasm the entire time. He saw it in quaking shoulders and high muffled moans. He held you in place again as he took control, eager to make you cum from oral alone. In a few more thrusts, you began trembling and moaning around his girth. Even through the gagging and choking, he knew your orgasm when he saw it. You wriggled around on the floor, unable to get a hold on yourself as you came on your hand. When you finished, Seonghwa pulled out and brought you onto his lap. By your hips, he started pushing into your tight walls once more.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groaned, hearing the slick sounds of your cum mixing with his own inside you. “You’re such a good whore,” he said, not holding back with his thrusts. “A good whore that’s going to keep making me cum until I say so.” 

“Because your dick is so good, Master,” you said in his ear, holding onto his shoulders until your nails dug into his skin. “It’s big and thick and-a-and you fuck me so good and for so long. Please, keep fucking me. Make my pussy your cocksleeve to-to use whene-ever you want.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, getting closer to another orgasm, the oversensitivity starting to hit him down to his toes. “I will.”

“Do it. Do it, please.” 

He wrapped his arms around you, smacking and grabbing your ass as you rode him in his chair. He teased and fingered your ass to his heart’s content before he felt his next climax approaching. You kept riding, not breaking or faltering, and moaned when more hot cum sprayed over your insides. Seonghwa’s head fell back as his body arched to the overwhelming sensations taking over. Every part of him became sensitive to the touch, adding and pushing his orgasm to a boiling point. Even as he started coming down, you kept going. It seemed neither of you could stop. Your bodies became too accustomed to the pleasure, and you found yourselves addicted to it.

But all good things must come to an end. After bringing each other to a third and final orgasm on the floor, Seonghwa pulled out and fell onto the carpet beside you. Neither of you spoke for a long while. Every muscle in his body softened into jelly, and he knew he’d be laying there far past his lunch time. Strangely enough, this was his favorite part. The content, euphoric feeling in a post-orgasm glow was better than any wine or drug he could take. It felt better when it happened to be with someone he loved.

“Come home with me,” you said hoarsely under a whisper. Too much talking often aggravates your itchy throat. “Please?”

“Will you be my mate?” he asked, ignoring your plea. 

You didn’t answer right away, which brought on a pang of dread. He thought of what you said, and feared it might’ve been to lure him into sex with you. But then he felt your fingers slide between his as you spoke. 

“Yes.”

The two of you wiped each other’s mouth with your discarded clothes, and shared a soft kiss. He’d found another mate to join his brothers, and he’d never let you go now. 

***

A/N: awww some fluffy stuff after all the sad stuff <3 I really appreciate all the love you guys are giving this fic. It's really great. Like and reblog as always <3

[sandwhitches]

✦ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a love story told through peaches

✦ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, childhood best friends to lovers

✦ 𝐜𝐰: language, tiny bit of angst in places if you squint, kissing/making out, mutual pining, fem. reader (one mention of “girlfriend”), reader has a mother

✦ 𝐚/𝐧: inspired by the poem “From Blossoms” by Li-Young Lee (which is just a beautiful piece, do read it if you find the time!) randomly decided i wasn’t allowed to sleep until i finished this fuck ass thing so enjoy i guess. if it’s really bad i wouldn’t know i read over it once and hit post, so i humbly apologize if this is word vomit.

✦ 𝐰𝐜: 3.1k

It first happened in 2000, the fresh spoils of summer weighed down on skinny branches of the tree they had grown on, perfect for little hands to pluck. At the base of its trunk, you sat cross-legged, crunching into a perfectly ripe peach for the very first time that summer.

That day, as you remember it, was intended to be spent with a pout; after all, your mother had dropped you off for the day with your new neighbors to run errands, leaving you with two identical makeshift playmates you couldn’t say you were too fond of. 

Atsumu is the oldest twin, but he’s an inch shorter than his brother Osamu, which confuses you. Aren’t you supposed to be taller when you’re older? They’re both more interested in roughhousing than skipping rope or coloring, they bicker over small things, and they smell too much like the outdoors. From the first five minutes at the Miya household, you decided you were not going to enjoy it.

Osamu found you crouched in the living room, dejectedly pushing one of their toy cars back and forth with a finger, counting as high as you could under your breath (about five-hundred until you ran out of steam.) 

“Whatcha doin’?” That’s another thing that initially unsettled you about them, the way they spoke. Their words came out lazier, much more different than any other kid or adult you’d met before moving to the Kansai region. If I spoke like that, you thought, I would probably be corrected.

 “Nothing.” You’d mumbled, too shy to look up at him. That didn’t seem to deter Osamu one bit, because that’s how you found yourself beneath the peach tree in their backyard, licking the sticky juice that had bled down your arm upon the first bite.

You’re a bit intimidated by Osamu, who had somehow managed to eat two peaches in the duration it took you to eat one, but you still keenly listened as he told you about how his grandmother planted that tree a long time ago. 

Atsumu was on the other side of the yard scowling, Osamu said it was because he didn’t like the way peach fuzz felt on his tongue.

By 2006, you’ve realized there’s more than one way to eat a peach, your favorite method as of that summer was the peach pie that the Miyas’ mom would make if you asked her really nicely.

Atsumu had since gotten over his personal grudge against peaches and Osamu probably liked them more than he did before. Neither of them would even think about eating a slice if it did not come with a generous dollop of vanilla ice cream on the side. You’re stuffed full after two helpings of dessert, hunched over in discomfort at their kitchen counter. 

It’s no surprise that Osamu was shuffling his fourth slice of the night onto his plate, fueled by an appetite unfathomable to most people but him. “There’s not gonna be any left if ya keep piggin’ out,” Atsumu hissed, slapping a palm flat on the counter; he was also hardly able to move after a full meal and then some, but he always found enough energy within himself to insult his brother. 

Osamu, who turned out to be the quieter of the twins, didn’t have a verbal rebuttal, but took a resolute bite that perfectly asserted a good enough response to piss his brother off. 

Your mother usually called an hour or so after sunset if you were still with the Miya twins, and during the summer, you were always with them. It was Osamu who walked you next door most nights, your pathway lit by flickery street lamps that swarms of bugs buzzed around, save for the cicadas that chirruped their nightly song in the bushes.

He was still a bit disgruntled after Atsumu had reached over and pushed him, leading them headfirst into an angry brawl on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. 

“Such an idiot,” Osamu muttered angrily under his breath to fill the silence, hands twitching in the pockets of his pants. You don’t tell him this, and you don’t really know why this is, but you think that might be the first time you realized you had a slight preference towards him.

 After all, out of the two of them, Osamu was the only one who didn’t complain when you changed the channel to the weekly showing of your favorite cartoon (a “girl cartoon” as Atsumu had put it with irritation laced in his voice), he was the one that knocked on your door in the mornings and asked your mom if you were up yet, and no matter how many new friends he made, he’d sit with you at lunch. 

In the winter of 2008, you coped with the seasonally baron peach tree with the light pink package you tore open on the floor of Osamu’s room.

You were long done with your homework for the day, Atsumu was avoiding his, and Osamu was scrabbling away at his desk with a look of dull boredom. You popped a peach gummy into your mouth. Sometimes you’d forget that if you walked from school with them in your backpack, the winter air would toughen up the candy, and make it harder to chew; surprisingly, you found it tasted better that way. 

Atsumu’s back was pressed against the floor, hands outstretched as he tossed a slightly deflated volleyball a few inches, caught it in the basket of his ten fingers, then pushed it back into the air. You watched him as he got testier with his limits, letting the ball drop closer and closer to his face until his fingers couldn’t stretch fast enough, and the ball bounces off of his forehead. 

In order to deflect his embarrassment, he turned to you, raising a brow, “Those don’t even taste like peaches.” Atsumu commented superfluously, knowing himself that it was a pointless thing to say.

He’s not very popular with the boys on his volleyball team because he does things like that, and Osamu told you with a look of concern that he doesn’t even care. You think you agree with Osamu, Atsumu is certainly annoying, but he isn’t necessarily unlikeable. 

Atsumu is blessed to have a brother like Osamu, who is most likely incapable of ever growing to dislike him. Not many people have such a degree of patience for him, and you suppose that’s why they’re brothers. 

Without a retort from you, he returned his attention to tossing the ball once more. 

Your eyes were drawn to a hand that reached over the seat. Splotches of ink stained the side of Osamu’s palm because he always wrote with a heavy hand. You grinned wordlessly and placed three candies into the center of his cupped palm, knowing he was going to ask for more once those are gone. 

That’s okay, you think, because Osamu is the only person you know who does not ask for you to share because he’s greedy, he asks because he simply likes to share. There’s no ulterior motive or impatience in the way he holds his hand out once more, only an eagerness to enjoy something with you. That, for a reason you’d been avoiding to confront over the past year, made your heart flutter like a caged bird. 

In 2011, you find yourself back where you started, criss-crossed under the peach tree beside Osamu as you enjoy the first bloom of the summer. You bite into the peach’s dusty skin, uncaring that the sweet juice dripped down your chin and collected at the corners of your mouth. Osamu rolled a pit around his hand after meticulously sucking the flavor left from it, he pressed his fingers into it until it made indents on the skin. 

You paused, wiping your face with the back of your forearm, “Somethin’ on your mind?” It had been a very long time since their accent had bled into your own tongue, and you never noticed it anymore. Osamu glanced up, eyes clouded over with thought, “Do ya think I’m boring?” 

The question surprised you. You couldn’t remember a time Osamu voiced an insecurity, in fact, you were beginning to enviously think that he didn’t have any. Boring? You wondered what could have brought that about. How long had he felt that way?

Since starting high school, you’d noticed an influx of opportunities for the twins to be compared. As far as popularity went, Atsumu had surprisingly climbed up the ranks the first month. In volleyball, no matter how great Osamu’s spikes were, Atsumu’s sets were always better. At home, they’d taken to rapid firing every grade they’d received in the past week until it was clear who was performing best, and Atsumu frequently took the cake.

On top of this, Atsumu was now one inch taller than Osamu. 

It’s almost funny, you thought to yourself, they’re not that much different than when they were younger. They still roughhouse and bicker and they still can’t be angry at each other for longer than five hours.

Both of them still consistently pulled off stupid stunts, the most recent one being the cheap boxed dye they purchased with the hope of having a shot at being two different people for once. 

Finally, you replied, “I don’t think that at all.” And you wished you had said more. 

Osamu, you thought that night as you replayed the memory, I think you’re anything but that. You’re funny, and you always think about other people…and I think you’re one of the nicest people I know. You buried your face into the pillow, groaning. If you’d managed to at least say half of that, maybe he would have smiled instead of looking away, nodding in disappointment. 

Your mom was frowning to herself in 2014 as she folded up your high school uniform and packed it into a cardboard box to be forgotten with the other relics from your childhood. You swallowed a lump in your throat as you handed her your school shoes, “You might wanna throw ‘em out, the soles are about to lift anyways.” You know she won’t. She’s sentimental. 

Later on that evening, you told Osamu all about it on the lawn chairs in their backyard, swatting off a mosquito that buzzed in your ear. The two of you had just returned from a midnight run to the convenience store, indulging in salty chips that made your mouth go dry, but were impossible to stop eating. Such an issue was easy to remedy with the juice of a peach, even though the nectar wasn’t as sweet.

A few months before, during January, Hyōgo was hit with the iciest winter storm in a while, leading to the unfortunate demise of the peach tree in their backyard. Atsumu was more than positive that the old friend would make a comeback, but come springtime, it did not blossom and remained a thin skeleton of rigid sticks.

Now you had to buy a peach if you wanted one. 

The convenience store peach was slightly overripe, but you supposed that beggars can’t be choosers. 

Osamu listened intently, his face hardly discernible in the dark. You two hadn’t meant to be up so late, but you often lost track of time these days, you noticed that it goes by so fast now that you’re older. 

“I’m scared,” your voice was shaky, tears threatening to spill for the umpteenth time that day. You didn’t want to go to sleep, because you knew in the morning you’d have to leave. It would end for the very first time. You tried very hard not to think about the bags all packed up in your room, and with such empty walls it was beginning to feel like it wasn’t even yours anymore.

 “What if I don’t like it?”

Osamu sighed quietly, setting the peach he held down to place a comforting hand on your knee, “Yer gonna do just fine, ya know that?” He mumbled quietly, and if he wasn’t touching you, you might have been able to consider what he was saying to a deeper extent. It’s easier said than done when you’ve already come to terms with the fact that you’re madly in love with someone you’re sure you shouldn’t be. 

“I know, but…I don’t want it to change…I don’t like not seein’ you.” 

Though you couldn’t witness it in the inky cast of twilight, something changed in his face, and you wouldn’t have had a clue had his next words not come out as strained as they did, “We’ll see each other durin’ breaks.” Osamu whispered, almost as if it was a reassurance for nobody but him.

That’s not enough. You’d been with Osamu every day for nearly the entire duration of your life, how could it only be rendered down to a few precious weeks a year? You couldn’t take it. The tears finally flowed freely down your cheeks, muffled noises of anguish pushed against your bitten lip. 

“Hey,” Osamu muttered hurriedly, calloused hand moving to cup the side of your face, he thumbed at a stray tear. “Nothing’s gonna change while yer gone…okay? We’ll all-…I’ll still be the same. I promise.”

“How can I know that?” You sniffled between sobs, unabashedly leaning into his touch. 

With everything to lose, but nothing else he wanted, Osamu leaned forward and pressed his face against yours, his lips tenderly grazed against your own in a rushed kiss. Upon remembering himself, Osamu pulled away swiftly, exhaling in disappointment. 

“Shit, I’m really sorry, I don’t-”

You cut him off in a desperate search of his lips once more in the dark, kissing him like you’ve been starved your whole life, finally allowed a meal just this once.

Up close, he smelled like the linens his mother used to hang in the backyard, the ones you weaved in between during clumsy games of tag that always ended in skinned knees and grass stains. Osamu’s lips felt like the succulent meat of a peach, soft and warm; they tasted of its nectar, not of the convenience store peach, but of the sweeter ones that used to grow in that very backyard. Osamu’s kiss was everything you’ve grown to love and everything you’ve yearned for. 

You pulled apart after awkwardly knocking foreheads one too many times, giggling mindlessly at the state the two of you were in. The hand on your knee squeezed tighter, and Osamu rested his head in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. You wondered if you also smelled like the linens, like peach juice, if he could hear that your heartbeat sounded like the cicadas that sung to the two of you during your shared childhood summers. 

“When ya come back,” Osamu started quietly, “I promise I’ll still feel the same.”

It’s 2019 and you’re knackered, bored of watching the wooden posts that held up a barrier along the road go by, tired of the same playlist that’s been on loop all day, and yet you’re not even close to being sick of the man in the driver's seat. 

Osamu blinked at the road groggily, appearing to also be over the long haul through the mountains. 

“Remind me again why I moved?” He droned, readjusting his loose grip on the wheel as he took another turn that does not particularly help your developing carsickness. “Because you missed me?” You mused playfully, lolling your head to the side to watch his expression lighten up significantly. 

“I did, didn’t I?” 

It’d almost been a whole year since Osamu had gotten fed up with how little he got to see you, his girlfriend, and decided without hesitation that the perfect place for him to open up his restaurant would be in Osaka, only a few minutes away from your campus.

You’d since graduated, gotten an entry-level job with shitty hours and shittier pay, and found yourself a nice little apartment for the two of you to share. 

It would be your first summer returning to Hyōgo together.

Maybe it’s always been this way, though. You couldn’t remember a time in which you didn’t love Osamu, and similarly, you couldn’t remember a time where it didn’t feel like he loved you. It was always meant to happen this way. Things like kisses and passionate touch bloomed in time as the seasons turned, but the roots of his love had always been there since the beginning, digging deeper into you until it was your favorite way to live. 

You hummed in realization, bending over in your seat to grab something from the floor of the car, “Almost forgot about these.” 

Osamu peered back over at the sound of light rustling, eyes glinting with affection as you reached your hand into a brown paper bag, pulling out a peach. It was impossible for the two of you not to stop as you drove through one of the quaint small towns, a little boy sold the fruit from his family’s orchard beneath a hand painted wooden sign. 

You bought five peaches, each one large and solid in the palm of your hand, and you think you might have forgotten how much grocery store peaches pale in comparison to ones that were plucked from a tree that very morning.

 “When we get our own house-...” you started. A wry grin twisted on Osamu’s lips in response. 

The two of you liked to play this game, fantasizing about the distant future in which you’re able to settle down in the suburbs, far away from grumpy landlords and noisy upstairs neighbors.

You both had already lost track of half of the dreams you wished to fulfill, only able to barely recall the simple things like two dogs, a nicer oven, and dark green walls in the bedroom. 

Even though it’s a game, you hoped you didn’t forget this time. “Let’s plant a peach tree in the backyard.” 

Osamu laughed under his breath, but you can see a hint of nostalgic fondness bring warmth to his expression, “I dunno, yer gonna have to be in charge…I don’ really have a green thumb.” 

You’ve since taken a large bite of the peach, then passed it to him. Much to your amusement, Osamu only turned his face ever so slightly to eat it from your hand, eyes still carefully fixed on the road.

“I think I can do that,” you nodded, bringing the sweet fruit back to your lips again. If there’s one thing you end up doing in your make believe house, you hope it’s that. 

And there, in the comfortable silence of the car, you bask in an all too familiar feeling whilst enjoying your favorite thing to share: the fresh spoils of summer.

[lovexjoe]

On the Run Mini Series

Warnings: Death, language, angst. Mention of abuse. Part 1

"This is your fault! If you would have just listened to me we wouldn't be stranded right now!" Kayla was fuming marching next to Armando. They had no communication back to the team. Honestly Armando saved both of their asses by landing the plane. Was she gonna admit that? Nope!

"We would have been fucked up either way, at least the enemies are dead and we can make our way back. Now shut the fuck up and do as I say. You're in my world now" He towers over her, beaming down at her letting her know if he wanted to he could just go his separate way and leave her to fend for herself.

They hated each other from the moment Armando step foot into their lives. Wanna know what's the cherry on top? Kayla was the one to shoot Isabel causing her to fall into the fire. Armando hated her guts since that very moment. In reality Isabel was gonna shoot him a second time, but he was already dazed out in Mike's arms to realize. No one else ever brought that moment up. Mood killer for sure.

Both of them were beat up pretty bad, neither of them ready to admit defeat as they kept moving through the woods trying to find a place to sleep. Kayla points out what seems like an abandoned camp sight. Armando found what he could for the fire and used the lucky lighter that survived the crash. Kayla was scared of the dark, if she looked pass the fire is was just an abyss of darkness. She busied herself by usually a branch to draw lines in the dirt.

They sat in silence. Armando looking at her as she continues to draw her lines, he never really looked at her face for too long. He was always disgusted with her in general. She took some hard hits during the accident, but she was still standing strong.

"Armando?" She looks up at him, not realizing that he was already looking at her. Her stomach doing a flip. He nodded his head for her to continue her question.

"What...what was it like for you growing up?" She didn't want him to explode, but she truly was bored out of her mind. They never had a decent conversation, so why not start now? He thought about her question for the moment, wanting to share, but knew she'd just pity him.

"Nothing close to the princess treatment you had." He said dryly then turn his focus to watch the fire. It was gonna take more than her big brown puppy eyes to get him to open up. Kayla bites her lip to keep herself from tearing up. It hit a sore spot, she never had the princess treatment. Her father was abusive to her and mom since she could remember. Just for her to enter an abusive relationship with her ex, that she barely escaped from. Kayla turns her back to Armando, sniffling and trying to get into a comfortable position to sleep. That was the last time she was gonna try to talk to him. They both dozed off listening to the fire and hoped tomorrow was a better day.

[cabotwife]

hii !! i saw you reposted the 150 writing prompts, could i request a johanna mason x fem with the 20/21 prompt ?? thank youuu :))

thank you for request! sorry this took me a bit:(

Would've, Could've, Should've

Johanna Mason x Fem!Reader

warnings: angst, language(ig?), poorly written, not proofread

word count: 2279

a/n: i'm sorryyy this took awhile :( i'm not feeling good at all

prompt: "if you die, i'm gonna kill you." ; "i fucking hate you."

--

"you know, i can handle them," you mutter under your breath, your sprint reducing to a jog, and then eventually, you find yourself coming to a standstill. your energy, once abundant, is now diminished, barely allowing you to stand.

beside you your girlfriend is just as winded. the two of you had just run away from Katniss, chased relentlessly by the careers. you need to figure out how to get back to Katniss, back to your mission.

"enough with this fucking nonsense, we need to keep going, to lead them away," Johanna grumbles, her tone laced with irritation, clearly fed up with your plan.

"Jo, just listen to me for a moment," you plead, your voice strained. "we can't keep this up forever. at some point, they'll either give up and target the others, or they'll catch up with us."

Johanna's response is immediate and fierce. "then we fight back. i won't leave you here all by yourself. i don't need your protection, y/n." her words come out as a fierce growl, a testament to her determination.

"i won't fight them alone either. i'll keep leading them away, while you make sure Katniss and Peeta are safe," you insist, holding her by the shoulders, maintaining eye contact. you can see the protest forming in her eyes, but before she can voice it, you shake your head. "no arguments. just go. i’ll see you in a minute." you press a quick kiss to her cheek, a silent promise.

after what feels like an eternity, she finally nods, "alright, alright. i'll circle back." her eyes scan the dense forest, ensuring you're both still safe.

"i promise, everything will be okay," you assure her, your voice gentle as you let go of her shoulders.

she nods again, her eyes never leaving yours. "listen to me, y/n," she says, her hands cupping your cheeks before moving to the back of your head, her fingers threading through your hair. her forehead presses against yours, her gaze intense. "if you die, i'm gonna kill you," she murmurs, her eyes flickering around yours.

a small chuckle escapes your lips, "wow, how romantic."

she rolls her eyes at your quip, pushing away from you, "be safe," she murmurs, stepping back.

responding with a mock salute, you grin, "yes, ma'am."

as she quickly disappears into the forest, moving in a slightly different direction to avoid the careers, your grin fades. the true gravity of the situation dawns upon you, and you press your back against a massive tree nearby, forcing yourself to slow your rapid breathing.

suddenly, a figure emerges from the shadows, charging towards you. you spin around immediately, scrambling up the tree you were leaning against. just as you begin to ascend, Brutus appears from behind the tree, his hand shooting out to grab your ankle.

your heart pounds in your chest as you cling to the branch above your head, struggling against Brutus's firm grip. Enobaria now stands at the bottom of the tree, her grin wide, showing off her sharpened teeth, as she watches the struggle unfold.

a scream tears through your throat as the rough bark digs into your palms. you try to pull yourself up, kicking your feet in a desperate attempt to free yourself from Brutus. suddenly, another hand grabs onto you, effectively pulling you down from the tree.

pain explodes through your body as you hit the ground, knocked flat on your back. the impact leaves you gasping for breath, the world around you fading as you lie stunned on the forest floor.

your eyes widen in sheer terror as you gaze upwards at the two menacing figures looming over you. their faces are painted with almost sinister grins that send a chill down your spine. you gasp sharply when Enobaria's hand shoots out, gripping a fistful of your hair with a force that has your head tilting back abruptly, leaving your throat vulnerable and exposed.

"no!" you cry out in panic, writhing beneath her as you desperately try to break free from her vice-like hold. "stop! no!" Your screams reverberate throughout the dense jungle, echoing ominously around you.

the last thing that your eyes register before everything goes black is the horrifying sight of her razor-sharp teeth and eerily unhuman-like eyes. she leans down towards you, her fingers still entwined in your hair, unyielding and relentless. suddenly, a deafening blast erupts through the jungle, sending the two older tributes flying away from you. the shockwave hurls you against a tree, the impact rendering you unconscious.

--

when Johanna finally opens her eyes she’s met with the blinding glare of artificial light and the gentle hum of a hovercraft's engine. the distant sound of Katniss's frantic yelling jolts her into full wakefulness, and she quickly sits upright, yanking off the oxygen mask strapped to her face and pushing herself up to a sitting position. she glances down at the space she was just occupying, her eyes landing on Beetee, who lies next to an empty slab. behind him are two more slabs, one of which she had just been lying on, and another one that is unoccupied.

Johanna furrows her brows in confusion, but decides to push her questions aside for now, focusing instead on reaching Katniss.

as the doors slide open to reveal Johanna's presence, every head in the room turns to look at her. Finnick's eyes soften instantly upon seeing her, a reaction that leaves Johanna puzzled.

"they left them!" Katniss is practically shrieking at Johanna, her voice shrill with panic.

"what?" Johanna's voice comes out flat, almost raspy. she turns to see Katniss, her body being restrained by Haymitch.

"y/n and Peeta! they left them!" Katniss wails, squirming in Haymitch's hold. "they left them for the damned Capitol!" she turns to Haymitch once more, her eyes wide with pure rage. "you promised me! you promised!" her voice rises to a desperate scream as she fights to free herself from Haymitch's grasp.

Johanna turns to look at Finnick, who hasn't moved an inch from his spot since she walked in. his eyes are filled with unshed tears, and Johanna knows instantly that Katniss is telling the truth. "Finnick," she says, her voice barely above a whisper as she fights against the wave of disbelief threatening to drown her. "you didn't." she starts to march towards her best friend, rage bubbling up inside her.

"Johanna, it wasn't a choice we were allowed to make," Finnick says, his voice laced with regret and sorrow. but his words only serve to fuel Johanna's anger.

just as she is about to reach him, a sharp sting pierces her neck. a syringe is plunged into her skin, and within seconds, her world fades to black as she loses consciousness.

--

the very moment you awaken a blinding array of lights immediately assails your senses as you gradually regain consciousness, much like Johanna. you find yourself in a sterile, white room, filled with a subtle, nearly imperceptible hum. unlike Johanna, though, you are harshly restrained to a cold, metal table. unlike Johanna, you are far from safe.

it doesn’t even take you a minute to comprehend your location—your predicament.

the Capitol has you. they had gotten to you before the others had the chance to reach you.

you were painfully aware that their mission prioritized keeping Katniss and Peeta safe. they were willing to sacrifice anyone, as long as the faces of the rebellion remained alive. a profound pit begins to form in your chest at a new thought. Johanna.

before you can further your worries about your girlfriend, the mechanical sound of the door to your bleak cell being opened shatters your train of thought.

you muster the strength to look at the figure entering your room, putting on a steely gaze—a facade you had been taught by the very woman you were worried about. the necessity of pretending not to care, to not show fear, to act as if you have nothing to lose, to refuse to give them the reactions they crave. they aim to strike fear into you, but you can't let them see the depth of your terror.

two men stride into the room, a peacekeeper following closely behind, who takes his position at the door. one of the men sports a near-sadistic grin on his face as he hovers over you, “what do you know about the rebellion?” he asks, his tone suggesting he fully expects you to withhold any information.

as the man in the pristine white coat talks with you, or rather speaks at you, the other man, dressed in blue scrubs, begins to wheel in a metallic cart. the contents of the cart are obscured from your view, but your heart picks up its pace as you can only guess what it contains.

“i’ll ask you once more,” the man in the white coat says, lifting a shiny silver tool from the cart, holding it against the harsh light as he speaks. “what do you know about the rebellion?”

“nothing,” you respond defiantly, almost baring your teeth like a cornered animal.

both men exchange a glance, cheshire-cat like smirks forming on their faces before the man in white turns back to you, “if you say so.”

before you can even process his words, the cold, silver scalpel plunges into your bicep. you clench your jaw tightly to suppress any screams of pain. don’t let them know it hurts.

--

“i wish they were dead,” Finnick breathes out, his declaration causing Johanna’s head to snap in his direction. he is seated, his head held in his hands, a vacant look in his eyes.

“don’t say that,” Johanna mumbles, pushing strands of hair from her face.

“it’s true, i- i wish they were dead. i’d rather they be dead than have to endure anything the Capitol is doing to them,” Finnick confesses, lifting his head to look at his best friend, his gaze appearing lost and disoriented.

“we’re gonna get them,” Johanna asserts, crossing her arms over her chest as she shifts her weight from foot to foot, “Katniss is working on it, she is. we’ll get them back, they’re safe.”

Finnick raises his eyebrows towards her, his face furrowed in confusion, “are you not afraid for y/n?”

Johanna scoffs, “excuse me?” her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “obviously I’m afraid for my girlfriend, Finnick! but she’s strong, she’ll— she’ll be okay.” the brunette's voice falters as she repeats the last bit, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself more than Finnick.

--

six weeks.

it took an excruciating six weeks to extract you and the others from the iron grip of the Capitol. six weeks of uncertainty, of dread, of pain.

those six weeks were a living hell for Johanna, filled with the overwhelming fear that the only person she’s ever truly loved might be forever beyond her reach. she was tortured by the guilt of leaving you behind, of failing to protect you when you needed her the most.

the question haunted her relentlessly - why didn’t she just stay? why didn’t she stand by your side instead of running back?

Johanna is with Katniss when Haymitch comes to her with the news they had all been waiting for - the captives had been brought back. it is a moment filled with a strange mixture of relief and apprehension.

without a second's hesitation, the two women sprint to the hospital room. Johanna arrives just in time to witness the emotional reunion between Annie and Finnick. but her eyes are searching for someone else in the bustling room that is suddenly just too loud, too crowded.

and then she sees you - lying in a hospital bed. your skin is unnaturally pale, your eyes dark circles of exhaustion, your body noticeably thinner from weeks of captivity. you are covered in cuts, bruises, and other open wounds that tell the story of your suffering.

your gaze shifts from the nurse, who is attaching your IV, drawn by the intensity of the eyes that are watching you. when you look up, you lock eyes with Johanna.

she sucks in a deep breath, her heart pounding against her rib cage as she takes in the sight of you. she quickly makes her way over to you, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts and emotions.

as soon as the nurse leaves your side, she takes her place, seating herself on the bed next to you. her hands immediately find your cheeks, her eyes scanning your face, trying to take in the differences.

“i’m alive,” you whisper, your voice hoarse, as you watch her reaction.

her eyes pause, meeting yours once again. “yeah, yeah you are. you did so good, sweet girl.” she whispers back, pressing her forehead against yours in a tender moment.

you hum in response, “don’t go soft on me now, Jo,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

the brunette pulls back, rolling her eyes with a faux exasperated scoff, “can’t even have a nice moment? let me love you, asshole.” she grumbles, her words causing a soft giggle to escape your lips as she interlaces her fingers with yours.

“i fucking hate you,” she grumbles the words, a familiar banter between the two of you.

“i love you too,” you reply, shifting over in your bed to make room for her. she remains silent as she carefully positions herself next to you, mindful of your injuries.

a soft, uncharacteristic smile graced her features as you snuggled up to her the best you could, “i’ll never let you go again, my love, i promise.” she murmurs, sealing her promise with a gentle kiss to your hairline.

[dreaisgrayte]

HEHHEHEHEHEH WHATS UP MY BBG? I hope you have had a good day/night! I have this idea in my head that I'm ITCHING to get out but you can feel free to ignore❤️

Can you do what would happen and what would Sanemi, Giyu, Tanjiro, and Obani do if reader got turned into a demon during a battle?

LIKE I SAID FEEL FREE TO IGNORE!! YOU DA GOAT BBG❤️

GEHEHE I'M DOING SO GREAT! 🫶🫶I HOPE YOU'RE DOING EVEN BETTER THOUGH 😡🥹 It was raining here all day and I was a worrisome parent and got soaked going to check on my kitties🥰🥰. (also why would I ignore such an angsty request MWAHAHA😈)

Includes: Sanemi Shinazugawa, Giyu Tomioka, Tanjiro Kamado, and Obanai Iguro CW: pretty much reader dies in all scenarios, but... yeah no my heart hurt writing these so there's no hope for any of us. Death, angst, sadness.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

The demon’s claws slice through you, tearing your skin apart. You fall to the ground, crumpled and bleeding

“San-Sanemi,” You choke out, the life draining from your beautiful eyes.

A vengeful scream erupts from his throat, burning his very vocal cords as he rushes the creature

Its head falls to the ground with a gruesome thump, Sanemi dropping to his knees next to your corpse. “YN...I’m so-”

Your eyes, they’re open and your pupils pull into slits. His next breath catches in his throat. “Sorry,” He breathes, his eyes stinging with hot tears

He picks up his nichirin blade, using it to help him into a standing position. Sanemi’s choked sobs echo through the forest valley. The glint of fresh sunlight reflecting off of his blade as he plunges the tip into your heart. The sun is cresting over the mountains in a new dawn.

Your garbled noises nearly drive him to the brink of whisking you off to a shadowy haven, but you wouldn’t want to live out your life being the very thing you fought so hard against. 

As the ashen belongings of your body blow past him he feels like he’s just stabbed himself through the heart.

“Sorry…so sorry.” He cries, but the sunlight dries his tears. 

Giyu Tomioka

He was by your side one second then cornered off by a second demon. He wants to remain close to you and protect you, but as he lands the final blow to the demon in front of him he catches the tail end of the demon lifting you by your throat. 

His blood runs cool, the demon’s features twisting in a cruel sneer as it makes you lick up the blood from his wounds. 

Too late, too late, too late

Just like with Sabito, Giyu was too late to save you. His head spins, running through possibilities to somehow not fuck up again

Tanjiro and Nezeko were a special case, who’s to say Giyu would break through to you? And when he didn’t? Would his heart finally go numb? The risk was too great.

The demon has dropped you and ran off, leaving you panting on the ground. You touch your throat, hacking up the blood it tried to feed you. A glimmer of hope sprouts in Giyu’s chest. Maybe you had saved yourself? You meet his gaze, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Giyu,” you smile, the one he’d grown accustomed to seeing every morning when you greeted him. “Giyu, I need you to be strong,” you start, but he can’t hear you. He doesn’t want to.

“No, I’m not strong,” His voice is trembling. His body aches with the knowledge of what you’re about to request of him. He couldn’t do it. You meant too much to him and he was a selfish man. When everyone else ignores him you see through his suffering to the little boy underneath, scared of being seen for the fraud he was. 

There’s that smile again. “Giyu. You’re a Hashira, you’re more than strong – you’re kind. You know what you have to do. Please, before it’s too late.”

Giyu’s body feels limp as tears mix with his sweat. He was too weak to save Sabito, but he could still save you. He yells into the night, a pained scream that rustles the birds from their branches.

Your head thumps to the side, fanning into dust as he sinks to his knees, sobbing over your remains. Turns out – he wasn’t numb after all. 

Tanjiro Kamado

You’re bloody, a demon standing over you, it’s foul stench dripping round droplets onto your wound

“Let’s see if you have the heart to kill one of your own, slayer.”

Tanjiro had been through this before, with his younger sister Nezeko and things were turning out alright with her.

Would his bond be strong enough to snap you out of the demonic craze? You had acted like an older sibling to him, watching over his progress and always cheering him on. Often he thought the gods had blessed him with you so he would have someone to look after him when he had no one. 

“YN!” He screams, the demon slipping away into the night. “YN talk to me. If you can still talk that means there’s still time.” But the veins on your face bubble and contort your expression to one of hatred.

Tanjiro falls back on his hands, heart loudly echoing in his ear. “YN, please… it’s me…your little brother.” But it’s far too late to work on your once human heart. As you rise to your feet Tanjiro stumbles to his as well

His katana is shaking in his grip. You were a demon, but also his friend. He can’t see through his blurry vision. 

“Pathetic,” you spit, then before Tanjiro can will his heart to do what he knew he couldn’t, you spill into the shadows

His vow to cut the head from Muzan Kibutsuji’s body grew a thousandfold that night

Obanai Iguro

You had been on this mission for weeks now, fighting side by side. Obanai had grown fond of you.

That was until a demon stole you away, reminding him that fondness sprouted weaknesses. However, he tracks you down regardless.

The demon had set up in a cave, the dawn making this rescue mission easier, but as he steadily slides into the heart of the cave he finds you’ve been tied up, dried green blood on your lips

“Fuck,” Obanai hisses into the darkness, searching around for the creature that did this to you

“It’s gone Obanai…” You drawl, your voice raspy and strained. He winces at the state of you.

He rushes to untie you, hoping it’s not too late and the insect Hashira can work some miracle cure on you. If Obanai was fond of you he couldn’t even imagine how the corp members felt about you. 

It had been a while of your fighting off the urge to turn, there had to be hope for you. If only he could get you back to headquarters fast enough…

As if reading his mind you shake your head solemnly. “Please, let me see the sunrise one last time,” you croak, gaze drifting to the sunlight filtering in from the cave’s entrance. 

Obanai squeezes his eyes shut, the electric buzz of his heart making it hard to fulfill your request. He was stagnant, breath quickening as you pleaded with him.

He offers you his hand, willing his chest to return to steel. He leads you to the outside world and your grip tightens as you step into the sun. Obanai’s body aches with unrelenting sorrow. If only he’d kept a better eye on you.

Soon enough, a faint ‘thank you’ blows past him on the wind, and he rushes away from the spot, not willing to look at what he had so carelessly taken for granted. 

[zepskies]

Hey, I’ve really enjoyed reading your imagines. Would you be up for writing one where either Dean / Solider Boy / Beau, I don’t mind, has done something to upset/piss off the reader and goes out his way to make it up to her and then it’s all fluffy? I’m definitely in the readers position right now and hoping that’s what’s happening! Thank you.

Hey lovely anon!

Ooh this is interesting. So you didn't exactly ask for this, but this is where my mind went. I really enjoyed doing an imagine called "How Dean, Beau, and Ben would react to seeing your breast reduction scars."

So I'm going to do this one in that style...

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Tags/Warnings: Angst, arguments, hurt/comfort, fluff

Headcanon: How Dean, Beau, and Ben would make up for pissing you off.

Dean Winchester

Readers of Devour Me will recognize this scenario...

Dean can be an asshole sometimes. He knows it, but that side of him tends to come out along with his protective side.

He gave you...what you would consider a "firm suggestion" on a hunt. In his mind, it was a warning you were meant to follow: hang back.

The vampire nest was bigger than you guys expected.

You jumped in to save the woman they were keeping chained...but she was already drained dry. A vamp caught you, but before you could swing your knife, hot teeth sank into your neck.

Your scream rang through the air, tearing from your throat.

Dean's machete soon followed, killing the vampire and saving you in the process. He hid the depths of his worry. His fear, when he heard your scream, saw the monster bearing on you.

He buried the true depths of that turmoil and later holds you while Cas heals you. You thank him with a sigh and look up at Dean. Before you can apologize for ignoring his warning, his words simultaneously cut you to the bone and spark a blaze:

"I hope you learned your damn lesson," he says.

"Excuse me?" you hotly reply.

"You fucking heard me! When I say 'hang back,' I mean it. Hang the hell back."

"I've been hunting long before I met you, Dean."

"Yeah, well. Color me surprised that you've made it this long."

And that sparks the knock-down drag-out fight you and Dean have in the dirty, blood-splattered barn in the middle of nowhere. Even Sam and Cas are uncomfortable in the midst of you and Dean as they deal with the bodies of the vamps.

You don't let Dean touch you that night, even though you two still share the same bed. You sleep turned away from him, curled in on yourself.

He doesn't know how to make you understand. The sight of you with blood covering your neck and shoulder, running down over and under your shirt...

He hates it more than anything.

Even in the morning, the memory of your scream rings in his ears.

You've woken up before him, leaving your side of the bed empty. He wanders into the kitchen and finds you with your cup of coffee, stirring the creamer in for far too long. He watches you for a moment. He sees you're lost in thought. Maybe your eyes are a bit haunted.

He hates that too.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greets. His voice is still a deep rumble, but his gentleness is an olive branch.

You recognize that, and your own features soften. The truth is, you're too upset and spent to be angry anymore. You really just need him back.

He guides you into his arms, presses a kiss to your forehead, and sighs.

"...Look, I'm sorry," he says. He's grateful, even for this moment. Because it means you're safe, with him.

"I'm sorry too," you reply. You squeeze him tighter and bury your face in his chest. "I love you."

Dean hesitates. His heart clenches, both with warmth and the fear of what could have been. He lets out another deep breath as his fingers soothe through your hair.

"Love you too."

Beau Arlen

Don't let that adorable scruff fool you. Beau has his moments, just like everyone else...

You don't want to feel like the jealous "other woman." Because that certainly isn't what you are.

You and Beau have been dating for a while now. You know this is something special. He is special. A big-hearted man who leads by example, and makes his daughter a priority in his life.

You admire that more than anything. You've come to love Emily as well...

However, he's been consistently cancelling on you. Dates you'd planned, dinners you'd made, "office picnics" at the precinct that got rain-checked more than the goddamn weather channel.

It seems like any time you and Beau try to carve out a moment for each other, it gets waylaid by something that "just can't wait."

Sometimes it's due to the demands of his job (which you understand).

But more often, it's because he seems to drop everything to heed his ex-wife's requests, large and small. From moving boxes in downsizing her house, to picking up her dry cleaning.

Carla always laces her requests (demands) with something understandable, like dropping off Emily at school. As a lawyer, she's smart like that.

But you're smart too, and you see her game.

She's slowly but surely wrapping Beau around her finger, and it's driving you insane.

"Can't you see she's manipulating you?!" you finally ask him. Your hands gesture widely, your brows are knitted together, and so are Beau's. His mouth is pressed in a line.

"The hell do you mean?" he asks.

"Exactly what I'm saying," you retort. "She asks you to jump, and you say, How high, darlin'?"

Part of him wants to smile at your exaggerated Texan approximation of him. But mostly, he's irritated.

"That's not true! I'm just trying to do right by her. She's the mother of my kid--"

Your hand presses against your forehead.

"I know that, Beau. Of course I do," you say. Against your will, your deepest fears take hold. They make you feel ugly inside for thinking them, let alone saying them.

"But...either she wants you back, or maybe you want her."

Beau's frown deepens. "What? What're you talkin' about."

He tries to grab your hand, but you evade him. You cross your arms to give you the excuse you need to hold yourself together.

He blows out a frustrated breath and shakes his head. "She left me, remember?"

"Things change. Feelings change," you say hotly. Your eyes run over his face, as if trying to search his heart.

Beau finally understands just what you're thinking. He softens.

And then his expression firms.

"Not for me," he says.

He reaches for you. You allow him to grasp your elbows. He steps closer into your line of vision until his broad frame is all you can see, but you refuse to look up at him. Not until his curled finger prods under your chin, raising your face up to his.

His face lacks the jovial nature he usually carries, with a side of teasing that usually drives you crazy and lightens your heart in equal measure.

No. Right now, he's serious. His thumb grazes your cheek.

"Sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere. I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

Your eyes are lowered, with unshed tears swimming in them. Until Beau presses his lips to your cheek. Your eyes close, and you take in the tenderness of his touch. The smell of his cologne.

When you next open your eyes, he's smiling softly down at you. It leads you to smile a little.

"It'd be nice if you didn't cancel on me so much then," you can't help but mutter, a bit petulantly.

Beau's smile slips a bit. "I sure am sorry about that. And I'll talk to Carla. But uh..."

The rest of his good humor fades. "She mentioned something about taking Emily back to Houston."

Your eyes widen. Your hand moves to grip his wrist. "What?"

"I guess I was just...tryin' to butter her up a bit. If she settled in that new house, had everything she needed, maybe she'd stop thinking about leaving," he admits. "I want her to do what's best for Emily, but...I don't know if I can take it if she's in a whole other state."

You bite your lip. You try to soothe him with your fingers carding through his hair. You pull him into your embrace, and the roles of comfort reverse.

"You do need to talk to Carla," you say. "But I want to help, in whatever way I can. You just let me know."

You can't see it, but Beau smiles as he holds you a fraction tighter.

"You already are."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Ugh, this (lovable) bastard...

There are a lot of opportunities to piss you off, and Ben has a habit of taking them.

He's protective, misogynistic (though you're surely trying with him), and doesn't give two shits about modern social protocols like tolerance and respect.

Nor does he give a fuck about being "nice" or "pleasant" if he doesn't want to. (And he never wants to.)

When he pisses you off, however, you have to pick your battles.

You're as patient as you can be with him, knowing all of his idiosyncrasies and foibles as well as you've come to learn them.

But when he nearly snaps a man's arm off for grabbing your ass in a musky club, you have to draw the line.

(Ben settled for jabbing the man in the face, hard enough to toss him back into an entire row of glasses. You'd winced at the man's scream of pain as glass shattered into his back.)

When you send your boyfriend a look, he's both unfazed and unapologetic.

"What, would you rather have that greasy fuck pawing all over you? No one's gonna have the balls to cop a feel right in front of me, unless they want 'em shoved up their ass."

You make a face of disgust, roll your eyes, and angrily storm out of the club. Ben follows you, now getting just as irritated. He grabs your arm and turns you around.

"What the fuck is your problem?" he demands. You raise a brow.

"Not everything is an affront to your manhood," you reply testily. "Are you really protecting me, or is it just your petty pride that another man would dare touch what's 'yours?'"

You turn to walk away from him, but he grabs you again. This time by the hand. He barely resists the urge to yank you back.

No, Ben waits for you to choose. To turn back to him. You're frowning in your anger, but even he can see the thread of hurt deep down. The fear that his motivations are only selfish.

His jaw ticks. But he sighs through his nose. "Come 'ere."

Reluctant though you seem, you take a chance in drawing back into him. His arms circle around you, with those heavy hands splaying across your lower back. He cages you securely against him and looks down you. His eyes are a fraction softer.

"You are mine," he says. "I'm not gonna let these cocksuckers forget it. Because I've got plenty of enemies who'd do more than just touch you."

It sucks to be reminded of that fact, but it's the cold reality. Still, you soften, seeing the sincerity in his eyes.

He's trying to send the world a clear message: he won't tolerate bullshit, of any kind. Least of all with you.

That, you can appreciate.

And you lean up to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

Knowing Ben, it doesn't stay sweet for long.

AN: Whew! 😮‍💨 Lots of angst diverted into hurt/comfort and fluff, there.

Do you guys like these Dean/Beau/Ben "reacts?" Let me know! 😉

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[neoplatinum]

do not move | nakamura kazuha

summary: when you both each meet other for the first time, you think: strength in numbers, she thinks: deadweight

pairing: kazuha x reader

themes: zombie apocalypse au, blood, death, murder, gore, graphic violence (if you're squeamish, beware!), lone survivor kazuha and lone survivor reader, angst, fluff, [-------] side character

wc: 6.2k

a twig branch snaps, and you immediately duck behind a bush. heavy breathing and exhaustion burning your muscles. just outside of the city, you try and get some cover from the raiders running around the streets; they've been setting everything on fire. even the smell of fire still invading into your nose.

moving down the eerie neighborhood is tough, especially with a limping leg and a heavy backpack. you risked your life for those rations --only to get chased out by those raiders. they chased you like you were prey, and you walked out alive (mostly) with a bullet in the calf and a running trail of blood.

you press your ears into the ground, making yourself as small as possible. praying that it's simply a deer, a hopeless dream. deers have been nearly all hunted. but you hope the burn in your lungs stops soon, and you cling to yourself, willing the pain away long enough that whoever is nearby leaves.

"clear, no sign of life." you hear a low voice shout nearby. the raiders were still looking for you, going as far as to chase you even outside the city. you know what lies ahead if you get caught. so you bite down, shoving your teeth into your bottom teeth, trying to numb the pain of that bullet.

you stay crouched there for another ten minutes before you even decide it's okay to lift your head off the ground, raiders had no morals, their signals could be a trap and you wanted to take the extra precaution.

and then you army crawled away to a fence, thanking the heavens that you ran fast enough to get into the suburbs. the trail of blood is still worrisome. grabbing ripped rags from your bag, you try your best to tie them around the wound just enough to stop the bleeding.

"fuck fuck fuck." you bite into a stick nearby as you wince and tie a final knot. securing your leg. laying yourself up against a wall, and breathing through the pain, wincing every so often until you feel the pain subside to a low numbness.

you haul yourself up to a house, it's oddly pretty, even with it's dilapidated roof and furniture all thrown out the front lawn. you think you would've bought the house before d-day. and with a heavy grunt you drop into a couch. it's been torn apart, but as long as it does it's job you don't care.

the pain is still throbbing and it just looks bad. you cover the windows with fabric lying around and press a wooden board against the door. and with one final breath, you flip your switch blade open and dig straight into your calf, screaming into a spare shirt and digging the bullet from out of your leg. muted screams so hard that you think you might've bursted your own eardrum, and pain so bad that you shake until you drop back onto the couch.

the bullet is out, flung across the floor and blood all over. you feel like passing out, but you spit out your shirt and wrap it around the now open wound, bleeding profusely on the wooden floor. with sweat all over your forehead and pain so severe you feel your body shake until you pass out.

you knock out cold.

--

"up." you wake up to the noise of a woman, her lower face is covered with a bandana and she has a long blade pointed right at your throat. if you moved a centimeter closer, that blade would no doubt pierce your jugular. "i said up!" she shouts at you.

you throw your hands up as you try to get yourself up, it's so painful to even sit up half your body. but you manage to have your back leaning against the couch. she stares at you with sharp eyes, eyes that no longer gleam in the light.

you stay as still as possible, waiting for the woman to do anything really, anything that won't end with you beheaded on this rotting old couch. she stares at you, blade never moving a centimeter. she glances around you, seeing the blood all over the floor, backpack open with supplies all spilled out. the pant leg that you have scrunched over your knee, and most of all the blood soaked shirt tied around your leg.

"bite?" she says, and you can see how in a second, she could decide whether you live or die.

"no. bullet. raiders." she nods and scans around the room, that blade still very much at your throat. she looks back down at your backpack, filled with old dog food.

"split 80/20. i let you live." she demands.

"split 50/50, i give you the better half." you negotiate back.

"i don't think you understand how this works, you give me what I want, i don't slice your neck open." she continues, pointing the tip just enough that it pricks at your skin.

"split 50/50, and i give you medical supplies." you counter. she stops and thinks for a bit.

"you're bold, even with a sword at your neck...fine." she says, and drops her blade, you relax a bit but then she points it right back at you. "show your weapons."

you move to slowly bring out the small revolver and pre-made molotovs tucked in a smaller bag compartment. her blade never leaves your throat. you unload the revolver, two bullets dropping to the ground, before you sit back on the couch, "happy?"

she doesn't comment. you lean forward, letting out a grunt as you pick up the two bullets, reloading it into the revolver, tucking it into your belt.

"ah fuck." you groan as you check on your wound, it's become an ugly purple, brusing all around and sensitive to the touch. you breath heavily and wince at the touch.

"did you sterilize it?" the woman's voice is strong and clear, no sign of hesitation.

"no. passed out." she nods and digs through her own bag, pulling out a molotov. "i'm going to douse it, bite down on something." you nod and grab another shirt from your bag, watching as she pours the liquid over your wound, you scream out like a wounded dog, and nearly fall over.

"needle and stitches?" she asks you. you nod and point into the small compartment of your bag. she pulls out the small sewing kit in your backpack, grabbing old sutures and tying it around the needle.

"bite." she orders. you shove your teeth hard into the shirt, as she begins sewing up the wound, jagged from the switchblade. the pain becomes so unbearable you pass out even sooner.

--

waking up to the sun in your eyes, you find yourself still on that same rotting couch. your body is hot, running like a furnace. you glance around and everythings out on the floor: dried blood, your switchblade, that bullet across the floor and your revolver.

you groan as you sit up, now your leg is sore and heavy, your face is hot and burning up. but the door is ajar, you scan around and half your food is gone, along with the suture kit.

"fuck." the woman's abandoned you. taken what she needed and crept out before you could even say bye. she holds up to her bargain, 8 cans of dog food became 4, and you still have your revolver on you.

"damn her." you start getting your items back in order.

--

the weather's getting colder, and you only have that workman jacket around your shoulder. the wind gets harsher as the days go by, the sight of falling leaves and pine cones littered the ground. you kneel behind a tree, eyes trained on a lone buck.

he stops eating grass to look around, before dropping his neck back down for more grass, and before his next bite, he drops instantly. body falling to the floor with an arrow through his head. a clean and sharp shot.

you drag yourself up, tucking the bow into the side of your backpack, and limping towards your fresh breakfast/lunch/dinner for the next few weeks. smiling at the labor finally paying off, stripping down sticks until they become sharp points to pierce through skin.

as you walk across the meadow to retrieve your prize, you start to hear distant galloping behind you, causing you to duck and turn around; before you know it, you're grabbed by the arm and thrown onto the back of the horse. you immediately grab onto anything you can hold on, that being the waist of the rider.

"woah."

"shut it, we're being chased." the woman kicks the horse into higher gear, and you both speed off into the woods, you turn you back just in time to see a group or horseback riders with lit torches chasing you across the meadow.

you try not to think about the lone buck that should've been yours.

--

you get off the horse and immediately start throwing up on the ground, shaken by the sudden movements and jostling around. the woman pays you no mind though, securing her horse to a branch and staring at you.

"i don't know how you've survived this long." she starts. pulling out carrots to feed her horse, the horse happily munching on his lunch.

you're still puking, but just the insult is getting you riled up. "i survive just fine."

"those raiders would've sacrificed you by now." she says and crosses her arms.

"no, they wouldn't." you counter, and she sighs before untying the horse, and leading it away. you follow behind it. "...but thank you. for saving me. twice."

you try to not let your pride get the better of you, considering this women lent a helping hand in your darkest moments.

she doesn't say anything back and continues walking through the forest. you trail behind her for what must've been thirty minutes before she speaks up.

"it was a trap, that lone buck." she goes on. "no zombies, and a lone buck in an open meadow. you should've known better." she says to you. you're immediately enraged.

"how would i know that?" you are tired of these insults.

"you should have." she just says, and it ends there.

"since you know so much, you should teach me." you say. she laughs at that.

"no, i survive alone." the way she says it is firm.

"listen, everyone could do well with a partner, i could share knowledge that you might not, and you can share the infinite wisdom that you seem to have." you're tired of traveling alone with no one having your back, maybe you can get her to work with you.

"no. i survive alone." she continues.

"oh don't be like that, i gave you four cans of dog food." you try and make a joke, remembering how she left you weeks ago.

"no, i let you keep four cans of dog food and let you live, there's a difference." she counters.

"let's not get into the technicalities, you ever heard of the phrase of strength in numbers?" you smirk, trying to get her to understand reason.

"strength in numbers is foolish if im surviving with deadweight." she says firmly, shaking her head at the idea.

"i am not deadweight! i cook up a mean meal of dog food and peas." you explain.

"yeah no, not happening." she says with finality.

you huff but continue walking with her.

--

"stop following me." it's been about an hour.

"you can't tell me what to do." you sound like a small child throwing a tantrum.

the woman sighs and continues walking with disdain. you're still sticking so close by her. both of you reach a small tucked away cabin. it's been expertly covered in moss and dirt to blend into the background. she walks away from the house a few meters away and ties her horse to a tree.

"woah, sick place." you comment, amazed by the well thought out hideout, it's truly a place you wouldn't have thought twice to really look into.

"thank you." she walks in, and taps her foot on the right side, and suddenly there's another opening, underneath the floor.

"woah, wait, the house isn't even the actual hideout, its underground?" she says nothing, you follow her down the stairs to the basement.

"you are seriously too trusting, walking right after me into a basement. i could've lured you into a trap." she says to you as she begins restocking her items. rows and rows of weapons, rations and even a hydroponics system in the room.

"nah, you wouldn't kill me. you would've done it when you found me on that couch." you say, admiring the amount of work he has put to make this place work. it's quite cozy, small camping lanterns in all different shapes laid around the dark room. the room's also filled with carpets.

"carpets?" you mention, it's odd that there's so many carpets overlapping each other.

"muffles noise. sometimes people walk through upstairs, but i make it so that even if they stay for long, i can move freely down here without them hearing."

she's clearly thought this place through, she has everything that she needs down here to survive. it's wonderful really, then a question pops into your mind. "why do you go outside then?"

"what?"

"why do you leave this place if it's so safe?" you ask. she seems more than equipped to survive here in this base. you glance around, looking at the plants that she's growing, amazed at how they're all turning out so well. so much for saying you could cook up a mean meal of dog food and peas.

she doesn't bother answering. instead pulling together jerky and greens from her hydroponics. handing you some, you decline and open your can of dog food, as much as you would like to eat it, her evasiveness is making you weary.

"so, do i get to know your name?" you ask as you shovel the can into your mouth.

"you can call me z."

"okay, z. that's a cool nickname." you chuckle, "what is it short for? zebra, zack?" you joke to yourself, she shakes her head no and continues eating her jerky.

you don't bother her anymore that night.

--

"morning z! what are we doing today?" you haven't felt so safe sleeping in years, feeling well rested and ready to take on the world with your trusty partner. z's busy cleaning her weapons when you wake up.

"nothing. i let you stay the night, you need to leave." she says calmly, wiping her dirty rag into a bucket of water. you frown at that, confused with her hot and coldness.

"dont be like that! strength in numbers remember?" you say, sitting near her, she groans at that.

"stop saying that."

"why? strength in numbers. strength in numbers. strength in numbers." you joke.

"stop it! you aren't chaewon!" she shouts at you, shoving an arrow near your neck. it's oddly familiar, the aggression from when you first met her is there.

"who's chaewon?" you ask.

z just leaves the room, leaving her half cleaned arrows on the workbench. you hear a door open and close, and now you're contemplating following after her. you choose rather to let her calm down, when she calms down maybe you can apologize.

you sigh and look around, feeling bad for being invasive, but you really didn't know. looking around you explore her place more, seeing a locker filled with clothes, and a giant map on a corkboard. pins all over the states, with detailed notes of specific locations. a lot of them were lookout points for raiders.

tucked under the map is a white square, you pull it off the corkboard, and see a very faded photo of two girls. one that you can recognize as z and another girl smiling with a bob. tagged below the image is kz & cw.

you begin to examine more of the notes, a lot highlighting names and times. it seems that z has been trying to find patterns of when raiders are patrolling.

with a sudden door opening, you grab a knife immediately from your waist as you see z rush back inside, finger to her lips as she grabs you away from the corkboard.

"silent." she whispers directly into your ear. you two crouch on the ground and nod. after waiting a couple minutes you hear it. the sound of footsteps getting closer, rustling leaves outside. z nods and uncovers a small machine under the carpet.

she takes one of the ends of the machine and puts it close to her ear. you stay as still as possible as she starts jotting down notes. she grips her pen harder as time goes on. and you stay still, watching her.

--

you find out much later there were raiders out visiting the house while you dozed off. both of you were sitting against the wall waiting for the people upstairs. z has been formulating a plan the whole time. meanwhile, those raiders treated upstairs like their temporary hideout for a couple hours.

after you wake up, and z gives you the all clear to talk, the first thing she asks is, "how good are you at taking out people?"

"the best." you smirk. it was always your speciality, being able to slip in and out of places before anyone could notice, and by the time they did notice, you already had twisted their necks.

"strength in numbers?" she asks wearily.

"strength in numbers." you confirm.

"then i need your help, i need to rescue someone." she goes on. you nod, and she grabs the map off the corkboard. and unfolds a smaller map, one with the layout of a building. "but i don't know if i can trust you."

you gasp, "how could you say that?" you dramatically ask her.

she rolls her eyes at that, "i need a guarantee from you."

"like what?"

"something to ensure you won't ditch me when things get rough." she says, thinking of things to trade.

you take off your pendant necklace, gently placing it in her hands. "this was from my late mother, i'd rather be chased by runners for the rest of my life than to lose this." you state seriously, she nods at the vulnerability and slips it onto her neck.

then z takes off the bandana that's been covering the lower half of her face the whole time. "this is a gift, from the person we're rescuing. i also would rather be chased by runners for the rest of my life than to lose this." she hands you the black bandana, and you tie is around your face, just like she has.

when you look back up, you're shocked at just how beautiful the woman is, even with her lean muscular build you knew she was pretty, but seeing the rest of her face uncovered, she's drop dead gorgeous. face sculpted from the gods.

"what?"

"nothing." you comment, "fill me in on this plan."

"okay, we go in like this..." z starts laying out the steps.

--

you haven't visited the city since that one grueling day, leaving your leg with a bullet. now that you're back you're shivering in anticipation, this city has definitely left its horrifying memories in your mind. with z by your side, you feel a little safer, though.

the outskirts of the city are deadly quiet, filled with car crashes and littering barrels of trash. walking closer into main street, you start to feel your hair stand up on your skin. it's terrifying, being back when you tried so desperately to leave this horrifying place.

"where's the patrol?"

"we have exactly 5 minute 25 second window before patrol comes back." you hear it loud and clear, 5 minute and 26 seconds, you are dead meat.

she then starts picking up the pace, running between alleyways with her head ducked low, always pausing between corners and big obstructions in between the streets.

with the cold wind, you hear howling through open buildings with their glass windows broken through, the sound of fire crackling in barrels and most of all you hear raiders in the distant, cheering and screaming.

"2 minutes left." she says. you follow behind her, quick on her trail. she soon ducks completely behind a building. digging through her backpack for trap mines.

"listen to me, trap mines: detonate with proximity. we need distractions. raiders are extreme in not letting things getting through their grasp, you know this well enough." she says and hands you trap mines. z gives you the signal and you both split. she heads straight for the back entrance of the building while you go around the side entrance.

raiders are shuffling around, trading posts. you crouch close to the ground and place a trap mine close to the door, waiting for a raider to walk close. you crawl backward into safety, reciting the plan to yourself.

a loud boom blows up at the entrance, and you can hear the horrifying scream of a man being blown to pieces, and other voices running after him.

"we're under attack!" the sound of the raider's feet is closer, all rushing towards the entrance with the trapped mine. in the distance, you hear another mine go off, z's mine based on the direction of the sound.

"another?" a raider shouts. then you hear some footsteps fall away. you sneak around the front of the building, examining the situation, most men have spread to the side and back entrance, disregarding the front.

you slip through the front with the open window, you try and step over the broken glass to minimize sound. and soon you creep towards the stairs. a man stands before you, handgun in hand and peaking around for intruders. you dig a shiv right into his neck before he even gets a clue.

dragging the body away, you put on his jacket and hat, grabbing his gun and checking for bullets, a full magazine. you feel lucky, feeling a knife in the jacket you stole. you tuck that into your shoe. you need all you've got to save whoever chaewon is.

the raiders are now patrolling through the entrances, you find yourself able to slip into different levels of the building until you reach the fifth floor, where supposedly chaewon was supposed to be.

when z filled you in on the situation, you piece together that chaewon is z's older sister. she and z used to survive together, going from groups to traveling alone. never sticking by a group for too long. z had explained that chaewon wanted to leave the raiders after she found out that they sacrificed people that they caught just for fun.

it was horrifying; they joined the raiders in hopes of getting protection by being in a large group, but she couldn't stand by and watch innocent survivors being taken out just for the fun of it.

z wanted to leave too, until they both got caught, the raiders let z get away if they let chaewon get sacrificed. so z's been figuring out a plan to break her free, and it seems tonight was supposed to be chaewon's sacrifical night.

you shivered just hearing it, you knew nothing about chaewon but you knew you would never want her to be sacrificed. you can see it, the line of tortured souls, all being watched by the raiders, it seems that their idea of sacrifice is making them fall from stories high into an enclosed space of zombies, all ready to bite these people to shreds.

you line up close, thinking of a way to get them riled up and away from chaewon. you grab a molotov from your bag, along with a gun. with a careful aim, you toss the molotov on the floor, startling the raiders. they're all trying to examine the disturbance, with quickness, you throw another molotov. setting some raiders on fire. with their screams piercing your ears, you grab your gun and start shooting them. the confusion and commotion of the fifth floor is also startling the tortured survivors, they start running towards the stairs.

you're busy trying to find whoever chaewon is while also shooting the raiders. you hear the signature sound of z's long bow, taking out raiders, some even falling straight into the zombie pit. you can't see her but you know that she's here now.

"chaewon!" you shout, and a shorter girl stops, her eyes go wide. you spot her, the girl that looks so familiar to that polaroid back in z's base. her hair is longer, face bruised up. she's sporting a black eye and she's got a weird limp. you grab her hand and drag her away from the commotion, z continues to aim at the raiders.

by the time you are able to get her out of the building, more raiders are showing up. rushing up the building, you grab chaewon's hand and turn to her. "we run now." you tell her.

she nods and like how the raiders chased you out those weeks ago, you run as fast as you can, pulling chaewon along. with the limp, it's harder for her to run but you know even trailing behind for a second could be instant death.

z's plan was this: she wanted revenge, wanted to kill all those raiders for what they did to chaewon. for making her become their sacrificial pawn, so she told you to take chaewon to a safe place. and then she would let hell rain on those fuckers.

you finally spot the theatre, the rendezvous point where you were supposed to keep chaewon safe. the girl is startled, you're wearing her sister's bandana, but you aren't z. and when you finally are able to lock the door, chaewon collapses on the floor, breathing so heavy, and loud. you calm yourself down too, leaning against the door sinking to ground.

"you aren't zuha." she says between breaths.

"who's zuha?" you ask, confused by what she means.

she points at your bandana. "that is kazuha's bandana, i gave it to her." she says, confused written on her face.

"oh. z?" you ask. chaewon is confused but nods. "z is probably a codename she gave me then."

"you met her then!" chaewon sits up and moves closer to you, tears sprouting in her eyes. "is she alive?"

"yes." you reply back, chaewon probably has no idea if kazuha is alive or not. that must be terrifying, letting your sister have freedom, not even knowing if she actually survived outside.

"she uh, made this plan, for us to rescue you." you explain, going into depth about how you two met. also how she is letting you help save chaewon.

"kazuha's a hard person to convince, you must've gotten under her skin." chaewon responds, listening intently about the whereabouts of her sister.

you agree, fishing out food and water for chaewon. she must be starving, you think. chaewon nearly cries at the sight, downing water like she was in a scorching desert. you let her have at it while checking your timer. kazuha told you that if she doesn't return in thirty minutes, that you should take chaewon to the base, and that she probably has died.

you're not going to let that happen; forget that stupid plan to get revenge alone. you're going to go back for her. with a stretch, and drinking your own water bottle, you get ready to set back out. chaewon looks at you in bewilderment.

"where are you going?" she asks while biting on jerky.

"back, i'm not letting her fight those raiders alone." you say, checking your handgun for bullets. chaewon looks at you and nods.

"strength in numbers." she says to herself.

"yeah, strength in numbers." you smile, hearing the familiar phrase. you hand chaewon a handgun and some molotovs. "three knocks, that'll be the signal that we're coming to the theatre, any other knock, that's not us." chaewon nods and checks her gun.

"good luck back there, please bring my baby sister back safely. i'm counting on you." even though this is the first conversation you've had with chaewon, you feel inclined to listen to her words.

"swear on my soul." and with that you exit the theatre.

--

with blood on your face, and the jacket that you stole, you rush into the building. most of the raiders are circling around the ground floor, grabbing an auto rifle, you open fire like you never have before, using the cars around as coverage. with a rage you never felt before you go batshit crazy, slicing down raiders left and right. you don't even feel anything anymore, just with the goal of finding kazuha.

the raiders are all falling by your hands. you rapidly fire at whoever dares to separate you and kazuha. you pick up guns that's been left by now dead raiders. you can hear a distant scream of a woman's voice, sounding like kazuha's voice. your blood runs cold, you rush upstairs, taking out the raider's best you can. at some point you get tired of waiting and just grenade them.

the quicker you can reach her, the quicker you can save her. you rush up to the fifth floor where all the commotion went down. you hear the sounds of raiders all shouting. and with a quick glance, you can see them cornering kazuha.

"you never should've come back kazuha, chaewon let you free, by being a sacrifice to them." the man talks as he points below. he smirks, "you want to trade places with your sister? fine by me."

the man and the rest of the raiders start walking kazuha to the edge. you rush behind two raiders. shiving them each and approaching the rest of the raiders. grabbing a metal sheet you use it as coverage as you rush the rest of them. letting out all your strength, you push the rest of the raiders off the edge, falling to their demise. the man that was speaking to kazuha dodges the attack. you find yourself nearly falling off the edge, but kazuha grabs you in time to pull you back.

so now you two face him, kazuha's gotten pretty beaten up, her arm's messed up and her feet's dragging. so you put yourself in front of her.

"let me handle it." you tell her. she's too tired to protest, after just nearly falling to her demise. you keep her behind you pressed against the wall as you approach the man with a switchblade, he's smirking like he has the upperhand. until you smash a bottle over his head and run at him to tackle him down.

he's pushed his knife back against your blade, and you're fighting with every ounce of strength in your body. pushing the blade closer and closer towards him. he makes a quick movement to toss you off over him. you roll over and he jumps to shove the knife at you, to which you dodge. pushing with all your might to push him off you. you launch yourself forward, stabbing the blade into his neck, blood gushing out all over you. he screams and gasps at the impaling. he makes a final attack against you, slicing your face. you let out a scream but don't let go of the knife in his neck.

soon he falls over to the side, his body going limp when kazuha shoots him in the head. a loud ringing noise running through your ears, you latch onto your face. the gash long and running deep over your face.

kazuha's quick to rush to your side, trying to hold your face with her one good arm. she rips off fabric from her shirt to wrap around your face, as you cry out loud. sobbing at the excruciating pain. the man is dead, and you're thankful you saved kazuha.

--

you gave yourself twenty minutes before getting up. kazuha's been trying to set her arm by herself. you lightly tap her and hold onto the loose arm. you hand her your loose switchblade for her to bite it as you set it back into her socket. she screams into the metal blade. and you're quick to make a makeshift sling for her arm. working with one good eye and pain searing through your body.

she cries at the sight of your face and the blood staining her shirt. this battle wasn't an easy one, but you're grateful that both you and kazuha survived. she keeps crying even as you tell her it's okay. you wrap her good arm around your shoulder as you both slowly make your way out of the building.

after a good while of sobbing to herself, she turns to look at you again. "chaewon?"

"she's safe, put her in the theatre like we talked about." you try as move your face as little as possible. kazuha nods. her limping as she puts her body weight on you like a crutch. even though you're so deep in pain, and the adrenaline is finally wearing off, you're glad you went back for her. you know you would never be able to live with the guilt that she died.

the rest of the walk is silent other than wincing here and there and ragged breaths.

you tap three quick knocks at the theatre door, and you hear the sound of a board being moved behind the theatre. when it opens you see chaewon pointing a gun straight at you. as soon as she recognizes you, she puts it down, ushering you two inside.

"chaewon!" kazuha throws herself at her sister, crying into her. letting out relieved tears at the sight of her sister after so long. chaewon's trying to examine kazuha's injuries, but the girl won't even separate herself.

the two girls hug each other for a long while, just crying into each other. you board up the entrance to the theatre. feeling the exhaustion hit your body completely as you sit down by a chair. as much as it hurts, you smile at the two girls.

finally, you knock out cold.

--

you awake to the two girls speaking to each other in hushed tones. it seems that they're talking about the raiders, how chaewon was kept captive until tonight for her sacrificial night. chaewon cries as she thinks about how she hasn't seen sunlight in weeks, being fed slop and kazuha cries but listens intently.

you try and move yourself up, sitting in the chair. chaewon looks at you, and smiles.

"hi, glad you're awake." chaewon says to you. kazuha also turns to look at you, sobbing when she thinks about the deep gash on your face. you smile back at the two, still feeling the pain of the attack.

"i stitched your face while you were asleep." chaewon says, and she stands up to remove the shirt covering your face. trading it for a clean and new cloth. "he slashed over your eye, i think you won't be able to see out of your left eye anymore." chaewon comments quietly. she gently wraps the new cloth around your face. you nod, the truth of the matter settling in.

"i'm sorry!" kazuha cries out, the guilt of being the reason you lost your eye is hitting her hard. you shake your head no, you would never blame kazuha for what he did. "it's not your fault kazuha, i wouldn't blame you. i had to save you. no matter what."

kazuha cries harder, and you walk yourself over to hug her. calming her down and telling her everything is okay. as long as you still had each other you don't care how many limbs you lose.

you three get ready to finally be away from this cursed city.

"thank you for coming back for me."

"strength in numbers kazuha, i wouldn't ever think of leaving you behind."

--

it's been a couple months since saving chaewon; you've gotten closer to the two sisters. you find that behind the coldness, kazuha is actually a lovely woman. a woman hardened by the loss of her sister by her side. every day, you spend time with the two girls happily. and now you wear an eyepatch, claiming that it makes you look cooler. kazuha rolled her eyes when you made that comment.

meeting kazuha changed the trajectory of your life forever, you're happy to find a semblance of a family with these two girls. especially when kazuha makes your heart race as you get to know her.

sometimes when chaewon isn't looking you sneak a kiss for kazuha, the woman always goes rigid like a plank whenever you do this. you giggle everytime, while chaewon is always confused what happened.

kazuha also had a hard time with expressing affection, so she would always say that you should ride with her on her horse. you know it's because she likes keeping you against her at all times.

sometimes you think chaewon knows what is going on between you two (she most definitely does) but just plays dumbs. like she's waiting for you two to come clean. you don't give her that satisfaction until much later when chaewon catches you kissing kazuha before she sets off for a supply run.

chaewon simply smiles when you see you've been caught. and you smile because it feels like you have gained a family through meeting kazuha.

--

a/n: ive been wanting to write a tlou (the last of us) piece for sooo long. i am not a med student, so if there's any medical inaccuracies...let's just move past that. i made this piece less zombie centric, and more plot driven. anyways, stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

[ghost-proofbaby]

so scarlet (it was maroon)

in which eddie gets everything he dreamed of - except you. based off of "maroon" by taylor swift.

→ warnings: smut, severe angst, hurt/no comfort, 18+ minors dni

→ pairings: rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

→ wc: 11.3k+

→ a/n: don't mind me, just trying to see if tumblr will let me finally post this. this is cross-posted from ao3 (and wattpad)

ao3

"When the morning came, we were cleaning incense off your vinyl shelf 'cause we lost track of time again. Laughing with my feet in your lap, like you were my closest friend"

“You’re fucking with me,” Eddie sits up to stare at you, lit joint still dangling between his ringed fingers and the last of his latest hit lingering in a ghost of white smoke on his lips. 

“I’m not,” you laugh at his reaction, tilting your head forward just enough for where you were sprawled out on his bed to get a better view of him, “I’m scared to take cold medicine now.” 

“There’s no way you got high off of the recommended dose!” he cackles, shaking his head in disbelief, a hand coming down on your shin to ground himself. You watch his shoulders shake with laughter, how his curls come down to curtain around his reddening cheeks and his reddening eyes, how his doe eyes are pinched shut and crinkled in the corners.

A map of a million lifetimes, branching out from the corner of those eyes. A million lifetimes, a million possibilities, a million futures. And every single one of them begins and ends with Eddie. 

If you stare for too long, you’re going to say something you regret in your high, so you sit up as he had in order to snatch back the joint, “Stop babysitting. Aren’t you the one who’s always chastising me on ‘puff, puff, pass’?” 

He feigns offense, mouth wide open and face scrunched up adorably so, as you take a delicate hit. The smoke enters your mouth quickly, wasting no time as it barrels down your throat and curls into every crevice of your lungs. Your chest aches slightly at the intrusion. 

His eyes never leave yours. He watches the glaze continue to intensify over them as you slowly exhale. His thumb begins to trace gentle arches over the bare skin of your leg as his warm palm shifts upward, inching until it’s over your knee and resting on your thigh. “You’re fucking ridiculous.” 

“Learned from the best.” 

“That you did, sweetheart. That you did.” 

He holds his free hand back out for the joint, and your fingertips brush as you return it to him. 

“So what? Was it better than this kind of high?” he teases before bringing it to his lips. They’re pursed in preparation, and you only lose your concentration for a moment before remembering to answer him.

“I dunno, Munson. You’ve got some good shit here but… Dayquil might be giving you a run for your money,” you mock, tilting your head and leaning in closer to him. He’s grinning again, looking up through shy lashes before he takes his hit. 

This time he doesn’t exhale immediately into the cloudy air of the room. Instead, he takes you off guard as he shifts on the bed and pulls you closer. Soon enough he has you in his lap, draping one arm around your waist as he takes the hand not holding the joint and gingerly grabs your jaw. 

You already know the drill. You’re familiar with the process of his shotguns as his fingers tap your cheeks and you let your mouth fall slightly open, leaning to meet him halfway. He still doesn’t exhale, not until his lips have grazed over yours lightly, teasing before he finally seals the two of you together. The kiss is messy, as it always is with him; your tongue can’t differentiate between the taste of him and the taste of the smoke as he presses the kiss deeper. You’re not even sure you breathed in enough to capture any of it, but none of it feels like a waste as he’s biting your bottom lip, hands pulling your hips impossibly close. The joint is eventually discarded on one of the ashtrays on his bedside tables as you lose yourselves into each other. His nose presses itself into flat against yours between hot breaths. 

“We can’t-” you pull back, a trail of saliva chasing you before Eddie follows, capturing you in another kiss that you pull back from, “The joint-” another interruption with another desperate kiss, “The incense-”

“The incense will be fine, baby,” he insists, pouting slightly, “It’s not going to burn the house down.” 

He kisses you once more, wasting no time to fall backwards into his pillows and dragging you with him. For a moment, you’re straddling him, hovering over him, but he quickly turns and presses your back into his sheets before he’s rolling over on top of you, caging you in. You don’t mind it. You never mind him taking up your space, your breath, your mind. 

A hand comes up to rest on your neck as you take a moment to press both hands into his chest, forcing distance. His eyes snap wide open, and they’re shining like a dozen moons at once, even with his pupils blown out. 

“And if it does? It if does burn down the house?” you whisper, hands beginning to wander, one finding its way up and around the back of his neck, toying with the curls in its path. The other smooths over his shoulder, prepared to pull him back in impossibly close even without an answer. 

He’s looking down at you with all the love in all of Hawkins, in all of the world, as he smirks and answers, “Then I say let it burn.” 

"And I chose you, the one I was dancing with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon."

Within a year of graduation, Eddie had made it very clear he wanted to get out of Hawkins. Corroded Coffin had been slowly but surely crawling their way to popularity outside of Hawkins, and when the moment was right, he came to you with an offer you couldn’t refuse. 

“Come with me. Move to New York. I know, it’s insane, but-”

“Yes.” 

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Was it ever really a question, Eddie?”

He was it for you, and so when he’d been prepared to beg you on his knees to move with him, it had been a no-brainer. You packed up all your belongings without second-thoughts, said goodbye to the town that never really deserved either of you, and started your life in a big city. 

The apartment was small and impossibly cramped, but the first night you two arrived, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if it was in the dingier part of town, or that you two were going to be penniless the next several months as you barely scraped by with rent. The moment you walked into that one-bedroom apartment, you knew it was yours, and you knew with certainty then that you had done it - you had escaped the bleary town and come out the other side. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs as he places down one of the last few boxes you’d brought with you amongst one of the several piles littering the living room. You’re sitting on top of one particularly sturdy stack of boxes, the top one serving as a seat most likely filled with your books from home. 

“Yeah,” you breath, looking around, completely stunned, “Holy shit.” 

Eddie turns in a full circle, almost as if he was drinking it all in, before he faces you once more. His face is a blank slate only for a second before the serendipity and sudden gaiety takes over his features. He’s unexpectedly running in your direction, arms wrapping around you and lifting you off the boxes as you squeal, swinging you around effortlessly. 

“We fucking did it!” he cheers over your giggles. When he finally finishes spinning you, letting your sock-clad feet find stability on the hardwood floors, he still doesn’t let you go. He only pulls you into his chest tighter, “We did it. We’re in New fucking York.” 

You smile brightly, pressing your cheek painfully against his t-shirt, nodding as you echo, “We did it.” 

The moment pauses as he pulls away as suddenly as he had picked you up, still radiating happiness.

“Hold on, wait here. I’ve got an idea.” 

He jogs over to one of the stacks of boxes at the entrance of the kitchen as you just laugh, “Not like I’ve got anywhere to run off to, Munson.” 

“You better not!” he calls over his shoulder, digging for whatever his brilliant idea was. 

You disobey him indirectly by wandering across the living room, steps slow and careful as you approach the large window offering a lackluster view. All you could see, for the most part, was the large brickwall of the neighboring apartment building. It was old and faded, scattered marks of paints from clear graffiti at random intervals. The city had clearly tried to wash away the few remnants of whatever art the random city vigilantes had covered it with, but the reminders of what once was remained. A nod to the fact that sometimes, no matter how hard you try to wash away things, their legacy lingers stubbornly. 

You don’t even hear Eddie setting up one of his old boomboxes with a favorite mixtape of the two of yours until it begins to play from the speakers, probably a bit more loud than you should have if you were attempting to be considerate neighbors. 

But neither of you cared. 

When you turn, you find Eddie approaching you steadily to the beat of the song playing. He takes a step with each beat, swaying his hips in clear exaggeration. 

He’s only several paces from you when he holds out a hand, grinning like a fool as he says, “Dance with me, sweetheart.” 

You take it, immediately. There’s not a trace of hesitation as you let the boy who held the sun in your eyes drag you across the barren living room, not even dancing to the beat but growing dizzy with love regardless. You let your own happiness mingle with his. As he spins you for the hundredth time, dipping you low and dramatically, you imagine that this is it - this is as good as it could possibly get. Because you’re with your boy, and you two are dancing to your own beat as the mixtape ends, and there couldn’t possibly be a more perfect person than him. 

He brings you back up to him as he stands up straight, and not a word is passed as lips crash together. An eager kiss, all teeth and revelations and silent promises of forever. It’s saccharine sweet as his tongue passes over your lips, begging for more closeness. Your chests are so tightly pressed together that with each breath he gasps in, you’re forced to exhale. 

“I love you,” he mutters, pulling back momentarily and staring into your eyes. His arms cradle you so carefully, as if scared that when he lets go, you’ll completely disappear from him, “I love you so goddamn much, it hurts. I can’t believe this is real.” 

“It’s real, so you better believe it, rockstar,” you reassure him, “Now shut up and kiss me.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he mutters, already so close to you that his lips brush against yours before he’s back on you, hot and heavy. 

You’re not sure how exactly it happens, or who first starts encouraging the steps taken towards the hallway, but you end up with your back against the wall as Eddie leans completely into you. You both feel drunk on each other, giddy on your current reality. After a particularly harsh tug on his hair, in sync with a yearning squeeze on your hip, he whispers ‘jump’ into your kiss. Hands find the back of your thighs, molding them into his knuckles as he carries you into the bedroom. 

The room is only filled with a few artifacts: boxes of both of your clothes, Eddie’s prized guitar propped up in one of the corners, and a mattress on the floor only covered in a comforter and no sheets yet. The afternoon light is golden as it flutters in through the open window, the sounds of the city muted by your breaths. 

He’s impossibly gentle as he lowers the two of you down onto the mattress, careful as he lets you unwrap your legs and flop back. Even with his carefulness, you find your own eagerness causing your movements to be too rough, bouncing back slightly and bumping noses with him. You both take a break to laugh. 

“Careful, you klutz,” he warns, balancing himself up on his forearms as he looks down at you in adoration. You don’t respond, instead lifting yourself to capture his lips in yours, pulling him down. Your teeth clash with his as you both continue to giggle into the open-mouthed kiss. 

He gives in, hands roaming as they slip below your tattered shirt you’d worn for the occasion of moving. His warm hands find home on your chest, squeezing softly and thumbs flicking your already pebbled nipples in order to pull gasps from you. He lets his head drop to your neck, his messy curls tickling your nose as he presses wet kisses down your jugular. Each kiss is in sync with the heavy beating of your heart. 

He stops when his path leads him down to your collarbone, sucking and nipping before releasing blooming skin to glance up at your face, twisted in euphoria. “This is real, isn’t it?”

His voice is so soft, you almost don’t hear him. But you look down at him, a boy made of contradictions - of sunshine and moonlight, of passionate and tender actions - and can only smile in serenity. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

It’s the only encouragement he needs to continue his worship, leaving no patch of supple skin unkissed. 

"The burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me, and how the blood rushed into my cheeks. So scarlett, it was maroon."

It could have been hours later or days when you’d finally tired yourselves out. It took an impossible amount of willpower, but eventually, you two had untangled yourselves from each other, leaving the warmth of your comforter to continue unpacking.

Or rather, you were unpacking. Eddie had taken to stretching out on the bed, back propped up on the bare wall behind him with his guitar in his lap, strumming mindlessly as he watched you begin to pull your clothes from one of the boxes. You took your time, smoothing out any wrinkles that had formed during the move, focused as you hung your shirts on hangers and put them away into their home in your new shared closet. 

Eddie pauses whatever song he had been practicing when he catches sight of a particular shirt you pull from the box. 

It’s a white t-shirt. Nothing impressive, but what piques his interest is the splotch of once-red-now-maroon painting the center of the fabric. It’s faded, feathered at the edges, but he knows the story behind that stain all too well.

“You really kept that shirt? Even after I ruined it?” he chuckles, shifting his guitar off his lap, scooting towards the edge of the bed. 

You hold it up, laughing as well, taking in the stain that refused to wash out, “Yeah. Sentimental value or whatever,” you tease, looking down at him. You take his breath away like this, in nothing but his Judas Priest shirt that barely reaches your thighs, nothing but underwear on underneath, hair in tangles from your previous activities. But you’re glowing, a glow that he’s been lucky enough to witness on multiple occasions, and it takes everything in him to keep his hands to himself, “Never really wear it, though. Guess I should get rid of it, huh?” 

“No,” he answers you far too quickly, “Never. Keep it forever. We can frame it, hang it in the hallway.” 

You know he’s not serious, but the thought still makes you smile. You’d never really get rid of it, far too attached to the memories it held, even two years later.

Another Harrington party. Another sea of almost-adults getting far too drunk, far too rowdy. You’d been to your fair share of them, but they never really got easier.

There’s an excitement in the air you can’t place. Maybe it was from graduation, still nearly six months away but on the horizon nevertheless. Or maybe it was simply from the holiday - Halloween. Whatever it was, it buzzed through the air and across your chilled skin. 

Your costume was last minute. A half-assed attempt at a pirate costume. It had been thrown together with things you could already find in your closet, for the most part - one of your more flowy white t-shirts, black jeans you’d taken scissors to the knees of in an act of temporary rebellion, heavy boots originally bought for hiking. The only real clues as to what you were had been aiming to disguise yourself as were the cheap eyepatch and doltish pirate hat you’d bought when shopping with your friends for the occasion. But you’d long forgone your eyepatch as the alcohol impaired your vision well enough without the loss of use in one of your eyes. 

The hat was a cheap velvet-texture, deep maroon in color and an extravagant black feather barely holding on by the factory glue used to secure it. 

Your friends had long since abandoned you. One of them went off with a jock who had caught their eye, the other getting dragged into a very serious game of beer pong. It hadn’t bothered you too much - it had left you to your own devices, nursing a cup of whatever punch had been spiked in a dark corner of the kitchen. You watched your classmates trail in and out for their own dose of alcohol without much interest. Until he walked in. 

He was glued to the side of the host himself, Steve Harrington. You overheard a couple of scolding sentences coming from Steve’s lips, something about ‘cutting him off’ and how he needed to ‘compose himself’. It was entertaining, at the least, to watch the boy fumble with himself. 

“C’mon, you’ve got to have more whiskey around here somewhere, pretty boy!” he whined, leaning into Steve as he lost his balance momentarily. 

“No, Eddie! I mean it, you’re cut off! Now stay here or so help me God-” Steve appeared irritated, but was far more patient than you would have been as he carefully guided his friend to lean on the counter across the room from you. He left the room in a hurry, and you snickered under your breath as the predictable happened right before your eyes - once Eddie was left alone, he immediately began to pilfer for more alcohol. 

It takes him a second, to your amusement, before he reappeared from the lower cabinets he had crouched in front of, letting out a loud ‘Aha!’ with a bottle of red wine in hand. He wasted no time in digging through multiple drawers as if it were his own house before he found a corkscrew, and the entire time, your eyes continuously flickered to the entrance of the entrance, waiting until Steve returned and would catch his friend red-handed (literally). 

He never did, though. Eddie has enough time to begin struggling with the cork, curses and mutters falling from his lips as you watched on. You’re only pulled from your watchful gaze when you hear a loud pop, and hear a triumphant ‘Fuck yeah!’ from the boy. 

Maybe you thought you should intervene, considering you were clearly not as far gone as Eddie, but you weren’t quick enough. You’d walked up behind him, about to announce yourself and stop him, when he turned suddenly, a red cup in hand that was nearly overflowing with red wine. 

Eddie hadn’t expected you to be so close, hadn’t even realized he wasn’t alone in the kitchen. Immediately, the cup collided with your chest and the red wine sloshed down the front of your shirt. 

You gasped, jumping back slightly, as he cursed, “Oh, shit! Fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

Wide, brown eyes found yours, looking sincere in their apology. 

He looked around before grabbing a random kitchen towel, unfortunately also a starch white, and began to try and dab at your shirt clumsily. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you insisted as you felt your cheeks begin to burn. He continued to attempt to rectify the matter, clearly panicked. You have to eventually grab his wrists, pulling him and the now-ruined towel away. He looked back up.

It was almost like slow motion. His eyes met yours and you felt time stop. Your fingers stay pressed into his wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse, for far longer than necessary. 

“It’s fine,” you said once more, finally prying your grip from him. You might have been a little too drunk to care, and you’re sure that sober you would be disappointed in the comfortable t-shirt now being collateral damage, but for now, it didn’t matter. 

“I had no clue you were there. I’m- Fuck, I’m drunk. I’m an idiot. Sorry,” he slurred, looking down at you. 

You shrugged, playing it off, “Shoulda announced myself sooner. Don’t be sorry, it’s a problem for sober me.”

You really had liked that shirt. It was a shame. 

“You know, if you really wanted more alcohol, they still have punch left,” you jabbed a thumb over your shoulder, in the direction of the crystal bowl on the counter you had just been leaning on.

Eddie’s face scrunched up in disgust immediately, “Ew, God no. That shit’s way too sweet.” 

You bit your lip to fight laughter, “And wine is any better?” 

“It can be, when shared with someone as pretty as yourself,” he has a shameless, flirty grin on his features, raising his eyebrows suggestively at you. You broke, laughing softly and shaking your head. 

He had a point. The punch wasn’t very good. 

“Alright, then, mister ‘you’re cut off’. I suppose I’ll join you in your antics,” you turned to the sink, dumping the remnants of your punch before turning back to him and reaching for the bottle of wine he still held. 

His hand flew out of reach, tsking immediately, “Nope. Allow me.”

It wasn’t a good idea, but you let him take your now-empty cup regardless. He put it down on the counter and focused intently on filling it, nearly emptying the wine bottle as he topped it off just as full as his own had been. 

“Jesus, you’d make a shitty bartender. You’re definitely overpouring right now.” 

“Hush,” is all he replied as he finished the task at hand, setting down the empty bottle once he poured the last few drops into his own cup, attempting to make up for what was now soaking your shirt. It had started to dry, becoming cold and uncomfortably sticky, but you were too distracted with the boy in front of you to care. “M’lady,” he finally handed back the cup, looking far too proud of himself for not making another mess. 

“Thank you,” you teased, giving a messy and exaggerated bow, careful to not spill the wine. 

Once your glass is back in your own hand, his began to fumble into the pockets of the leather jacket he wore. It led to him spilling some more of his wine onto his own shirt this time, and you considered how lucky he was that he was wearing black. 

“Here,” you gave him no choice as you gingerly took the cup from his hand, freeing him up to find whatever it was he was so desperate to find in his pockets. You take the moment to glance over his costume: he was wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. On his face, a pair of small, circular sunglasses were perched haph-hazardly on his nose, the lenses a barely opaque red. You noted the obnoxiously long necklace swinging against his chest, a large silver cross at the end, “What are you even supposed to be dressed up as?” 

He yanked a pack of cigarettes successfully from his pocket, grinning like a fool, “Ozzy Osbourne. Duh.”

“Duh,” you mimicked, handing him back his cup of wine before turning more serious,“From Black Sabbath, right?” 

His eyes lit up. “You know Sabbath?” 

“A little bit,” you shrugged, but that was enough for Eddie. 

He slung an arm around your shoulders, cheesy grin and all, as he rattled the pack of cigarettes against your ear. “Say, you smoke?”

You didn’t, but for him, you did. “Yeah, yeah. I could use some fresh air anyways. Lead the way, rockstar.” 

"When the silence came, we were shaking, blind and hazy. How the hell did we lose sight of us again?"

“Eddie, you have to call them back and tell them you’ll do it!”

“No! I can’t!”

“You can and you will.”

The fight had started over Eddie’s casual mention of a phone call he’d had earlier that day. It had been six months of New York, of bliss, of living in a pattern of waiting. Every day, you were both waiting; waiting for the next show Corroded Coffin would book, waiting for the next chance he’d have to send off yet another demo to another record label, waiting for the shimmers of what could be his big break. It had been comfortable while it lasted - the two of you were still wrapping your head around having your own routine. Of having something that’s yours. 

The phone call today was the end of that waiting game. 

The management of a slightly larger band, extending an offer to Corroded Coffin - they wanted them to be the opener for their next tour. It wasn’t an overly large one, it hardly spanned over three months and most of the venues were painfully small compared to what you believed Eddie should be playing, but it was an offer. Gigs, travel paid for, an opportunity for exposure right at his fingertips.

He had told them no. 

“I’d have to leave. I’d be on the fucking west coast until December. I’d miss your birthday!” Eddie continues to argue. The two of you were standing in your living room, finally filling out. Shelves had collected framed photos, small knick-knacks that partially came from you and partially came from Eddie. You finally had a couch. It wasn’t a nice one, but it was a couch and it was yours. Something that belonged to both of you.

“You’d be playing shows! Selling merch! Gaining fans! This is your chance. Who cares if you’re not here for my birthday? We can celebrate over the phone, who cares?” your voice was breaking from frustration, not understanding how Eddie isn’t more excited. Instead of the joy you had expected to find on his face when he revealed the news to you, all you could see was fear. He was petrified. You finally drop your voice, taking on a soothing tone as you step in front of your boyfriend, taking his face in shaking hands, “Eddie, I’ll have other birthdays. But this? If you don’t do this… there might not be other tours.”

You could feel tears building up, some from exasperation, but most for the boy in front of you. This was his chance. He was your entire world, and you couldn’t let it pass him by. 

He has tears mirroring in his own eyes, searching your face frantically, “I… I don’t want to be away from you. Not right now, not when we’re just figuring all this shit out.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you tearily laugh, “Where would I even run off to, huh? No, stop this bullshit - don’t be an idiot. You go pick up that phone right now and tell that band they have an opener, and a damn good one at that. Right now.” 

He’s frozen, leaning his cheeks into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. He just wants to live in this moment. He doesn’t want to think about the enormity of the decision in his hands - he just wants to stay here, in your arms, in the space you two had come to call home. 

When your thumb swipes one of his escaped tears from his cheek, he caves. His voice is a ghost of a whisper. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll go call them. But- But when I get back, we’re celebrating the hell out of your birthday, do you understand me? Fuck Christmas, Jesus has had, like, thousands of birthdays. When I get back, all I care about is you.” 

You believe him. You believe him with your entire being, never once worrying about him missing something as trivial as the celebration. 

“We sure will. Now go on, rockstar. Catch your big break.” 

He finally smiles for the first time since he broke the news.

At the moment, all you saw was a world full of beginnings for your boy. This was it, the moment you’d been waiting for, and you couldn’t have been happier for him. The rose-colored glasses never gave you the chance to see it was the beginning for the two of you - the beginning of the end. 

"Carnations you had thought were roses, that's us. I feel you, no matter what."

“I miss you.”

Those three months couldn’t have dragged on slower if they tried. But Eddie kept good on his word; every night, like clockwork, he called you. The two of you would take about anything and everything: he’d tell you about the latest crowd that included people who seemed to actually enjoy Corroded Coffin’s set, you’d tell him about the takeout you had for dinner after nearly burning your shared kitchen down, he’d mention the names of cities you could only dream of visiting, and you’d indulge him in theatrically stories of your latest customers from Hell at the small dinner you waitressed at. 

“I know you do. I miss you too, Eds,” you sigh over the line, curled up on his side of the bed, even though it had finally stopped smelling like him. Long gone were the scents of late night cigarettes and woodsy cologne, replaced by a nauseating sweetness of your own shampoo and perfume. You hated it, but you’d never let him know that. Not when he seemed to actually be so happy. His breakdown over the offer seemed to fickle now, as it was clear he was enjoying himself. He was living out his dream. Something neither of you had fully processed yet. 

“Hey, just two more weeks, right?” you whisper, eyes staring into the shadows across the room. Two more weeks. Fourteen days, and he was all yours once more.

It was your birthday. And it had been the most lonesome to date - a few coworkers had convinced you to go out for drinks after closing up the diner, but the entire time, you had just been anxious to get home and prepare for your phone call with Eddie. Just as the two of you had said, you had committed to somewhat celebrating over the phone. 

“Do me a favor. Go into the kitchen real quick,” his voice instructs over the line, and you perk up slightly. 

“What? Why?” 

“Just trust me, sweetheart.”

You do as he asks, making your way out of the bedroom and down the hall. The apartment is dark, and a bit cold, but you don’t pay it any mind as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“Okay, I’m in the kitchen. Now what?” 

“The drawer to the left of the fridge. Open it.”

“Our junk drawer?”

“Yes, the junk drawer,” his tone is teasing, never growing irritated with your endless questions, “Open it.”

You hadn’t really touched the drawer since Eddie left, normally only discarded random pens and junk mail filling it. But you're shocked when you find the drawer more organized than you remember it - and in the center of it is a pack of candles.

“Candles?” you ask softly, a smile playing at your lips as your free hand reaches down to grasp the package. You flip it around in your palm, heart warming at the notion, but still feeling confused, “Babe, I appreciate it, I really do, but I don’t exactly have a cake, or even a cupcake, to put these in. 

“You don’t? Damn it. If only I had thought of that,” he hums in a teasing tone, making you lower the hot phone from your ear and glare down at his caller id that illuminates the screen, “Well. What a shame. Hey, do you know the time by chance?” 

“Munson, I’m gonna kick your ass,” you mutter, turning to look at the clock over your oven, “It’s 7:59. What’s your game here?” 

He doesn’t answer, leaving you further puzzled, instead mumbling what sounds like to himself, “Three, two-”

“Why are you counting down?”

“One.” 

A loud knock echoes through the apartment, causing you to jump. 

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” you hiss over the line, gripping the candles impossibly tight. 

“Go answer the door.”

“If you’re on the other side of it, I’m kicking you straight in the-”

“It’s not,” he interrupts, “I wish it was, sweetheart. It’s not. But just trust me, yeah? One last surprise, promise.”

You grumble your entire way to the door, still holding the package of candles as you stop in front of your front door. You pause, taking a deep breath. 

“That doesn’t sound like you’re opening the door.”

“Give me a second. Jesus, for all I know, you hired a hitman and I’m about to be brutally murdered when I open this door,” you bite back, and you can hear his guffawing laughter over the line. Your chest burns, wishing you could hear it in person instead, imaging the glee on his face in the moment. 

“Not a hitman. That’s for after we have life insurance, baby,” he drawls, and you finally muster the nerve to reach out and twist the knob. You swear you can hear chattering on the other side of the door. 

It takes you some struggling as you refuse to let go of the candles, but when you finally swing the door open, you gasp. 

There in the threshold stands your friends from Hawkins. Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, and Johnathan Byers. It’s clear that Nancy and Steve are mid-argument when you open the door, but Robin stands there, proudly showcasing a birthday cake in front of her, shit-eating grin on her face. 

“Surprise!” she yells, capturing the attention of the rest of the gang that you and Eddie had left behind. Everyone faces you now, beaming, as you immediately go teary-eyed. 

“Oh my God,” you gasp out, dropping the phone and candles to the floor, in shock. Steve steps in first, chuckling as he pulls you into a hug. It’s only then that you notice the bouquet in one of his hands, cellophane crinkling from how tightly he’s holding you. He shuffles the two of you out of the way just enough so that everyone else can enter. 

“Your face! God, Munson was right, that was so worth it!” Robin barks as she steps up to the kitchen table and sits down the cake. She’s the next to hug you, yanking you out of Steve’s grasp and nearly crushing you, “Happy birthday,” she whispers happily into your ear, swaying the two of you as she continues to embrace you. You catch sight of Steve over her shoulder, wearing a look of amusement, chuckling and shaking his head. 

Jonathan is the one with half a mind to pick up your abandoned phone and candles at the sound of muffled yelling over the line. He wastes no time, putting Eddie on speaker.

“Hellooo? World’s best boyfriend here, remember me? Wow. Can’t believe you’ve already forgotten me. Guess I’ll go fuck myself.” 

You laugh as Robin finally lets you go, reaching up to swipe away the tears of jubilation.

Nancy rolls her eyes. “She’s in shock. Give her a second, Munson.” 

Jonathan continues to hold your phone as you’re passed into Nancy’s arms and then his. Each whisper their own soft ‘happy birthday’, rubbing your back gently until your focus is back on the phone.

“Edward Munson-”

“Ah! There she is! She lives! And remembers me!”

“Fuck off,” you half-sob, half-laugh. It may not have been as good as him standing there, on your doorstep and embracing you, but it was damn good, “You’re so dead when you get home.” 

“Dead? Wow. Weeks of planning only to meet my demise,” he sighs dramatically, “I suppose it’s a good way to go. At the hands of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Beat that, Harrington.” 

“Way to stay humble,” Steve chimes at the mention of his name, still grinning. He suddenly remembers the flowers in hand, suddenly thrusting them in your direction as he says, “From Eddie, by the way. He told me if we didn’t get you flowers, he’d castrate me.”

“And I meant it! That’s still on the table if you guys don’t make this her best damn birthday ever.” 

“I’m sure he would,” you sniffle, reaching out and gripping the flowers. Your heart cracks slightly, not knowing how to tell him that despite how absolutely endearing the surprise had been, it’d be impossible for them to make this your best birthday.

He wasn’t here. It could only make the top of the list if he were here. 

You feel no resentment, though, as you bring the flowers to your nose, smiling until your cheeks ache. “Red carnations. Pretty,” you hum, lost in the moment. 

There’s a beat of silence before Eddie’s voice rings out across the room.

“Carnations? Harrington, I said red roses. You’re a dead man walking.”

"And I lost you, the one I was dancing with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon." 

Once Eddie returns home, it’s just as he promises - he almost doesn’t even make it through the door when his lips find yours at 3 AM, his suitcase thrown off somewhere to the side of your entryway. He’s too busy to care about anything else but you at the moment. 

“Fuck,” he gasps between kisses, “I fucking missed you. God, I missed you.” 

You’re silent as you nod in agreement against him, just eager to feel his touch once more. You’d waited three months too long for this moment, ever since he first left through that door for the tour. 

“Needy, baby?” he teases, just as breathless as you are when the two of you finally pull apart, him kicking the door shut behind him. Your hands are grabbing weakly at the lapels of his jacket, too eager to be embarrassed, “God, always so needy for me. Just how I fucking like you.” 

He’s always talkative, even during sex, but you have no patience for it tonight. “Shut up.”

“Aw, now that’s no way to greet your boyfriend you missed, is it, baby?” he eggs you on, looking down at you and your swollen lips with a wicked grin. 

You open your mouth to snark back, but he refuses to give you the chance before he’s picking you up, lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Eddie!” you shriek, but laughter laces the protest. Your hands grip the back of his t-shirt as he begins to walk down the hallway, and you start to kick your feet out of defiance, but a sharp smack sounds through the quiet apartment as he playfully slaps your ass, putting an end to the kicks.

“Yeah, you better warm up those vocal chords,” he chuckles. The moment you’re back in your bedroom, he’s quick to toss you onto the mattress, finally mounted on a frame. The comforter flares around you, your head sinking into a pillow as Eddie is quick to remove his jacket and shirt, climbing up the bed between your legs, “Gonna have you chanting my name like a goddamn prayer, sweetheart.” 

He removes your pajamas as he has a thousand times before, but it still doesn’t feel fast enough. You find yourself squirming, trying to help him pull off the flannel pants and t-shirt you’d stolen from his side of the closet, but he stops all movements immediately.

He shakes his head, hovering above you, his hair like a curtain around the two of you as your top lip brushes his bottom one and his mint breath fans over your face. “Slow it down for me, yeah? Wanna enjoy this,” he murmurs. 

You obey, stilling below him save for your chest, rising and falling rapidly with waiting breaths. He finally dips down, his pick necklace tickling your collarbones as his mouth covers yours. 

A culmination of three long months is spent into the kiss. All the restless nights, long phone calls, endless yearning. You can tell that he had missed you, longed for you, just as much as you had him. 

It’s languid, the way your body reacts to each of his touches. As far as it was concerned, no time had passed. He does as he had said, taking his time, savoring each kiss he presses down your throat and over your breasts. He’s memorizing each crevice of you, every soft curve he’d dreamt of for 91 days. 

Your squirming resumes when his hot breath reaches your navel, but he doesn’t scold you, bringing his hands to your hips and pressing them down into the mattress. “Let me show you just how much I missed you. Let me take care of you, baby.” 

He’s enjoying it, the sound of your whines a better soundtrack than any of the music that had damaged his eardrums during the tour. His fingers dance over your bare skin, skimming right over the band of your underwear and tracing lines down your thighs. It’s agonizing - the waiting is terrible. 

Terribly worth it, as it turns out.

When he finally decides to speed up his teasing, bringing a finger to brush across your clothed slit, you gasp. Your hands twist into the sheets at each side of you, but he isn’t having it. 

“Now that’s not where those belong,” he mumbles, a hot breath over your panties sending shivers down your spine. He’s quick - his fingers suddenly hook into the waistband, and he’s pulling them down and off over your ankles with an eagerness finally matching your own. He throws them aimlessly to the bedroom floor, joining the rest of your discarded clothes recklessly. Neither of you care - you won’t be needing them the rest of the night. 

He settles into the mattress, a leg thrown over each of his shoulders before he grabs your hands and guides them to tangle into his hair. He’s still taking his time, sucking his way up your inner thighs and leaving flowering bruises in his wake. Once he reaches where you want him to most, where you’re aching for him so pitifully, he pauses.

He repeats his earlier words, “God, I’ve missed you.”

He takes you by surprise as he dives right in, tongue flattening and licking a long stride up, starting at your entrance. His nose bumps over your clit before his tongue begins to dance circles, painting a secret language between the two of you over the sensitive bundle of nerves. One of his hands joins him, middle finger circling your entrance slowly before he presses in. He sets a pace quickly, pumping the finger a few times, tongue working magic, before he adds a second one. They curl with intention, pressing into the spongy spot of your walls that he knew like the back of his hand. It’s the exact spot that makes your back arch off the bed.

He pulls back his mouth, fingers continuing to pump and curl vigorously as he looks up at you dreamily. He eases one of his arms over your hips, pressing down, holding you in place. 

He’s a dream. A goddamn dream. He’s finally here, looking up at you, grinning like a Devil as he watches you unravel at his hand. 

“So pretty. Always so, so beautiful, but especially like this,” he says more to himself, but you hear him, a moan falling from your lips. His mouth returns to you, lips latching onto your clit, sucking harshly. 

“Fuck,” you breathe into the still air of your apartment room, not caring if the neighbors hear but your chest too heavy to grow much louder, head fuzzy and all-consumed by him, “Eddie.”

He was right. His name falls from your mouth in pants, chanting to him as if he were your God. 

It only spurs him on, fingers working expertly as he alternates between sucking and lapping at your clit. You can hear how wet you are for him, how close you are before the knot forms in your abdomen. 

“Oh my God- Oh, fuck. Right there,” your hips buck involuntarily into his face, and he loosens his grip on your hips, letting you, “I’m gonna…G-Gonna…”

“Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he encourages, fingers curling harshly, “Cum on my face, baby. Do it.”

He puts his tongue back to work, You force your eyes open to catch sight of him, buried in your pussy, admiring how pretty he looked from this angle. The sight of his tousled curls, twisted tightly in your grip as you yank mercilessly, is all it takes for you to finally come undone. 

A broken prayer, repeated over and over as a warmth rushes over you. Your vision goes white, eyes tightly screwed shut, toes curling and thighs clenching over his ears. It doesn’t phase him, continuing his assault until he’s sure you’ve come down. You have to tug on his hair, more intentional this time, to pull him away from you due to how sensitive you grow. 

He rises, letting your legs fall limply against the mattress as he wears a boyish grin on his slick lips. Slowly, he makes his way up to you, back to the virtues of patience as he takes his time to finally kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue, a bitter sort of sweetness, as he cradles your face. 

“You good?” he gently asks against your lips. You can barely move, nodding lethargically.

“So good,” you croak, a smile breaking out. Your eyes crack open to see him looking down at you with pure adoration, “I missed you.”

You start to run your hand down his chest, reaching the zipper of his jeans before his hand stops you.

“No, not yet. We’ve got plenty of time for that. Just wanna hold you right now, baby,” he nearly pleads. You can’t deny him, not with his eyes shining like that, so you allow him to fall into place on his side of the bed before you curl up against his bare torso. 

The two of you stay that way for what feels like hours, his arms wrapped around you as he traces out constellations on your bare shoulder blades. Just outside of your solace, a bubble you’ve trapped yourselves in, you can hear the faint call of the city. Honks from cars on the street, shouts from pedestrians, the occasional siren. It’s all background noise to this moment. 

“I have something for you,” he suddenly whispers as you teeter on the edge of sleep. You hum in response, lifting your head lazily. He pats you gently, signaling for you to let him stand before he walks to his discarded jacket by the door. When he returns to your side, he's gripping a small, white box, tied with a scarlet ribbon. 

“A gift?” you ask, excitement helping wake you up as you sit up quickly, “For me?”

“For you,” he affirms, taking a seat beside you. Your knees bump as your hands fumble to take the box from him. A soft glow from one of the restaurants on your street floods between the curtains and into the room, a soft neon pink illuminating your features as you carefully unravel the red ribbon. 

As the silk falls, you hardly can contain your excitement before lifting the lid off the box. 

A necklace. 

Your eyes trace over it, already fawning with appreciation for your boy, but then you catch sight of exactly what the necklace is. 

“Your mom’s ring?” you can’t hide the emotion that shakes the timbre of your voice. It cracks into a million pieces. 

At the end of the delicate silver chain, sits his mother’s ring. The one you hadn’t even noticed missing from his barren right hand. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispers, pulling you in and pressing his lips into your temple. You’re still too stunned, too overcome with a million and one feelings all at once.

“Eddie… I- I can’t… this is-”

“I want you to have it. I think she’d want you to have it, too,” he insists, taking the box from your grasp and lifting the necklace from its cotton cushion, “I know it’s not a lot, but I just… I wanted to get you something that let you know how important you are to me. Something for you to always have as a reminder that I’ll come back to you. You’re it for me, sweetheart. This is- this is real to me. The kind of real that lasts forever.” 

You can tell he’s growing emotional, too, as his feather light touch brushes your hair to the side, bringing the necklace up around your neck and clasping it securely. When the ring falls to its new home at the base of your neck, cool against your skin, you can feel tears falling. He’s quick to swipe them away, his own watery irises peering into yours. 

“You’re everything to me,” he says this with vindication. With such assuredness it terrifies you, burrows into your bones and claims you. 

In this moment, you know he has forever stained you. There was no washing this mark he has left you off - there would forever be a piece of your heart occupied by the brown-eyed boy in front of you. 

All you can do is lean forward, hands gingerly threading through his bangs as you push them back to plant a kiss on his forehead. A crimson blush spreads across his cheeks and neck at the act of tenderness. 

When you pull back, he immediately lifts his fingers to the necklace he’s just gifted you, fingers careful but determined as they tug you back to him, kissing you with everything in him. He pours his soul, his body, and his heart into it. 

“I love you,” you exhale against his swollen lips. 

“And I love you.” 

You believe him, because he believes himself. That’s the thing about endings - no one sees them coming. 

"The mark they saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones, the lips I used to call home. So scarlet, it was maroon."

The next year proves you right. After that tour, Corroded Coffin became a phenomenon. A record deal falls into the boys’ laps quickly, multiple one-off shows selling out locally before the news finally comes that they are officially in the position to record their debut album. 

The two of you celebrate with cheap wine, but it’s as sweet as champagne in your contentment. 

The recording of the album is brutal. Night after night, you attempt to wait up on Eddie, eventually falling victim to drowsiness before he would wake you with his arrival from the studio in the early hours of the morning. You never minded, only happy for his warmth as he crawled right into bed with you, collapsing into you and letting the world melt away. 

Long gone are the days of struggling paycheck-to-paycheck as the boys’ can hardly keep up with printing enough shirts for their shows, merchandise selling out in the handfuls. 

You catch sight of a young girl wearing one of their shirts one day in the grocery store, and can’t help the flood of pride that overtakes your chest. Your boyfriend, your Eddie, was finally having all of his dreams come to fruition; the world was finally seeing him as the rockstar you’d nominated him as since that first night. 

You can tell that it’s tiring. Eddie is exhausted by the time the album is finished, but you can also sense the satisfaction he felt at finally completing it. When the first demo arrived, he wasted no time in electing you to be the first to listen to it. It was an entire ordeal - the two of you ordered your favorite take-out, curling up on your couch and pressing together as the same boombox that had played that mixtape on your first night in your home now plays his songs. 

Your reaction was exactly as he had expected, as he had hoped for. 

You had always been his number one cheerleader through it all. With each new song, you were gushing to him with admiration and reverence. Pointing out lyrics that tugged particularly taut on your heartstrings, praising the guitar solos and vocals he’d worked tirelessly to perfect. You don’t leave a single stone left unturned, claiming this was your new favorite album.

“Careful, sweetheart. You’re really stroking my ego here,” he warns, but his smile shines as brightly as your own. 

“Eddie, this is… this is… it’s fucking incredible!” you cheer, completely at a loss for words. You weren’t exaggerating - to hear all of his hard work paying off, to have watched him grow from covering Metallica in a stuffy garage to this left you starstruck. You were in absolute awe. 

He blushes, playing with his hair and bringing it up to hide his emotional reaction. 

The album could fail. It could become nothing more than a whisper in the night, but the fact that you liked it was all that mattered to him. 

You look at him earnestly, taking his cheeks in your warm and soothing palms, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Eds.”

And you were. You continued to be. The album was a hit. 

It climbed the charts with ease, just as you expected. Local alternative stations played it on loop. You were sure to hear it at least once during taxi rides, and had even heard it playing softly over the speakers at the gas station on the corner by your apartment complex. Eddie had been with you, and took pleasure in getting to inform the cashier that it was his song playing, his band was on the radio. 

It was New York, so the cashier couldn’t have cared less, but it made you glow with pride. 

But with a hit album came a new slew of responsibilities for the band, including a headlining tour.

The night that the band’s manager called Eddie, informing him they were set to start planning the tour, he’d run into the room, so frantic you were worried something bad had happened. 

“Holy shit!” he yells, causing you to shush him once you recovered from the scare he’d caused you. He ignores you, grabbing you off the bed, lifting you up and spinning you, just like the very first night, “Holy shit! We’re going on tour! A headlining tour! I’m going to be a goddamn rockstar!”

Once you process his news, you become just as animated in his arms, “What? No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way!”

“Oh my God!”

“I know!”

You hear banging on the wall from the neighbors, probably shouting at the two of you to quiet down, but neither of you can contain your excitement.

“I’m going to be a goddamn rockstar, baby,” he laughs deliriously, placing you back down so that you’re face-to-face with him, “A rockstar.” 

“You’ve always been a rockstar, pretty boy,” you giggle, cheeks sore with elation, ��The rest of the world is just finally getting the memo.”

The planning takes a while. Part of you is grateful, selfishly drinking in and enjoying the time you have left with him before you’re sure he’ll have to leave for an extended period. The names of cities you had never had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with once again enter conversations, talks of how far and wide the band would travel becoming Eddie’s favorite topic. 

You’re proud of him, you really are. But reality seeps its way into the crevices. 

What starts as the possibility of a brief, three month tour - something the two of you had already faced and defeated triumphantly - quickly turns into six months. And it doesn’t stop there. Six months could become eight, easily, with adding in a few pit stops to radio stations to guarantee continued radio-play. There’s talks of signings, of meet and greets, of music festivals. The more time given to planning, the more time given for the band’s popularity to grow even more. 

The entire thing expands without consideration, lifting Eddie right up with it, right out of your reach. 

The night before he’s set to leave for tour, your anxieties are getting the best of you. You had helped him pack, going over the list of necessities with him three times too many. He had everything he needed, packed tightly into a suitcase - everything except you. 

That night, you sit on your side of your shared bed, watching Eddie pace with excitement. You feel guilty that your own anticipation can’t quite match his. All you can think about is how long he’ll be gone: eight months, two hundred and forty five days. Five thousand, eight hundred and eighty hours. Over three hundred thousand minutes. You’d done the math. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, finally throwing himself down onto the bed beside you, “I still can’t believe this is happening.” 

You can’t bring up your insecurity, your fears, to him. Not when he’s so happy. Not when he’s finally getting everything he’d dreamt about for so long, worked so hard for. No, it would be selfish to share your unease at the time and distance about to spread between the two of you.

Besides, you had done it once before. Not on this scale, of course, but you convinced yourself it would work out all the same. He would call as often as he could. He’d be coming home to you. It would pass - it would work out. 

“It’s real, so you better believe it, rockstar.”

An echo of the past. A time that felt so far away from the two of you now. This time around, as you say them, you don’t feel the same joy coating your tongue. 

Your tone is supportive, so Eddie doesn’t taste any of the disdain. Later that night, as he’s kissing you, hips rolling to meet yours in a sacred promise, fingers intertwined in yours as you pant each other’s names back and forth, he still doesn’t taste it. All he tastes is euphoria. And he brings you right to it with him, over, and over, and over again. 

Euphoria tastes metallic by the end of it. 

He leaves bruises painted up and down your neck, covering your collarbones and chest like an art piece hanging in the Louvre. You can’t help but wonder how long it will take for his marks to fade, for the physical reminder that he was here and in your arms to disappear from your grasp. 

As he makes love to you, it begins to feel like a goodbye, because it is. 

He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it does. 

The first month follows similarly to how his first tour did. Nightly phone calls, whispered love confessions and discussions of each other’s day. For a moment, you convince yourself that all of your fears and anxieties had been silly. They almost recede from your mind completely, fading with his love marks on your collarbone. 

But then it begins.

Phone calls become less frequent. Every night because every other night, until they’re eventually weekly. At some point, you only have the privilege of hearing his voice over the line monthly. It is a slow burning fire, turning everything you had built with him to ashes. Conversations that once could drag on for hours turn to ten minute discussions that end in him rushing off the phone, someone on the other end of the line demanding his attention more urgently than you did. 

You can’t even fight it. You need him, but they need him more.

You know you’ve lost him when he stops saying he loves you. It’s subtle, you don’t even believe he’s noticed, but one night’s phone call is cut particularly short, and the end arrives.

“Hey, baby, I’m sorry, but they need me for soundcheck,” he says, the line staticky with white noise, making it hard to hear him. 

He’s never felt farther away, and they’re not even on the west coast leg of the tour yet. 

“Oh,” you whisper, disappointment gripping your lungs, “Oh, that’s fine! Go, they need you.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. You miss hearing that in person, that soft laughter in the shell of your ear over inside jokes and one too many glasses of wine. “Rockstar duties and all. We’ll talk more later?” 

“Of course. Go give ‘em, Hell,” you keep your tone light, but the tears have started to build up across your waterline, “I love you.” 

The line goes dead before you can even finish your sentence. The dial tone echoes back to you, and it doesn’t matter how hard you strain, no words of affection can be deciphered in its deafening ringing. 

That’s when you break.

The flood comes, tears racing down your cheeks as you roll over and clutch the pillow that you’re not even sure was once his. The bed no longer has a clear boundary, a side that belonged to him and a side that belonged to you. It’s all muddled together now. You’re not even sure you’d recognize the smell of his cologne now.

A heart has never broken so quietly. The sobs are there, but no sounds escape your mouth as you whimper. You had always known it would be hard, everyone had warned you, but you had always assumed you could take it, because Eddie would be by your side, hand slotted with yours as it was the two of you against the world. But now you stood in the storm, and the space beside you was eerily empty. It was all a bit much. A gaping hole forms in your chest that night, gory as it bleeds scarlet red for a boy a world away, and you know that there is not a single bandage in the world to heal it.

He doesn’t call back after that, and the hole tears larger. 

There’s a few texts here and there. But none of them ever say the three words you so desperately crave from him. You feel like strangers. 

After two months of radio silence, save for two text messages from him, you’ve made up your mind.

He never calls, so you never tell him. You gather what belongings can be called solely yours, which isn’t many, and you write a letter in your cowardice. You find an apartment on the other side of town. There’s a nice job waiting for you, something that pays better than waitressing. 

You leave your key on the kitchen counter beside a vase with wilted carnations. 

"I wake with your memory over me, that’s a real fucking legacy (it was maroon)."

Six months later, the ache never fades. He calls. When he returns from tour to find an empty apartment, cursive letter calling it quits, he calls. You almost consider changing your number at one point. 

There’s a flood of text messages. Small letters on a shining screen filled with all the words you needed to hear so many months before. All of the things he should have said, now revealed too late. 

You don’t reply, because if you reply, you’ll change your mind.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. That in order for him to achieve what he’d wanted, he couldn’t have someone back home weighing him down. You were a road bump on his path to everything he was destined to be, and this was for the best. 

At some point, he gets the message. You wish he hadn’t, selfishly so, but he does. The phone calls stop. The text messages don’t light up your phone at midnight anymore. You keep up your end of the lease on your once-shared apartment, sending checks to pay your half of the rent until the lease agreement has ended. You have no clue if he moves. Returning to that side of town would simply hurt too much. 

A new normalcy is found. It is a lonely one, but it is one all the same. Sparse phone calls are still exchanged with your friends from Hawkins, but none of them ever bring up Eddie. You’re sure they know, that he had told them, that they had witnessed the aftermath (if there had been any). They were always his friends first, though, and so when the calls dwindle, it doesn’t surprise you. 

It’s a year later when someone mentions his name to you. You had kept up well enough with Corroded Coffin, the last remnants of your past life being something you couldn’t get rid of. You knew they were thriving; they were in the talks of releasing a second album, and going back on tour soon. His name is mentioned when a coworker brings him up. 

They ask you if you want to attend the Corroded Coffin show with them next week. They have a spare ticket and would prefer to not go alone. 

You lie and say you have plans.

But the only plans you have on that bustling night are the ones spent in your apartment. Your one-bedroom apartment is in a nicer part of town, better views out of the window now. When you pull back the curtains, you don’t find a brick wall forever tainted by what once was - you can see the entrance to a music venue that’s sign currently advertises tonight’s show. 

CORRODED COFFIN, ONE NIGHT ONLY - SOLD OUT

You avoid the window at all costs as you get yourself ready for bed that night. Neighbors had already off-handedly warned you it would be a noisy night, claiming you’d feel as if you were at the show yourself based on proximity. On your way home from work, you bought earplugs. 

But the night grows older, a chill in the air as the clock strikes ten, and you can’t help it. You’ve been laying in bed for hours now, earplugs in, only feeling the faint thrumming of intense bass for less than an hour when you finally stand up. You approach the window timidly, scared of what you find. Maybe a ghostly reflection of him, standing in the street, holding up a boombox playing a mixtape of your favorite songs. 

It’s a bitter hopefulness that is full of childish dreams. 

When you stand in your window, curtains pulled back and earplugs finally disregarded on your nightstand, Eddie Munson isn’t standing on the street. All that is there is the neon glow of a red sign that shatters crimson shadows across your cheeks. 

He’s not on the street. He’s too busy on the stage inside, being the rockstar he had always been destined to be. The one he could be now that you had let him go.

All that you see as you look out the window is your own tired reflection, donning nothing but a wine-stained t-shirt and a delicate, silver chain around your neck, a ring you couldn’t bring yourself to return resting heavily between your collarbones. 

"That’s a real fucking legacy to leave."

reblogs, likes, and comments appreciated! <3

[borahaerhy]

Regime - one || myg

Summary: Everything is dull. Your job, your hobbies, your downtime: everything is just dull. That is, until your workplace is raided by the anti-capitalist organization run by the notorious Agust D.

Pairing: Ringleader!Yoongi x NewRecruit!Fem!Reader

Genre: Anti-Capitalist Gang au, Found Family, Smut, Angst

Series Warnings: anti-capitalism! mental illness, some gang violence, unaliving, smut, hella angst, drug/alcohol usage, very fowl language

Warnings: y/n uses all the self-defense, quite literally bites a chunk out of someone's hand, everyone has a gun, there are a few hostages, Yoongi kicks someone in the face, y/n very casually holds a gun to someone's head, references to y/n's childhood being... interesting (relatives' drug usage briefly mentioned), Yoongi's tries to manipulate y/n for like 2 seconds, y/n definitely has depression, someone gets murdered, Yoongi almost exclusively goes by Agust, References to Nick being hella shitty, what the fuck is going on with Kevin?

Wordcount: 3.2k

Previous | Next

It was odd. 

The parking lot of your job being completely empty had only happened on one other occasion that you could recall; that was because it was Easter, and everyone had gone home early. 

But today was different. It wasn’t a holiday, and there should have been plenty of work to get done; yet there was no one. Not a single car in the parking lot. As you drove past, you turned your attention to the side of the building, where security parked. You pulled into the space beside the empty car of one of your coworkers, Nick. 

But it’s ten minutes until shift change; first shift should still be here. Did Nick let them leave early for some reason? Aside from yours and Nick's, there was only one other car in the entire lot. A black SUV parked haphazardly beside Nick's car; and it was still running.

While all of this might scream “danger” to others that would have seen it, to you, while it was weird, that's all it was: weird. It’s a relatively small company; one where there were so few employees that they were all friends. Everyone knew everyone and they often all liked to fuck with one another, maybe this was just some kind of prank. 

While the company was small, it was also one that had no problem fucking over its employees when it comes to their paychecks; even whenever the company execs wanted to come in and check the place out, they certainly never would’ve listened to any complaints about pay. 

You cautiously walked up to the door and punched in the pin before you opened the door and stepped in. As you closed the door behind you, you realized that you walked into something you definitely wished you hadn’t. 

Tied up in the middle of the floor was the owner of the building, and the one who ran this branch of the company, Kevin, along with the guy supposed to work your shift with you, Nick. They were completely surrounded by men in black, all of them with guns pointed at the two men's heads. Kevin looked like he just got into a fight and lost; blood covering him, his nose crooked while Nick had a swollen lip. In front of them, there was just one man, but as soon as your eyes had adjusted to the dark building, all of them were looking at you. 

Seconds after you walked in, your arms were pinned behind your back and a hand covered your mouth. “Just make sure she doesn’t go anywhere for a second, I have to deal with this asshole before I talk to her,” 

While as a security officer, you hadn’t been formally trained in any kind of combat, you did grow up with uncles. A lot of them, and they would all get varying levels of high and various substances and decide that you needed to know how to defend yourself. 

So while the man that spoke, the one standing in front of Nick and Kevin kicks Nick in the chin - no doubt knocking out a few of his teeth - you stamped down on the foot of the man behind you and bit a chunk of flesh from his hand clean off. He screamed, letting go of you so you could turn around and knee him in the groin as one of your hands took the gun out of his side holster and held it to his head. 

You stood beside him, facing the group of people with one hand holding the gun to his head while the other was up, level with your head to show you weren't armed more than what they could see. You spit out the chunk of flesh that you still had in your mouth, mostly for dramatic effect, and slowly moved your free hand down to wipe the blood from your lips. 

Everyone was staring at you, even the boss was staring at you with a kind of intensity that would’ve been hard for anyone to withstand. “You can finish whatever you were doing, I’m not going anywhere, I just don’t really like people touching me,” Your hand was back up next to your head, but no one moved. All the men just looked back and forth between their boss and you, and Kevin and Nick both looked like they’d just been saved. 

The one that just kicked your coworker, the one you presumed to be the boss, started walking toward you. He moved slowly and carefully as he pulled each of the weapons he had on him, showed them to you carefully, before he threw them down on the ground. He pulled one last weapon from the inside of his boot, a small pocket knife, and threw it to the ground, too, as he stopped a few feet in front of you. 

“I’m unarmed, and so is he. I would appreciate it if you put the gun down,” He spoke calmly, eyebrows raised and hands up. While it was hard to think of where he’d be hiding a seventeenth weapon, you also wouldn’t put it past the man that just pulled sixteen weapons off his person to have a secret compartment in the bottom of his shoe. 

Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him, his face covered with a ski-mask like the rest of them, only his eyes visible to you; dark brown pools of honey that bore into you, but they weren’t as harsh or intimidating as you would’ve thought someone like him to be. They were soft, almost gentle as they moved back and forth between yours.

“You might not be, but they are,” You looked over at the men that surrounded your coworker and boss, his gaze following yours. 

“They’re not going to do anything, you’re not the target here; they are. Just put the gun down and we can talk,” You looked carefully at him, then at the people behind him, before you slowly raised the hand with a gun in it, before crouching down slightly and slid it across the ground, making sure it was well out of reach of anyone before you stood again. 

“Kay, come get Mars and clean him up for me, everyone else, don’t let them move a muscle,” He was facing his men as he spoke, but turned back to you once he’d finished. “You probably know this place better than I do, so I’ll let you lead the way,” You looked over to the door to one of the conference rooms briefly, before you looked back over to him, Kay already collection Mars from off the ground beside you. 

“That room there would work fine, I’ll meet you in there but I need to get my water out of my bag,” He looked you up and down skeptically, about to say something before you cut him off again. “It’s just to rinse your friends hand out of my mouth, I’ll leave the bottle out here,” He paused slightly, then nodded once, stepping toward the door you’d just referenced to. You moved slowly as you got your water from your bag, rinsing out your mouth thoroughly before you took one last gulp and swallowed it. You put the bottle back down and headed into the room. 

“You can have the chair, I’ll stand,” He gestured to the only chair in the room as he leaned against the table across from you. You crossed your arms and leaned against the door. 

“I’m good with standing,” He nodded briefly before he took his mask off, revealing his admittedly handsome face to you. 

“My name is Agust, I’m the leader of the group of people out there with your coworkers. We’re here because Kevin, the owner of this branch has been stealing from his employees to pad his own pockets-”

“And why’s Nick out there?” You asked, trying not to let your anger show too much, but your not sure how successful you were judging by the look on his face. 

“Nick’s here because when he pulled in, I had my guy out in the parking lot run his tags and we found him to be… a really shitty person, to put it mildly,” You swallowed thickly, feeling almost a sense of relief that your suspicions were right, and you weren’t just overthinking about him.  

“Yeah, that checks out,” You nodded, looking down at your feet as you let your arms fall, sliding them into your pockets. “So why are you here? Kevin likes to fuck over his employee’s, sure, that’s shitty, but what’s in it for you?” He looked you up and down again, as if trying to gauge whether or not you were worthy of knowing this information or not. 

“I’ll tell you, eventually, but I have a few questions of my own first,” He crossed his arms as he stood straighter. 

“Like?” 

“Your name, for starters,” You laughed slightly, extra air flying out of your nostrils as you smirked lightly and cocked your head to the side. 

“Ah, so I’m supposed to believe that you had someone run Nick’s plates but not mine?” It was his turn to smirk, his head falling slightly as he nodded. 

“Alright, Y/n. Let’s get really into it, then,” His demeanor changed, the once kind eyes now seemed to drop their facade, his face bore a cocky smirk and his overall presence was that of a leader. Someone calm and collected, even when his initial plan was swept off it’s feet; he still knew exactly what his next step would be. “Why are you pretending you don’t care about Kevin fucking over his employees?” 

Your own attitude changes slightly as he forces you out of your facade the same way you did his. Your shoulders dropped slightly as you felt all the color drain from your face. You cleared your throat a stood up a little straighter, trying to mimic his own attitude. “Because I’d like to know a little more about you and your organization; I already knew Kevin was a piece of shit, I don’t need you, or anyone else to tell me that,” 

His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked you up and down again. There was something about the way he was looking at you, as if he was trying to see into your mind, see what you were thinking. “Why would it matter who I am if I want to bring someone like him to justice?” You sighed as you changed your stance slightly as you tried to think of a way to explain. 

“It matters because all you’d have to do to get me on your side is tell me what Kevin’s done, how long he’s been doing it, and what you plan to do about it; and I’d probably agree with you based purely off my emotions rather than if I actually agree with you or not. But if I know who you are, what you and your group are capable of, and what you plan on doing in the future, I can judge you based on logic; wether you’re inherently shitty or not.” A knowling smile seeps across his features, an almost proud look as he listened to you speak. 

“And why would I want you to agree with me, princess?” You scoffed, although you were far from offended; knowing the game he was playing. 

“I’ve seen your face and I know that you’re the leader;  not to mention the chunk of DNA that belongs to your friend still wedged between my teeth, and how it got there. Either you have to find a way to get rid of me, or recruit me,” He looks impressed as he steps down from the table and takes a small step toward you. 

“Let me re-introduce myself. My name is Yoongi, and I’m the leader of an anticapitalist organization. We steal from the rich, especially the ones that make a game out of fucking their employees out of the money they worked hard for. I don’t want to get rid of you, as you put it, because that’d be a waste; but I don’t want to recruit you just because you took a chunk out of one of my best man’s hands - or because you took his gun from him like it was nothing, or because I know you have plenty reason to want to fuck over the same people that have fucked you and your family,” He paused, taking another small step toward you, now standing less than a foot away from you.

“I want to recruit you because you’re scared shitless right now,” His voice was much lower, a serious tone filling the space between you as the smirk was gone from his face. “You still don’t know if I have a weapon on me, or if I’m going to let you out of here alive, or if we’ve hurt any of your friends or coworkers. But here you stand, speaking to me as confidently as someone that knows they’re more powerful than me,” His eyes bore into yours as if he could see your entire life laid out on a platter with just one glance.

“So, Y/n,” He took a step back, arms crossed over his chest confidently as he looked at you almost sweetly. “You’re not who we were after, and I don’t find you to be a threat to us. So, you’re free to go, if you want. You don’t have to worry about us following you or keeping tabs on you; you can just go home, go on with your life and forget this ever happened.” He paused, looking you up and down. "Or,” He leaned back against the table, one leg crossed over the other. 

“You can come with us,” You stood silently for a moment, eyes only leaving Yoongi when he finished speaking. You pushed yourself from the door and took a few steps over to the window and looked out of it, taking in the world as you had been seeing it for the past several months, before you closed your eyes, drinking in the inky black that the cover that your eyelids provide. 

You’d noticed that everything looks different throughout different phases of my life; as if there are filters over your eyes that change the colors and shadows in accordance to how you’re feeling. Some memories are all cool-toned, some warm. Some memories look yellowed, like they’d been tea-stained while others seemed more vibrant and vivid than anything else you’d ever seen. 

For the past couple of months, everything’s been dull. The world’s almost been in grey-scale as you try to find a purpose; try to find something to do with yourself. Nothing looks or feels like it used to; but for the first time in months, you are scared. You’re terrified. You smile as you relish in the feeling, the first true, raw emotion you’d felt in months.  

When you open your eyes, there’s color in the world again. The trees dance in the wind with various shades of red and orange and brown; the sky beyond them littered with soft purple hues as the sun was already beginning to set into the autumn sky.

“What happens if I decide to go with you?” You turn to look at him as you finish speaking, a light smirk on his lips before he turns to face you. 

“You come back to our base with us, we show you around, show you the ropes, and figure out how you’d best assist us. Then, if you decide you want to leave, you can. If you still want to have your job here and go back to your home and just help us out on the weekends, you can. You can also live with us and work with us full-time; but no matter what, I’d be sending you home tonight. This is something you need to think over.” You nodded again, still trying to take everything in.

“And as far as Kevin goes, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” You shook your head and raised your hands, stopping him from saying anything further. 

“I don’t want to know anything about what he did,” Yoongi nodded as he looked at you almost empathetically. “But, I’ll uhm, I’ll go with you,” His facial expression softened lightly as he smiled at you. 

Your relief very quickly changed when he reached behind his back and pulled out yet another gun and out the barrel right next to your head and pulled the trigger, shooting through the wall behind you. The sound was deafening but you didn’t flinch, your eyes never leaving his as his smirk grew wider yet. 

“Wait here, Princess. I’ll come back to get you in a few minutes,” He pulled the mask back down over his face before he opened the door and stepped out, all eyes suddenly on him. “She had a real fucking mouth on her, didn’t she?” Yoongi sauntered back over to where his captives were tied up, gun casually swinging in his grasp as he walks. 

“Kept talking about her mom; something about her still being alive if only she’d gotten her benefits like she was supposed to,” He kneeled down in front of Kevin, using the barrel of the gun to point at him. “That sound familiar to you, Kev?” Kevin was shaking, eyes wide as they bounced back and forth between the gun and Agust, who was only smirking at the terrified face of his captive. 

“Cat got your tongue? Nick?” At his lack of response, Agust moved the gun from Kevin to Nick, the barrel now only inches from his head. “Do you know anything about that?” Nick shook his head wildly, eyes clenched shut as tears spilled out of them. 

It pissed him off how scared they acted. He had a gun to their heads and they just bawled like babies; as if they hadn’t done the same thing time and time again to others. Kevin took money away from people that needed it. Money that he definitely didn’t need; and in doing so, he took away not only financial stability, but the lives of the people that depended on that money.

And while Nick didn’t steal from the poor like Kevin did, that didn’t make him any less of a piece of shit. He’d been accused of many crimes in his life; including attempted manslaughter, statutory rape, and several different domestic violence charges, but he’d never been convicted of any of them. There was never even a trial, just complaints dropped the day after they were filed, along with several very large transactions coming out of his obscenely rich father’s bank account. 

So watching them sit here and sob when their lives were threatened, knowing fully that they’ve put others in this very situation with their greed and ignorance enraged him. August pressed the gun to Nick’s temple and pulled the trigger, blood spraying all over Kevin's face in the process. 

Kevin screamed, loud sobs filling the warehouse that only pissed him off more. “Shut up, would you?” The gun was back under Kevin’s chin, his sobs silencing almost instantly as the gun forced him to look up. “I’m not going to kill you,” He took his time pulling the gun away from Kevin, eventually putting it into the waistband of his jeans before he carefully stood, his gaze already on the door you were behind as his men pulled Kevin up and dragged him out to their car. “Not yet, anyway.” 

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