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zyafics · 8 days

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PLAY FAKE | part thirteen

MASTERLIST (series) | Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs. Reader is hyper-independent, a people-pleaser, a smart mouth, stands on business, and has a mysterious past. Rafe is insecure, possessive, an asshole, and has mood swings.

"Are you busy?"

The phone call came at the stroke of midnight. Rafe had just gotten away from a lengthy discussion with his father regarding the open properties around Kildare and wanted nothing more than to crash out. But he answered without hesitation when your name flashed across the screen.

"No," he pauses. "Do you need me?"

You do, but you're reluctant to confirm that piece of information. Flattening your lips on the other line, you rub the back of your hand over your tired eyes as a prolonged silence engulfs the call.

But Rafe understands. With a firm I'm coming over, he disconnects the call to pick up his keys.

You've been home for a couple days now, having stayed at Tannyhill for a little over a week. However, with Sarah's return, you felt you'd overstayed your welcome and needed to part ways. Despite Rafe's protests, you insisted, needing to find your own space in the aftermath of everything.

He had hated the way you phrased it. That you needed a place without him.

When he reaches your driveway, Rafe discerns two silhouettes on your porch. Adrenaline spikes, assuming it was Aaron—and that was the reason for your distress call—but upon closer inspection, with the headlights of his car glaring in that direction, the clarity hits.

Maybank and Heyward.

His stomach twists at the realization that he wasn't your first recipient. That you went back to your roots before coming to him. Now, more than ever, Rafe has a bleeding need for some security, to be your first choice.

He doesn't like to be set in the backseat to a pair of Pogues.

Turning off the ignition, Rafe exits the vehicle just as Heyward and Maybank launch from your porch steps with rigid defense. Their eyes narrow at him in suspicion as he stalks up the long pebbled pavement.

"What are you doing here, Rafe?" Pope interrogates in lieu of a greeting.

Rafe scoffs, stuffing his hands into his pocket. "How is that any of your business, Pogue?"

JJ jumps in. "If you're here for Aaron—"

"I'm not," Rafe snaps, not liking any association with the loan shark, before admitting, "She called me."

A moment of suspense punctures the air before JJ disrupts it, shaking his head with disbelief. "Bullshit. Why the fuck would she contact a Kook?"

It's an insult, the way Maybank's lips curled with the title and Rafe huffs. He doesn't owe him any explanation and certainly won't give one. Stepping forward, Rafe attempts to enter your house, only for the two boys to block his path.

"Move," Rafe commands lowly.

Pope tries to meditate. "Look, I don't know what you're doing here, but she's been through some things and we don't want any more problems—"

Rafe doesn't bother listening to whatever else he has to say. He knows. He knows what you've been through and he's here because of it, not to add to it. But the accusation is thick on Pope's tongue, fueling his irritation. He attempts to shove past both of them, only for JJ to push back.

Shouting stirs you awake. That's a lie. You've been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, hoping it'll lull you to sleep, only for the act to be unproductive. When you start to hear sounds coming from outside, you know Rafe arrived.

Pushing past the screen door, you step out onto the porch to witness JJ and Rafe in the middle of a standoff.

Charged words thrown back and forth, you recognize the dark look behind Rafe's gaze as JJ keeps pushing Rafe's chest—one full of deep agitation, seconds away from snapping.

Your stomach flips with nausea.

"Back off, JJ," you announce sharply to the open yard, causing the trio to direct their attention to you. You briefly connect your gaze with Rafe before turning to the younger blond. "I called him."

JJ's hands drop from Rafe's chest, taking a step back, but there's a look of unsteadiness behind his gaze. Confusion spreads across his hard features while his mouth twists into an ugly scowl. "For what?"

"Does it matter?" You refute, avoiding his question. JJ cocks his head, only for you to add, "You can go home now."

JJ frowns, turning to Pope as they exchange a silent debate. When all Pope could give is a casual shrug, knowing it's your decision at the end of the day, JJ turns back to you.

"You could've let us stay," JJ reasons, throwing a harsh glance over his shoulder at Rafe. "What could a Kook do for you?"

"It's fine. He's my…" You trail off, unable to find the right words to label Rafe. Your initial ideas are too compromising. And Rafe doesn't want your relationship to be seen as complicated to the Kook public, since your interactions could circulate back to Ward. But here, in the sanction of The Cut, you know there's no intersection. No need for security. You shake your head with a tired yet reassuring smile. "It's okay. I appreciate you guys' help."

Rafe hates how you didn't say it.

With a heavy sigh, JJ nods. "Alright," he says, clapping his hands and signaling Pope to descend off the porch. They pair off as they head home and, sparing one last glance at Rafe—who's ascending up the short steps to approach you—JJ bids a final farewell. "Call us if you need anything."

Rafe's arm wraps protectively around your waist. "She won't."

You roll your eyes, shoulders relaxing from their rigid stance, as you watch their departing figures. Once they're no longer in view, you take his arm and tug him into your house.

The short stroll to your bedroom is mostly silent and Rafe takes inventory of your home for any disturbance. Since he ordered that cleaning service, your house is significantly cleaner. You had initially refused his charity but he refused to take no for an answer and you ended up with a grade-A cleaning company that polished your home from all the broken debris and dangerous hazards.

But that wasn't the problem.

When Rafe steps into your bedroom, it's an absolute mess. Pillows are skewed across the floor, your sheets wrinkled and tangled upon each other, and piles of your clothes are thrown together into a pile next to your closet. It greatly contrasts the environment outside your door.

"Shit," you mumble, embarrassment flooding through your body. You move from his touch to do some quick cleaning—throwing your pillows back on the bed, picking up dirty clothes, and tossing them into the hamper.

Abashment increases with each of your frantic steps, to the point that Rafe has to grab your elbow to stop you in place. "Hey," he says softly, lifting your gaze to his, "I don't mind."

You don't say anything. Fatigue pours into the very crevices of your bones. But despite the urge to be presentable, Rafe is a comfort. A clutch. And it's getting dangerous seeing how much you lean on him.

It's on the tip of your tongue to push him away. To tell him to go back home. But he beats you to it, glancing at the door.

"Where's your sister?" Rafe asks. "Are they okay?"

"They're fine," you answer, "They're sleeping."

You assumed Amara and Leilani would deal with the same troubles as you, but when you checked up on them, they were out like a light.

Rafe examines you carefully: the way you shift your weight from one leg to the next, the way your hands slightly tremble, and the clear indication of sleep deprivation from the darkened shades ringed around your eyes.

He understands now.

"And you're not?"

Your jaw locks before unwinding. "I'm sorry."

He wants to eradicate that phrase from your vocabulary.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," he argues. "You have a problem and you called me. I'm here to help."

Rafe's words are adamant and warms your chest but guilt presses like glass against your heart. "Were you busy?"

"Doesn't matter."

You frown. But the look in his eyes is genuine and honest. You take a step back to separate from him, needing your own air. As of late, everything you own is his. "I…" You exhale a large breath, voice shaky. "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong."

"Is it because of Aaron?"

You hesitate before nodding once.

"Have you seen him?"

"No, and I think that's the problem." You expel another breath. "I'm on edge all the time. My chest feels heavy and tight and my head hurts." You pause, before choking out. "I'm just so exhausted."

Rafe closes the distance and wraps his strong arms around you as you sink into his chest. You inhale, taking in the faded smell of his cologne.

"I hate this," you mumble, balling the fabric of his shirt into fists. "I hate that I can't sleep. I hate that I'm always stressed. I hate that—" You cut yourself off, not wanting to reveal too much. Swallowing hard, you attempt to salvage your words. "I just hate that I'm like this."

Frustration oozes out of you and Rafe hates to see you in this state. However, he'll admit, having you vulnerable and open is a welcoming change. You're allowing him a chance to see a side of you no one else has the privilege to and he deeply treasures your trust.

He'll do anything to preserve it.

Rafe massages delicate circles into the small of your back, soothing the aches in your bones as you melt into his arms. "It's okay," he reassures with a sweet mumble, "I'm here. What do you need from me?"

"I just want to sleep."

"Then we'll sleep."

"No sex." You withdraw enough for him to meet your solemn gaze, "No touching. I don't want to do anything other than sleep."

"Okay." He agrees slowly, his voice is unsteady because of your accusatory tone.

"I'm serious, Rafe," you proclaim. "I know we like to mess around, but I'm too tired. I don't want to fuck tonight."

Rafe's expression is unreadable, stonewalling his emotions the moment those words slipped from your lips. Did you think he only sees you as a fuck buddy?

"I said okay," he snaps, a little sharper than intended, but you pretend not to acknowledge it. You misunderstand it as him being upset over the celibacy rule imposed tonight, but that wasn't the case.

You swallow hard, not wanting his aggression to roll over into bed. "Rafe," you begin, feeling guilty, "if you don't want to, it's fine—"

"I never said that," he cuts you off, not wanting the implication to be read that he doesn't want you here. He does. It hurts him that you think he sees you as nothing—when that's far from the truth. He just can't seem to say it. "I just..." His jaw tightens. "Let's just go to bed."

Your lips pull together into a thin line, wanting to address the issue, but deciding you cannot handle an argument tonight. Nodding, you separate from him and move to one side of the bed. Rafe does the same.

You thought Rafe would take some precaution to add distance between you but he doesn't. You can feel the overwhelming radiation of his body heat, the indication of his proximity in close range, and it causes your breath to be still.

You can't handle it. You need distance. You need space. It's too intimate otherwise, and you can't afford that.

Pulling yourself to the ledge, with your back facing Rafe, you inhale a deep set of breaths to soothe the tension in your body. To pretend you don't feel the heat of his gaze. "Goodnight."

He doesn't answer at first, before he reciprocates with a night and you close your eyes to sleep.

Rafe watches you. The first few minutes are normal, but as time passes, you can't seem to relax in your position. Twisting and turning, your eyes remain closed throughout. The only sound is the soft breaths escaping you to indicate your sleepy state—or, at least, the closest attempt at it.

His mind still lingers on your earlier words. Do you think he doesn't care about you? Beyond intimacy? Is that why you called Maybank and Heyward first?

Rafe never thought you had an issue with it. That you were perfectly content with the arrangement. But the accusation on your tongue gave a different interpretation. Do you want more? Or, is he driving himself insane with the idea of you being his and only his?

Lost in the spiral of his own thoughts, Rafe didn't even realize that you moved closer. Your back now facing the wall as one of your arms extends outward, draped across his chest.

He freezes. Rafe assumes it's an accident, something you'll retract in a matter of seconds. But when your arm reaches out again, seeking the curve of his neck, he realizes it isn't.

You want him.

Taking it as a sign, Rafe lowers himself to grab the underside of your thigh, pulling your weight onto him. The moment you're in his embrace, chest resting against his, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. And, in return, Rafe nuzzles into the open crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"No touching, huh?" He mumbles into the softness of your skin as a gentle taunt. But when there's nothing but the sound of shallow breaths and the emptiness of replies, Rafe realizes you truly fell asleep.

You reached for him unconsciously.

His heart races at the implication, before calming to a normal rate, matching the steady guided pace of your own breaths. His grip around your body tightens, squeezing the soft flesh because, at that moment, he doesn't ever want to let you go.

"You need me," Rafe murmurs the confirmation in the column of your throat, hoping the words would sink through. "And I need you too."

—

By morning, you're gone.

It shouldn't come as a surprise. Every time he spends the night, there's a brief hope that the outcome for the morning will be different. That you'll remain in his arms, sleeping soundly. It never happens. And despite the subtle ache in his bones from the weight of your body on top of his all night, it beats the ache in his heart.

Sighing, after washing up, Rafe exits your bedroom to discover you sitting on one of the stools. A leg propped on the flat seat, your chin rests on your kneecap while you're flipping through some old documents.

"Morning," Rafe says, falling into the space next to yours.

"Shit," you swear, nearly jumping out of your own skin, a hand covering your accelerated heart. You hadn't heard him coming. "You scared me."

"Sorry," he apologizes sincerely, his eyes scanning over your refreshed face. "You sleep okay?"

You nod, recalling the memory of this morning. Curled up on his arms, head buried in the curve of his neck, your body pressed against his. At first, you assumed Rafe had pulled you in, but that wasn't possible. He wouldn't go against your directive. It was all you.

The corner of his mouth rises at the recognition dawning on your face. Before he gets the chance to make some comment about your neediness, you cut him off. "Don't," you warn, feeling a rush of heat rising to your cheeks.

"I haven't said anything,"

"I see it on your face,"

He scoffs, but the smile remains. "You're right," he relents, leaning closer, shortening the distance between you until he's right before you. "I was thinking of it."

Your eyes catch him and the teasing glint behind his gaze, causing your breath to shorten. You expel a breath, trying to release some tension in your shoulders, before you clarify, "All we did was sleep."

"Yeah, but you slept on me," his voice drops a full octave, "Admit it, sweetheart, you want me. Why else would you want me here?"

You search his face, trying to figure out what he wants. What he's trying to get out of you. But you find nothing tangible. Refusing to put yourself in another position of vulnerability when Rafe has done nothing to balance the scale, you scale back, adding space. "I just—I needed someone I trust."

You don't acknowledge that his assertion is correct. That the one time you fell asleep peacefully was in his arms. Or, perhaps, it wasn't necessarily about trust but about him. Instead, you pretend it's something else, something vague and general, hoping one day it will.

"Someone," Rafe repeats. "Or me?"

You avoid the question.

And Rafe assumes the former.

Dropping your gaze to the files, the air stiffens into a palpable silence. Your fingers thread through the records, pretending to search for something, when all you can feel is the thumping of your heartbeat in your veins.

Rafe releases a sigh. The elation of his state quickly deflates after your rejection. Again. He doesn't know how much longer he can take before it truly destroys him. Deciding to shift the conversation elsewhere, he asks, "Do you want me to stay again?"

"No, it's fine," you shake your head, dismissing the proposition out of habit. Even though it would bring you peace, the rational side of your brain determines the distance necessary to protect yourself. Becoming too reliant on Rafe would add nothing but pain. "You can go home," you pause, considering how to lighten the mood, "I bet the mattress here sucks in comparison to your one-million thread counts, huh?"

There's a strain to your voice; a telltale sign. Rafe ignores your words and focuses on what he does best: reading your body language. With squared shoulders and an avoidant gaze, he knows your words are far from the truth. You just don't know how to ask for what you want.

So, he proposes a different question.

"But can you sleep?"

You don't answer.

"I'll stay then," he decides, as if he's reading an item off a menu. Before you get a chance to object, Rafe shifts closer, tugging the corner of a document. "What's this?"

Your mouth closes, shoulders slouching from how quickly he changes the topic. It almost makes you smile. Deciding it would be better than fighting it, you explain that you're reviewing your Sailor bank accounts to see what money you can spare without harming the business. However, the issue is that you can't seem to find any gaps.

Rafe's brows furrow together as he listens, asking permission to take a look at your statements himself. His eyes scan through the billing, before asking. "Why don't you sell the business and work elsewhere?"

"You're not funny," you declare, attempting to pull the document away, but his grip remains firm. His eyes are set on yours.

"I'm not joking," he declares. "It could help a lot. I mean, you'll earn more than what you're earning here."

He isn't wrong. At this point in time, you would profit more by working as a bartender than a business owner. But that's not the point.

"Sailor is my family's legacy," you explain, believing his question was not an attack on your qualification but rather from a strictly logical standpoint. "It and my sisters are the most important things in my life."

Rafe hums, and he doesn't add anything else. You don't know if he gets it. "Let me ask you something: why do you want Cameron Development so badly?"

He goes rigid. He's never been asked that question before. Never had to articulate his reasoning. It makes him uncomfortable to be interviewed—especially if it's to you of all people. "I don't know," he declares noncommittally, glancing at his lap, "I always assumed I would get it. I'm the oldest."

You shake your head. Not out of mistrust, but because you know him. Rafe isn't as simple-minded as the rest of Kildare likes to believe. There has to be more. "I don't believe that," you say gently, "Try again."

His expression morphs into a charming smile. A facade to hide. "Do I get something if I talk?"

You roll your eyes. "It's always sex with you, isn't it?"

His smile drops, but you don't pick it up. He shouldn't have said that, but it's too late. Your expression is easygoing and loose, a detachment to your words as if you truly believe and accept that perception of how he views you.

Instead of addressing his feelings, he tries to articulate what he meant before.

"I don't know," Rafe starts again, in a low mumble, his voice more vulnerable than it was moments prior. "Business was the one thing I got. I... I didn't excel in academics and I didn't like sports that much. But with Cameron Development, it was the one thing me and my dad could sit down and talk about and I didn't feel like a big disappointment to him."

He never said those words out loud before, and the confession sounds pathetic, but the way your eyes soften and your head nods along as you listen with no judgment, it gives him the confidence to continue forward.

"I... I get it, you know? The numbers don't scare me and the logic makes sense. It's the one thing I have going for me and to know that my dad is considering giving it to Sarah... It hurts. Like, she has everything and I can't even have the one thing I'm good at."

His voice cracks at the end, and his gaze has since dropped to the floor, hands messing and rubbing the calloused skin of the other.

You reach forward to cup the side of his face, and lift his head, meeting his sensitive gaze. "It isn't fair," you run the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone, trying to soothe the ache of his admission. "It truly isn't. I wish I could make it better for you."

Too gentle. Too loving. In the comfort of your touch, Rafe speaks before he can stop himself. "Sometimes I think if I have you, I'll be fine with the world."

Your breathing stills. Rafe did too. You don't know if you misheard him, or if he's implying something else, but before you can seek clarification, the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it." Rafe swiftly pulls away, moving to the exit. His hands clench by his side, teeth grinding, regret coursing through his veins at the mistake of letting his emotions overtake him back there.

He shouldn't have said that.

When he opens the door, without checking the peephole, JJ stands behind it.

"Oh, you're still here," JJ declares with a hint of bewilderment. "Didn't think she kept dogs past noon."

Rafe's already on edge from the previous conversation that he has little patience for the Pogue. Seconds away from slamming the door on Maybank's smug face, you appear by Rafe's side, stopping him and inviting JJ in. He steps into your living room, holding something in his hands.

"What's that?" You point to the crumpled note, before recognizing his nervous stance. JJ's bouncing on the heel of his feet, avoiding your gaze, and when you repeat your question, more firmly this time, he reluctantly holds the note out.

"Someone left this at your bar," JJ explains as you take it. Your eyes quickly scan the message, your heart sinking with every word you read. "It's a warning. If you don't... If you don't pay him back in full tomorrow, he'll do something to your bar."

Rafe's watching your reaction with a hardened look. His eyes keep sliding over to JJ, the Pogue being the messenger of the news—the one you sought help from before—and the blond feels the heat of his stare on him. Consequently, it forces JJ to grab your elbow and pull you off to the side, away from Rafe.

JJ begins. "Look, I know you don't wanna do it, but my dad knows a guy—"

"No."

"He's been through with Aaron before," he whispers back sharply, "It might be the only option you have."

"And get stuck in the same shit I had with Aaron? No," you declare firmly, reading the note again. It does nothing to soothe the heightened nerves in your body. The way panic is ricocheting inside your stomach like a ping-pong ball.

JJ says nothing, the absolute behind your tone quiets him. While you're preoccupied with another read-through, JJ glances back to where Rafe stands.

"I gotta ask," JJ starts again, lowering his voice so only you can hear. You lift your head from the note, meeting his curious gaze, with a raise of your brow. "Rafe? Seriously?"

While you're trying to figure out how to maintain your livelihood, JJ is concerned about your love life.

"Is this really the time and place?"

"I'm serious, what do you see in him?"

"Drop it, JJ."

"I just don't understand," he continues in a whisper, but his volume raises slightly, "I swear, you're a pretty girl. You can do 10x better than him—"

"JJ," you command sternly, all amusement vanishes. "Drop it."

"Fine," he stays, stepping back with both hands partially raised to his collar. He doesn't turn to catch another glimpse at Rafe, but instead, offers the same advice as he did before. "If you need my help, you know where to find me."

Rafe watches as the Pogue leaves, stepping out to your porch and closing the door behind him. But his breath remains ragged. He caught the last bit of JJ's hushed words, and as much as he wanted to be sensible, he didn't like it.

You're different than Rafe, he understands that. You have a support system, a list of other people, and sometimes—as much as he hates to admit—they are better than him. Less volatile. Less emotional.

But it feels like you're pushing him away. Placing him as a last line of defense for all your troubles. The insecure parts of him are roaring—louder than his rational thoughts can ever be—telling him that he's the last choice. The last option.

He can't help but wonder. If Leilani hadn't called him, would you have? Or would it be JJ or Pope?

Rafe rounds the couch to approach you, his hand circles your wrist holding the note. Your head lifts to meet his harsh gaze.

"You don't need his help," he declares gruffly, "I could've done it."

You blink. "What?"

"The note at the bar," he gestures to the crumpled paper in your hands, before dropping his to his side, clenching down to a fist. "I could've taken care of it."

"I... I didn't ask him. He did it himself."

Rafe isn't convinced. "And last night with Maybank and Heyward, that was all them too?"

His tone is sharp and accusatory, leaving you lightheaded as you stare at him. You're still wrapped up around the threatening note, but Rafe is somewhere else. A different topic. Another issue. You can't seem to gauge what type of response you need to have. And in turn, you give him silence.

His anger rises. "Am I just your second choice? Your fucking backup plan because those Pogues don't cut it?"

Your head is spinning, and you attempt to pull away from his grip but he tightens it. "Rafe," you start slowly, your breathing quickens, "What are you talking about?"

Are you being ignorant on purpose? Are you trying to drive him mad? His fury erupts, flooding all his senses.

"Them!" Rafe points to the door, where JJ left moments ago. "Last night. Everything. Did you ask them before you asked me?"

It's starting to catch up. "Are you serious?"

"I told you that we'll figure it out together."

"I—" Your throat burns. You can't believe he's letting his jealousy about your friends come at a perilous stage in your life. Exhaling a sharp breath, you meet his stare head-on. "They appointed themselves to that role. I never asked that of them."

After Pope discovered the break-in, JJ and him formed a pact to take it upon themselves to watch over you while you're home. They traded off shifts, entertaining themselves on the porch where they set up a makeshift couch and hammock to crash. You had tried to convince them you were fine, but they were stubborn. They wouldn't listen. And at the time, you appreciated the extra protection.

But it didn't work. You couldn't sleep. You still needed him.

Does he not get that?

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head with contempt, "You never ask for anything."

"Are you really trying to start a fight right now?"

"Are you making it a fight?"

"They're my friends, Rafe," you emphasize, "I told you that."

"I'm not talking about that."

"Then what is it?"

His jaw is set, resistance churning through his system to shut the fuck up, but he can't hold it in. He finds himself asking, half in plead, half in confession, "What am I?"

You weren't expecting that. Your lips part, but no words follow through. His hard gaze is on you, waiting for an explanation, but you don't answer fast enough. It's killing him. His next words are a shimmering calm, in a deadly whisper, "Do you think I only want you for sex?"

Your heart squeezes in your chest, taking all your air alongside it. You think you lost your ability to speak, but when you do, it comes out small. "Don't you?"

You're turning the question back onto him, and he hates it. He's trying to get the words out of you, to see where he stands, but neither of you is willing to take that step. It reduces him to silence.

You can't believe it. He can ask, but he can't answer. Frustration fills you, searing hot and explosive. You don't stop yourself from saying, "Because last I remember, whenever you had a problem, you came over to fuck." You snap, your emotions rising to a crescendo, "And when I asked you what we are..." You trail off, losing your voice. The sting of his label still hasn't passed.

But he knows what you're referring to.

"That's different."

"How?"

Rafe doesn't speak. All he knows is it's different. He has feelings for you. Before he refused to acknowledge it, now, it's bleeding into everything he touches. Everything he does. He just can't seem to say it.

"That was before."

Your brows pull together, your anger pulsating through your veins. "Before what? Before Aaron broke into my house?"

"No," he declares, his response is a knee-jerk reaction, but it wasn't the right one. Attempting to rectify, Rafe stammers, "Well, yes, but it's just... It's..."

Why can't he fucking tell you?

He's afraid of being first.

"It's pity?" You supply, not bothering to conceal the hurt in your tone. "Everything is just pity?"

"No!" He exclaims, but it isn't right. It still isn't good enough.

"Then what is it?" You demand, trying to get a hold of your emotions. But you're seconds away from screaming, or crying, or both. You rip your hand from Rafe's grip, taking a step back to conserve yourself.

His gaze falls to his empty hands, his emotions choking him. Every attempt at saying the right words causes him to shrink, feeling small, feeling like a child reaching for their parent's love, only to be pushed aside and dismissed. His walls are for protection, but it destroys as much as it save him.

Rafe decides to settle on something easy. "I'm your boyfriend."

"Fake," you correct.

"Does this feel fucking fake to you?"

You reel back. All your anger dissipates. All your resentment, hurt, and frustration disappear once those words leave his lips. And you're left with a burning clarity. Your chest constricts, your heart hammering. But you can't seem to answer him. You want him to say it first. "You tell me."

Rafe can't. It took all of him to admit such a thing.

You watch him with bated breath, but only to be disappointed again. His dark blue eyes are piercing, rich with emotions, but none of them are vocalized. None are honest. You can’t do this. You can’t go through another second of this uncertainty. You’re tunneling towards heartbreaking misery. So, you turn to leave.

But Rafe catches your wrist and pulls you back. His lips slam into yours, knocking the wind from your lungs.

He pours everything into this kiss; all his desperation, vulnerability, and truth. His action demonstrates everything his words can’t. And while you reciprocate with the same passion, reality grounds you, and you draw back, shaking your head. “Rafe—“

He kisses you again. Hoping it’s enough. Begging it to be. He can’t say it. He doesn’t know why he can’t fucking say it. He wants this to be enough.

You push back again, and this time, his arm wraps around your waist, trapping you in his embrace. You’re breathing hard as Rafe stares down at you while you’re looking at his chest.

He says your name. You refuse to look up.

He says it again. More firmly. You don’t acknowledge.

“Sweetheart,” he finally says, softening his words, and you find yourself crying. Tears crowd your waterline as you shake your head, refusing to be persuaded by the sweet sound of your endearment.

“No,” you choke out, slamming a weak fist against his chest. “Let me go. I can’t—I don’t—I’m not doing this.”

You finally tilt your head up to look at him. The way he stares at you with such tenderness. You can’t seem to discern it from pity. “I can’t.” You sob, “If this is how you’re playing me, I can’t keep doing this anymore. You’re breaking my heart.“

Then it finally hits him.

All your resistance. It was never rejection. It was the complete opposite. Coupled with the same fears he had; the same emotions he didn’t know how to express. He’s been so blind to it.

He should’ve known. He should’ve read it the same way he’s been reading everything else.

It finally gave him the confidence nothing else has.

“I fucking love you.”

You are completely still. You think you're hearing him wrong, that this is just a way of your brain deluding you and calming your irrational state of mind, but it's real. Your lips part, breathing shallow, all while you're staring back into Rafe's eyes.

He's afraid. Rafe doesn't trust his own instincts. Everything about you makes him question himself. And while he gained a fleeting moment of courage, he doesn't know if it will follow through. On the off-chance that, despite all this, all the signs he read, he was wrong and it will be rejection.

"Say it back," Rafe whispers in a plea. It's pathetic, but he no longer cares. "Say it back or I'm going to lose my fucking mind."

"You love me?" You breathe in a whisper, unable to move on from this moment. Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing thickly, before nodding once.

“I think I loved you since I first met you,” he confesses. “I just didn’t know it yet.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

Rafe bristles, “You think I go around telling people I love them?” He declares, studying your expression, trying to gauge your reaction, but it’s hard when he’s blinded by the crippling fear that you don’t feel the same. “You think I do this for anyone?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “I just don’t want you to say something you don’t mean.”

“I do mean it,” he declares, his voice suddenly dry, as he finds your gaze. “I… I’m sorry for before when I said things I didn’t mean. I don’t want you just for sex, I don’t see you as just a fuck buddy. I’m… I’m in love with you, and it’s fucking difficult to tell you that.”

Your lips purse together, but you still don’t answer him. Don’t confess your own side. Instead, you ask in a meek voice, “Since the beginning?”

He huffs. He can’t believe he’s admitting so much today. Revealing things he swore he’d keep hidden behind a locked box. But when he finds the light returning in your eyes, trying to gauge more of his reaction, read his true meaning, finding comfort in his words, he’ll rip out his own soul to keep it there. “Since the beginning. When you called me out, when you patched me up, when you slapped me—“ That bit makes you let out a small laugh, “I don’t think I was going to meet anyone who challenges and accepts me the way you do.”

You don’t say anything for the next few moments. And they were the longest seconds of his life. Rafe had to speak, “And if it’s just me, if I’m the only person who feels this way, I’ll find a way to be okay with that—“

You cut him off with a kiss.

“I love you,” you breathe into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I love you,” you jump, curving your legs around his hips as Rafe catches you, steadying you with two hands tantalizing skimming the curve of your ass. “Fuck, Rafe, I love you so much.”

His heart fills with your words. Your desperation clinging to each puncture. He grins into the kiss, before he deepens it, tasting you, stealing your air. Everything feels right. Feels good. When Rafe separates to break the kiss, he catches the residue smile on your face and the little daze behind your eyes. He snaps a memory of it and saves it forever.

But, just as it came, it slowly faded away. Reality quickly dawns on you, and your arms tightens around Rafe’s neck, reminders and deadlines creeping up your skin. Your confession comes out small. “I… I’m scared. With Aaron and everything.”

“Sweetheart…”

“I don’t have the money, Rafe,” your eyes connect with his. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Rafe pulls you in, flushed against his chest as your head lays on his shoulders and his hand strokes your hair. It takes a moment for him to process, to remember the world outside of you. But, when he does, he whispers, “I’m going to take care of it,” his voice so low, it almost comes out as a threat. “I’ll take care of you.”

And he will.

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captain-hawks · 2 months

Text

contravention

soshiro hoshina x f!reader

Hoshina finds himself in a precarious situation when his repeated use of the No. 10 suit sends his body into a rut, one that's only further exacerbated when you let yourself into his office without warning.

wc: 3.2k

c: 18+ only, friends to lovers, rut dynamics, breeding kink, oral sex (f & m!receiving), cum eating, squirting, unprotected p in v, creampies, too many creampies to count, copious amounts of cum, a ridiculous amount of orgasms, pussy drunk!hoshina, required horny suspension of disbelief, author takes great liberties with human biology

a/n: this one goes out to the two requests i received for hoshina + office, in addition to an older request for him in a rut!

SPICY SLEEPOVER — ROUND V

There are three things Soshiro Hoshina promised himself when he was sworn into his position as Vice-Captain of the Third Division—

To give his life to the JAKDF.

To do everything within his power and abilities to ensure the safety and preparedness of each and every officer under his watch.

—and to never let himself get involved with a fellow officer.

…after all, sentimentality is a dangerous weapon to hang oneself with.

The third is the reason he’s currently staring at you with wide, panicked eyes as you step past the threshold of his locked office door, your brows furrowed as you point what appears to be a hairpin in his direction.

“You’ve been holed up in here for days, Soshiro,” you frown, your gaze tracking across the uncharacteristically messy state the room is currently in. Paperwork is left askew across the surface of his desk, a haphazard pile of blankets and pillows stacked on the couch, and an array of takeout food and drink containers is stacked precariously atop the filing cabinet.

Soshiro grips the edge of his desk, teeth grinding as he fights to ignore the surge of possessive, blinding heat that unfurls inside of him at the sound of his given name on your lips.

(It was an exception he was too weak to deny you, not when you’ve become the closest friend he’s ever had in the years since you joined the Defense Force.)

You begin to walk toward him, and his nostrils flare, chest heaving as the familiar, soft scents of your perfume and shampoo invade his senses, amplified like never before.

“S-stop,” he gasps, hunching forward, palms flat against the desk as he inhales sharply.

Your voice has an edge of panic to it as you stride closer. “Soshiro?”

He backs up, putting several more feet of space between the two of you, though the added proximity does little to quell the blazing fire your presence has ignited in his veins.

“I…there’s….,” his throat burns as he tries to talk, “…a side effect from Number 10.”

A rut, to be precise.

Biologically, it makes zero sense. There are no reported cases on file across the JAKDF of similar side effects as a result of kaiju weaponization. And Soshiro’s not even wearing the goddamn suit, he hasn’t been since he collapsed in the middle of the training grounds earlier in the week without warning.

But the medical team at the Third Division has since hypothesized that it’s a particular irregularity resulting from the repeated usage of the No. 10 suit which has simply tricked his body into believing it’s going into an animalistic rut, of sorts.

His cock has been achingly hard nearly round the clock all week, a thick and throbbing presence between his legs no matter how many times he brings himself to completion.

Mortifyingly, after the higher ups insisted on contacting Captain Gen Narumi of the First Division to see if he had any insight, the other man had nearly laughed himself out of his seat as he suggested Soshiro try “fucking it out of his system.”

And this is where your presence has now become a problem.

Deny it as he might, there’s a traitorous golden thread of sentimentality for you that runs deep in Soshiro’s veins, one that has nearly cost the team a mission on several occasions at times when he’s found himself too focused on your individual wellbeing on the battlefield.

He sees the way you look at him.

He feels the way his stupid, reckless heart throbs against his ribcage in your presence.

He knows what this could be—what the two of you could have. If only he was weak enough to bend to the will of his own desires.

But under the influence of the rut currently sinking its ruthless fangs into his better judgment, he’s a weak man.

He’s a weak, hungry, desperate man who wants to claim you as his.

Who wants to breed you, to fill you with his seed, to pump every last drop of cum he has left to give into the tight, slippery warmth of your cunt.

This is why he’s been avoiding you specifically, why he’s teetering on the frantic edge of panic as he feels his body’s visceral, uncontrollable reaction to your presence.

You sigh, expression softening. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

He stares at you in confusion and chokes out, “What?”

“Well…Captain Narumi called me to ask how you were doing, which threw me off. He didn’t go into much detail, but I…I got the gist of it.”

“That asshole…” Soshiro groans.

“I think he was trying to be nice, if you can believe that. But I just…I know you like thinking you have to shoulder every burden yourself, and you hate asking for help. And you’ve been ignoring all of my texts. So I’m here now to offer you whatever help you may need.”

Soshiro maneuvers himself behind the side of his desk, if only to hide the stiff erection currently tented at the front of his pants. “This…I don’t…this ain’t somethin’ you can help me with.”

Putting your hands on your hips, you huff. “You look like you’re barely keeping it together. And I…” you scratch the back of your head, looking a bit sheepish, “I may have done some research. On the internet.”

“Research?!”

“I mean, I know the mental gymnastics of applying the concept from animals to kaiju to humans isn’t exactly laying the groundwork for the next peer-reviewed scientific study…”

“Do ya even know what you’re saying?”

You sidestep around the barrier of the desk, and Soshiro backs up again, his shoulder blades hitting the wall, the obvious outline of his cock in his pants the least of his concerns now.

“I’m saying that your body probably isn’t going to revert back to normal until you satisfy the conditions of your rut.”

A subtle shiver runs through him. “I’ve tried,” he grumbles, looking off to the side.

“Oh?” you ask, an odd look crossing your face, one that he can’t quite read—but it makes something inside of him clench all the same.

“By myself, I mean,” he continues. “Many times, actually. S’not changing anything.”

“Because your body wants you to breed someone. Well, probably in the hypothetical sense, like just finishing inside of them…,” you reply, matter-of-factly. Like his cock isn’t threatening to thrash its way past his zipper at the sound of those words on your lips.

He inhales slowly, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before finding your gaze once more. “‘m not goin’ out and findin’ some random—“

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Excuse me?” Soshiro’s not sure he remembers how to breathe.

“Use me, breed me. Whatever it’s going to take to get you out of this room and back into commission.”

He’s going to lose his fucking mind.

“I can’t—“

“I trust you, Soshiro. I trust you more than anyone else. I don’t think you understand how much you mean to me. And I know you refuse to let yourself care about anyone enough to become a liability…but I’m here if you want me. If you’ll have me.”

Everything inside of Soshiro feels like it’s reaching a breaking point, a fever pitch. He takes one step toward you, and then another.

—and it’s almost excruciating, the distance that remains, every cell and fiber in his body helplessly, desperately drawn toward your gravitational pull.

“…also I…the contraceptive part is covered. So I won’t actually get pregnant. You can come inside of me as many times as you need to…”

Another step.

“…or as many times as you want to…”

He’s standing directly in front of you, his muscles tensing painfully as he begins to feel the warmth of your body heat.

“I locked myself in here to stay away from you,” he rasps.

Your face falls a fraction. “Am I that terrible of an option?”

“No.” He sidesteps, and you turn to face him, your backside leaning against his desk. “You were the only option I want.”

You blink, clearly a bit taken aback by the admission. “Then why didn’t you tell me? I feel like I’m not exactly subtle about my feelings…”

“Cause I don’t know if this is goin’ to stop if we do this. I don’t know what kinda side effects there might be afterward.”

“Are you trying to scare me off with the threat of a potential sex sabbatical if your boner doesn’t go down?”

He bites the inside of his lower lip. “I’m tryin’ to warn ya that I don’t know if we can go back to normal after this…it’s more than just sexual…there’s this possessive feeling eatin’ me alive whenever I so much as think about ya.”

You lean more of your weight back into the desk, letting one of your feet slide forward to nudge against Soshiro’s.

“You know just about everyone in the entire Defense Force already thinks we’re dating, right? Captain Narumi started crying laughing when I got into an argument with him over it.”

Soshiro’s self control is dangling by the edge of a frayed, treacherous rope.

“You really wanna do this?”

“I was already yours, Soshiro. Even if you weren’t ready to acknowledge it.”

A ragged exhale leaves him at that, every last piece of his desire falling at his feet and bursting into flames. And when you meet him halfway as his lips come crashing into yours, Soshiro knows there’s no turning back.

Distantly, Soshiro knows that if he were in the right state of mind, this would unfold in a far different manner. He’d settle down into his office chair, tugging you into his lap to kiss you soft and slow and languid.

He’d take his time, familiarizing himself with each dip and curve of your body. Every corner, every plane. Every little sound and reaction. He’d use his lips and his fingers first, until you’re pliant and sated under his touch.

He’d kiss the corner of your mouth and worship the very sight of you, tell you just how fucking terribly in love he is with you.

But you know him better than anyone else, and he you.

So when he gets out an, “I’m sorry,” between frantic, sloppy kisses as his hands fumble for the button of your pants—

When you gasp at the feeling of his fingers grazing your slit and bite down on his lower lip and moan into his open mouth, “Next time.”—

He knows you understand all that he wants to give you to, that this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. That you trust him and want him enough to let him fuck you through his rut like an animal moments after you’ve shared your first kiss.

Despite the unbearable ache of his cock, which only grows worse when you begin to palm him through his pants, Soshiro still manages one thing—one moment of pleasure that he’s fucking dreamed of giving you over and over again.

He has little regret for the way he swipes all of the paperwork off of his desk in one go before he sets you down on top of it, memos and unanswered letters the furthest thing from his mind when he finally has the taste of your cunt on his tongue. With your legs spread wide, he eats you out with reckless abandon, the heel of one hand shoved against his dick as he plunges two fingers of the other in and out of your dripping wet hole. The keening, needy sounds you make only fuel him further, your back arching up off of his desk as he thrusts his tongue into your tight channel, greedily lapping up every last drop of the arousal that’s slipping out of you.

“Oh my god, Soshiro,” you cry out, fingers scrambling for purchase and eventually coming to tangle in the dark violet locks of his hair.

When you come on his tongue, moaning and shaking as you roughly tug in his hair, it’s the most wonderful fucking sound Soshiro’s ever heard in his life. He groans when a searing wave of pleasure bursts inside of him, an unexpected orgasm filling his boxers with hot ropes of cum.

You hardly have time to recover before he’s carrying you over to the couch, setting you down in the messy nest of blankets and pillows strewn about on the wide cushions. But before he can do anything else, you’ve pushed him into a sitting position and shuffled around to kneel between his legs.

“Ya don’t have to…”

“Please.”

He can hardly deny you, especially not when he hears the satisfied sound that tips out past your lips when you slide down his pants and boxers to find the sticky mess of cum already coating his dick and balls.

His dick that’s already hard again.

“Did you come while you were—“

“Yeah,” he rasps, dragging a hand through his mussed hair.

You bite your lower lip. “Soshiro, that’s so hot.”

He doesn’t have a chance to come up with an eloquent response, because his entire body seizes up with pleasure as you lean forward and take his cum-covered cock into your mouth. Soshiro wonders how he’s ever going to recover from this—the sight of your kiss swollen lips smeared with filthy, sticky cum and saliva. As you lap it from his balls. As you suck every last drop off of him until he’s coming again right down your throat.

Soshiro thinks he’s going to climb on top of you when his cock stiffens once more, to stare down at you and press messy, hungry kisses to your lips as he thrusts inside of you.

But you’re adamant that you think he needs something else the first time, something more akin to the primal needs his body is succumbing to.

Soshiro knows you were right when he lines up his flushed, weeping cock with your slick, quivering entrance from behind while you lean forward on your hands and knees, the need in his body now burning hotter than ever before.

It takes exactly three thrusts inside the dizzingly tight, soaked warmth of your cunt for Soshiro to reach his next climax without warning, cum exploding from his cock as his hips violently stutter while he fucks his seed inside of you. It feels so good, he’s worried he might pass out, but his hips won’t stop rocking into the plush curves of your ass.

You whimper as you feel him fill you deeply, fingers digging into the blankets and couch cushions beneath you as your body rocks backward into him.

“More, Soshiro,” you beg. “I know you’re not done. I need more, too.”

Soshiro nearly growls as something desperate and feral unfurls like the crack of a whip inside of him, folding his body over yours and sinking his teeth into the soft juncture between your shoulder and your neck as his cock hardens again inside of the grip of your tight channel. You moan as he bites down, whining and gasping as you reach back to tangle your fingers in his hair.

Soshiro’s balls ache as the wet sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, his throat dry and his muscles straining with the desire to pump you full of more cum.

“Harder, Soshiro,” you gasp, rocking backward to fuck yourself on his shaft.

He’s helpless to do anything but oblige as his hips begin to snap into yours at a brutal pace, his fervor only unraveling further when you shout as you squirt all over his hand right after he starts playing with your clit, your cunt rapidly spasming and contracting around his cock.

“Breed me, please,” you whine, gasping for air, your chest heaving.

He slams inside of you to the hilt as he comes hard, brokenly groaning in pleasure as the euphoric grip of your pussy milks the cum from his cock.

“Don’t stop,” you plead when he pulls out, feeling the way his cock is hard once more as it rests against your ass.

“S’ gonna make a mess,” he heaves, entranced by the load of cum dripping out of your cunt and sliding down the backs of your thighs.

You shiver when he runs two fingers through it, the sound dissolving into a moan when he gives in to the unexplainable urge to lean forward and lap some of his sloppy mess directly from your folds.

“Good,” you choke out.

It’s so fucking filthy—the amount of cum that slides out of you as he tries in vain to fuck it all back inside. The way you come again for him a third time from the feeling of the hot, sticky mess squelching inside of you as he murmurs against your ear, “Gonna fuck a baby into you. That what ya want?”

Soshiro’s so pussy drunk he can hardly think straight when he finally gets you where he really wants you—moaning into his mouth and dragging your hands through his hair as you straddle his lap on the couch. You alternate between riding his cock and letting him ease your pliant body up and down his length as he grips your hips, blazing a hot, open-mouthed trail of kisses along the curve of your jaw as he groans about how good you feel.

The state of the leather couch is a lost cause as you bounce up and down on his shaft, cum slipping from your cunt and coating the base of his cock in a creamy ring of fluid. Drenching his balls and his thighs as he fucks up into you harder, his seed sloshing around in your fucked out hole.

When he comes again, his head drops against the back of the couch as he tries to catch his breath, groaning as he watches a fresh wave of cum leak out of you with hooded eyes when you lift yourself off of his cock.

His still hard cock.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighs as it twitches with interest when you reach down and swipe your finger through the cum, licking it off slowly as you hold his gaze.

“One more,” you whisper, leaning forward to slot your lips with his.

You wrap your hands around Soshiro’s cum-covered cock, moaning softly as you rub your clit up against the firm base while you begin to stroke his length. It’s so intimate and sensual, the way your body presses up against his, the roll of his hips as he slowly twitches upward and fucks your fist before climaxing one last time.

–

Soshiro rouses from a deep, heavy sleep hours later, your head on his chest, your bodies tangled together in a pile of blankets on the couch. And he’s relieved to realize that he finally feels back to normal again. Albeit, every muscle in his body aches, and he doesn’t even want to begin to think about the mess the two of you left behind before passing out, but it’s a relief all the same.

When you snuggle up closer on his chest, he pulls you close and presses a kiss to the top of your head, whispering, “Mine,” into your hair.

“Is that still your dick talking?” you ask, tired and amused.

“Nah, just me,” he murmurs, lips curving upward in a content, relaxed smile.

#soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina x reader #kaiju no. 8 #dee writes #spicy sleepover

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rememberwren · 27 days

Text

A Girl (Not Mine) || 1

Ghost is a little obsessed with Soap and a lot obsessed with Soap's girlfriend--you.

About this: ghoap/fem!reader, suspension of disbelief regarding anything military related is actually necessary for enjoyment, canon-typical trauma for Simon, intrusive thoughts, slut shaming, voyeurism, fingering, accidentally seeing nudes not meant for you, poor writing unless you squint, try squinting. 4k

“I’m so glad I got a girl to think of,

Even though she isn’t mine.”

The first time Johnny mentions you, the 141 is fresh from a month-long leave.

Ghost has a love-hate relationship with time spent off duty. He’d like to enjoy it—to do fuck all, to hike through Clayton Vale twice in a day if it suits him, to drink tea for every meal. But all leave does is remind him of the glaring emptiness in his life, the one he usually fills with violence. So he spent the month climbing up the walls and crawling out of his skin, waiting to be called back like a dog brought to heel.

Here was his comeuppance for craving something to fucking do instead of relaxing the way Price had told him to do. Now they were on their way to San Lorenzo in Ecuador dealing with Ghost’s least favorite flavor of criminal: drug cartels.

It’s too close to Mexico. Too close to that which he would forget gladly if it didn’t come with the loss of so many valuable skill sets. He’s crawling out of his skin for a whole new reason, watching the water fly by beneath them, deep in memories.

Ghost takes all those feelings, fears, remembrances and swallows them whole. Lets them sink to a sour, dark place in his belly. He sits tense on the helo, still except for the rise and fall of his chest, his rifle a familiar weight across his knees. Sometimes he has to shut his eyes, swallowing against the rising nausea.

He only has half an ear on Garrick and Johnny’s conversation beside him, but it is all he needs to follow along.

“—lass of my own now,” Johnny is saying around a laugh, his accent thick enough to chafe at Ghost’s skin in a way he doesn’t want to examine, one that leaves him feeling raw but not necessarily hurt. “So no more picking up the barflies back in Hereford.”

“She making an honest man out of you, Tav?”

“Aye, you could say that.” Johnny sounds proud of the fact. It all is so far from anything Simon has experienced in his life that he feels no distant stirring of empathy, not even a muted sense of familiarity in the words. Honest men do not exist.

Not to mention, Simon’s never had a woman (willingly) and he never will.

“You love her?” Garrick asks, earnestly interested to hear the answer. Ghost couldn’t care less.

“Aye. There’s something special about her.”

“What, she’s cool with anal?”

Johnny crows with laughter, and now Ghost does feel something: annoyance, cloying, creeping up his spine like a spider in a web headed for the wiggling maggot of his brain.

“Will you two ever shut up?” he snaps. “Not a moment’s fucking peace since we boarded.”

“Sorry LT,” Johnny says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Ghost cuts his eyes toward the other man, assessing for honesty. Johnny’s face is too expressive: brows lifted, eyes wide and earnest, mouth tipped into a tiny grimace, like the thought of irritating Ghost gives him real pain. Between the two of them, Ghost can’t help but think that it’s Johnny who needs a mask if he wants to survive in the world.

Ghost doesn’t have the energy for this. He goes back to watching the scenery pass by. They are over trees now: thick lush jungle, the scent of which he associates with pain—plenty of which was his own. Plenty of which he caused to others.

“What about you, LT?” Johnny asks, calling out over the sound of the helicopter blades. “Do you have a woman back home?”

Ghost lets his head turn, slow and dangerous. Johnny’s audacity never fails to surprise him. “What do you think, Johnny?”

“Honestly?”

“Go on, then.”

“You look like if yeh’ve got a woman, she’s probably locked in yer basement.”

(right where she’d belong.)

Garrick slaps Johnny’s thigh, his face mottled with panic. He hisses under his breath, something like, There are faster ways to die, Tav! Less painful ways, too, Ghost thinks. He fixes Johnny with a dead stare. The silence stretches, growing long and thin and dangerous, like the blade of a knife, until Johnny looks away.

“Think less about my private life, Sergeant,” he warns him.

“Not often you tell me to think less, LT.”

Ghost just grunts, finished with the conversation, returning his unseeing eyes to the trees and slipping back into his own memories.

That should be—well, not the end of it. He expects Johnny to become insufferable about it; that’s just the other man’s way. Still, Ghost had never expected to see you.

He’s doing paperwork in the rec room, too stifled by the tiny, enclosed space of his office to remain there. Paperwork and debriefing are always his least favorite parts of an op. Give him a gun with which to kill and he will gladly kill; give him a pen with which to write and he spends half the time thinking about burying it in his own eye. Garrick and Johnny are there nearby fucking around on their phones having finished with their easy portion of the work ages ago.

A phone is what Johnny thrusts beneath Ghost’s nose. It takes all of his mental fortitude not to flinch away from the unexpected action (or, more likely, not to rip Johnny’s arm off and beat him half to death with it). His eyes flicker down to the screen on instinct and—there you are.

You have one eye squinted shut, your hand up to create a visor against the overbearing sun. The picture shows you from the bust upwards, and Simon sees it for approximately one full second before he grips Johnny’s wrist in a brutal hold and forces the hand and the phone away.

It’s already too late. He’s committed you to memory. The way your hair sits, its color in the blistering sun. The curve of your lips (fuckable, he thinks against his will) as you give Johnny behind the camera an exasperated smile. The arch of your nose (images now—fingers pinching noses shut, forcing mouths further down his cock just to watch them choke and struggle)—

“Get that out of my face,” he grits out through his teeth. His thoughts won’t stop, not now that the floodgates have been opened, and it makes him feel like a dog backed into a corner, frightened-violence rising up in the back of his throat like bile.

—the smooth line of your throat (and his hands around it, choking the light from your eyes just to fuck you when you’re soft and pliable and he doesn’t have to listen to you crying and begging)—shut UP!—

“It’s just my girl, sir,” Johnny laughs, his own eyes flickering back down to your image on the phone, like they are drawn to you. Like it is hard to look away. Ghost doesn’t have that problem—he has some discipline left. “And it’s not as if she’s naked.”

Ghost grips the pen in his hand so tightly that the plastic shell cracks. He’s barely keeping it together, sick and afraid and horrified and angry that Johnny has done this to him—has done this to his own girl—

His voice is rough when he croaks out: “What makes you think I care to see her, Sergeant?”

“‘S it wrong to share the most important person in my life with the other most important people in my life?” Johnny says, eyes too guileless to be taken seriously.

“Share less,” he snaps.

“Been saying that to me an awful lot lately, sir.”

“A good Sergeant would take my words to heart.”

“A good lieutenant would know a futile lesson when it’s biting him in the arse.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Johnny. As much as I hate paperwork, I’d write you up—gladly.”

Johnny gapes. “What for?”

Ghost grins without mirth, mask stretching around his features. Even grinning cruelly like this, his face feels unused to any expression that is adjacent to happiness. He swears darkly: “I’ll find a reason.”

It would send anyone else running. Even Garrick looks fearful, though fascinated: the same look a man wears when he’s watching a car crash in progress. But if sense were dynamite, Johnny wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. Instead, he just flops down on the couch close enough to flutter the pages in Ghost’s lap. Close enough for their knees to brush.

“Jesus, you’re a tadger today,” Johnny says quietly, boot knocking against Ghost’s, a touch he feels all the way up his leg. “Shove off some of that paperwork on us. What’s the use of being a lieutenant if you can’t lord it over your sergeants?”

“I’m sorry, us?” Garrick asks.

“I don’t shirk my responsibilities, Johnny,” Ghost says coldly, gathering his papers. His elbow brushes against Johnny’s ribs, the firm, burning warmth of the other man’s body. He jerks away. He’ll take the stifling seclusion of his office, that makeshift coffin, before he subjects himself to any more of this. “You’d do well to follow my example.”

Ghost resolutely does not think of you. Not during quiet lazy moments on base, not during the frustration of training recruits, especially not during the eerie calm of missions. You do not cross his mind.

His dreams are another thing altogether.

There are the dreams where he hurts and the dreams where he is hurting, and he doesn’t know which are worse. He only knows that they are made worse by your strange presence: your body bent and being broken in by others; you, bent and being broken in by him. He wakes in cold sweats, jaw aching from gritting his teeth in his sleep.

He hates himself for this last place where he cannot execute control: his subconscious.

“Mail?” Johnny asks cheerfully at the sight of Garrick seated on the bench outside the DFAC, a stack of papers and letters laying on his lap.

Johnny is sweaty, gray t-shirt clinging to his toned body as he (for once) keeps a companionable silence at Ghost’s side. They have been training recruits all day—work which Ghost considers far beneath his pay grade, but which he can’t refuse when ops are so slow to arrive and when he is so eager (desperate) to keep busy. Ghost lets himself sit heavily on the bench a safe distance away from Garrick, sweat cooling on his own body.

He’s not ready to be alone yet.

He’s allowed to do that. To want company. Of all the people on base, Garrick and Johnny (and Price) might be the most tolerable of the lot of them. During the rare moments when the pitiful piece of humanity left inside him craves companionship, this is the least painful method to mainline it.

He ignores the lack of letters for him. There is no mail for Ghost—there never is.

Garrick passes Johnny no less than four envelopes. Johnny’s soft smile as he flips through them speaks volumes. Ghost can guess who they’re from: his mother likely, who writes as often as she can. One of his various sisters, surely. Take your pick. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Johnny flip through the letters and settle on one in particular, thicker than the others, tearing it open and tugging the letter out.

The pictures slip from the folded piece of paper and fall to the ground.

Johnny dives to grab them, but all it does is bring Garrick’s attention to them more. Even Ghost’s interest is piqued, his dark eyes giving up pretending to watch the recruits limp back to their barracks to shower before dinner and following Johnny’s hasty movements instead, watching the hot flush that crawls up the back of his Sergeant’s neck.

“What are those?” Garrick asks.

“No’ a thing.”

Garrick lights up. He practically tosses his letter to the side. “She sent you pictures?”

“Possibly,” Johnny says smuggly, the images—old fashioned Polaroids, a nice touch—pressed to his chest. His eyes narrow at the expression on Garrick’s face. “Don’t even think about it, Gaz—!”

Garrick pounces. The two begin grappling, both of their faces split into wide grins. Johnny can only defend himself with one arm, his other protectively clutching the photographs to his bosom. They take each other to the ground and Ghost watches, half interested and half irritated, wondering who will win.

The pictures go flying—and fate’s invisible bitch of a hand causes them to land at Ghost’s feet. Garrick and Johnny freeze.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, the same way he knows that he’s going to. Ignoring their renewed struggles on the ground as they fight to untangle themselves and stand, he leans down and reaches for the photographs.

The white of the Polaroid’s edges contrast nicely with his dark gloves as he gathers the pictures together like a deck of scattered cards.

“LT—“

They’re relatively tame. Perhaps you knew the high risk of sending them. In one you are kneeling on a bed amongst a sea of mussed, white sheets, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that you have tugged down between your parted thighs to offer yourself some modesty. It is painful to flip to the next one, but pain calls to Ghost, lures him in. In another you’re wearing some strappy lingerie but still covered artfully by the sheets, both hands covering your eyes, a grin on your face like you are mid laugh. Did Johnny take these photos of you himself? Did a stranger? A friend? Another shows your side profile, back arched, topless, every inch of you curved and poised.

You’re (a filthy little slut) so fucking pretty.

“Give ‘em back, LT, please,” Johnny asks gently, like he expects Ghost to tear them to shreds. Or confiscate them.

Ghost drops the photographs to the bench, wishing he could scrub the images of you from his mind. He shouldn’t have picked them up in the first place. It’s adding fuel to the fire of his broken brain, and he knows that he will pay for it dearly.

Johnny is talking. “—shy, she’d just die to know you saw.”

“She’ll only know if you tell her, Johnny,” Ghost reminds him. His mouth feels numb, his brain the quiet granted by white noise, a conglomerate of screams.

Johnny frowns. “Suppose so. You alright?”

“Since Ghost saw—“

“No, Gaz.”

Ghost watches the two of them enter the building.

His hand burns, where he has palmed the picture of you topless. He stands and slips the Polaroid into his back pocket. It’s on the tip of his tongue to call out for Johnny and give him the picture back—he could find some excuse, and Johnny would believe him, he knows it—but he doesn’t. He makes for his room, feeling sick with himself. He isn’t hungry. Not for food.

Ghost is compromised.

The thought replays in his mind over and over again as he drives to Price’s house in Solihull. You and Johnny have crawled beneath his skin and infected him, dug your way into his DNA and are affecting everything from his decision making capabilities to his dreams. He knows that going anywhere where you both will be is a mistake, but it’s one he can’t seem to help hurdling himself toward at high speed.

Nothing will happen, he tells himself, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He only does what he allows himself to do—no more. The others will be there at least, Garrick and Price and Johnny himself. Physical barriers between him and you. Human meat shields, if necessary. Ghost wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on you. (But who would stop him if he tried? Who could?) You are safe, he tells himself.

He is the last to arrive, dragging his feet up the concrete steps to the two story brick historical home that Price owns. He lets himself in the way that Price told him to and can tell by the eerie silence of the house that everyone is already outside enjoying the well-landscaped yard. Already he sees the evidence of you: a purse (go through it) laid neatly on the dining room table. He sets his keys beside it but does not touch it.

Ghost doesn’t bother trying to delay the inevitable. Every part of him wants to run, but that’s all he’s ever wanted his whole life. He’s used to it by now, used to being forced to walk toward the thing which terrified him. He squares his shoulders and slides open the patio door, slipping back out into the muggy heat of the afternoon, face mask in place, hood up.

The landscaping is one of the best features of Price’s house. The privacy fence is tall and appealing to Ghost’s seclusive nature, the lawn neatly clipped. There is a hedgerow running along the southern edge of the fence that is meticulously maintained. Flower beds lined with bricks rest along the house full of geraniums and phlox. The patio is smooth stone with an inlaid fire pit that would be crackling if the weather were any milder. An iron-wrought table sits nearby surrounded by chairs, and seated there are Garrick, Johnny, and Price.

You are over by the flowers, kneeling in the soft grass, picking phlox just a few shades darker than the sundress you’re wearing, the one that skims your soft thighs. Ghost’s eyes roam over you and away all before your head even turns at the sound of the door opening.

“LT,” Johnny calls, lighting up. “You made it!”

“Didn’t think you’d show, Lieutenant,” Garrick says with a smile.

“As if he’s got something better to be doing than spending time with us,” Johnny crows.

“Jesus, will you two leave the man alone? Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already regretting coming,” Price says. Ghost inclines his head, grateful for the backup.

He hears your approach, the soft sound of your flats against the patio stone. You are small (weak) compared to him, craning your head up to look in his eyes. He hates the dark part of his brain that calls you easy prey as he watches you twist the phlox stems between anxious fingers.

“You must be Simon—” Johnny shakes his head a little, subtle, visible only out of the corner of Ghost’s eye. “—ah—Ghost? I mean—”

“I don’t care what you call me,” he admits.

“Ghost,” you settle where it is nice and safe. “It’s nice to meet you. John talks about you all the time.”

“Likewise,” Ghost says flatly, hoping you will not mistake it for a compliment.

Garrick snorts. “Never shuts up about you is more likely.”

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, so you sit on Johnny’s lap, legs crossed demurely, skirt riding up around your upper thighs. He wonders about the softness of your skin, wonders if his calloused touch would hurt you or if you’re used to Johnny’s by now. He could make it hurt. The thought doesn’t come with any zing of pleasure, just the cold apathy of fact. Has Johnny ever tried that? Has he ever—

Ghost’s gloved hand clenches into a fist, curling around the iron armrest of the chair. He takes a measured breath and holds it until his lungs ache. Those thoughts aren’t his own. They come from the dark part that Roba seeded inside him, that part with creeping vines too deep to root out. That part with thorns.

He could hurt you, the same way he could hurt anyone, he tells himself. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to.

He does only what he allows himself to do. No more. No less.

You and Johnny stand, heading into the house to retrieve a round of drinks for everyone. Ghost watches Johnny’s hand dip low on your back to the curve of your ass as he guides you through the open door, shutting it behind you.

“Are you alright, Simon?” Price asks around a cigar. “I know meeting new people isn’t exactly in your repertoire.”

“Don’t mother me.”

“Don’t have to be your mother to care about you.”

“Garrick—get lost,” Ghost barks.

The iron chair legs screech against the stone of the patio as Garrick stands hastily. “Had the same thought, sir. Hedges look lovely this time of year.”

When Garrick is properly out of earshot, pretending to find amusement in the neat hedgerows along the fence line, Ghost says: “I shouldn’t have come. I’m… I— can’t be left alone with her.”

“With—? Soap’s gal?”

Ghost grits his teeth in shame and nods.

“Do you know her?”

Ghost shakes his head in the negative, but it’s not necessarily true. He knows a thousand women just like her, soft and unexpecting. The betrayal always cuts deeper than his cock could reach (estoy preso, somos lo mismo, por favor).

He stands, chair legs dragging against the stone. “This was a mistake. I need to leave.”

“If you say so,” says Price, knowing better than to argue. “Go around the side. You won’t even have to see them.”

“My keys are inside. I’ll be quick.”

“Take care of yourself, Simon,” says Price, his eyes dark and lips downturned as he watches Ghost stalk to the patio door and slip inside.

He braces himself to see you and Johnny in the kitchen, but when the door slides open near-silent, neither of you are anywhere to be seen. Like a fool, he considers himself lucky. Quiet as his namesake, Ghost goes to the table and picks up his keys, palming them.

That’s when he hears it. The unmistakable muted slap of flesh on flesh.

(Go look.)

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but that is his modus operandi these days: failing himself, doing what he isn’t meant to, seeing what is not for his eyes. His feet carry him silently to the door, which is cracked open just wide enough for him to see through into the room. It is a guest bedroom judging by the bland decor, the queen sized bed. Johnny has you sprawled on it, your sundress hitched up around your waist, his fingers buried to the final knuckle inside your cunt. Ghost can hear the way it squelches from all the way outside the door, knows that you must be dripping down Johnny’s wrist.

“Keep quiet, love,” Johnny pants, one hand over your mouth (he’s not doing it right) to muffle the whines and groans trying to slip past your lips. “Needy little thing, aren’t yeh? Squirming in my lap, making my cock hard right there in front of my Captain, in front of my Lieutenant—“

You whine something back, but it is lost into his palm.

“Don’t have time to get my cock in you,” Johnny sighs, twisting his fingers inside you, hooking them to press against that tender spot past your pubic bone that has your knees knocking together. He shifts his palm down to grip your neck, your panting breaths filling the room. “But you can bet this dress is coming off as soon as we’re home, do y’hear me?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, and it has Ghost’s cock throbbing.

This is not for him. He thinks about Johnny’s words from months ago: that you are shy. There’s no chance you would ever want to be seen like this by him. Reaching out, he grips the doorknob and quietly tugs the door closed, til the sound of Johnny’s palm slapping against your clit is muffled behind the wood.

He takes his keys and is gone before you ever know he was there.

Johnny texts him later that night:

Why’d you leave early, you numpty? We wanted more time with you.

Ghost doesn’t respond. He’s too busy spiraling in his own flat, losing control every few minutes and slipping back into that place of pain and blood and dirt.

An hour later, Johnny ends up adding, My girl wants me to say she was glad she got to meet you. Only Jesus knows why! Ghost definitely doesn’t respond to that. But he doesn’t delete the messages either.

#ghoap x reader

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seospicybin · 1 year

Text

ON TOUR.

PART I: SOUNDCHECK.

Hyunjin x reader x Felix. (f,a)

Chapters: II. OPENING ACT / III. UNPLUGGED / IV. HIDDEN TRACK

Synopsis: Your best friend, Felix, is in a rock band and he takes you to join him on tour as the band's photographer. On the road, you learn how to deal with his bandmate, Hyunjin, who's not very welcoming of you . (10,2k words)

Author's note: The smut will not be taking place in the first part pls be patient because good things come to those who waits :)

Click here for ON TOUR playlist.

Content warning: mentioned vomiting.

A man is standing by the door of your apartment.

You take a few steps down the stairs to hide because he seems suspicious. He's dressed in all black with the hoodie pulled over his head, casting a dark shadow over his face and making it hard for you to identify him.

If that was someone you know, he would call you and let you know that he's outside your apartment. To add to your suspicion, he starts pacing back and forth by the door of your apartment.

You duck to get out of his sight and you shouldn't be afraid because you are in your apartment building, he's trespassing, and you have the rights to send him away.

As a precaution, you rummage inside your bag for your keys and tuck one between your fingers as a weapon. It's not the best form of self-defense but just in case it's not working, all you have to do is scream loud enough for your neighbors to hear you.

You take cautious steps up the stairs and approach the mysterious man who has his back facing you. You swallow air as your heart starts beating so fast that you feel like having a cardiac arrest.

The sound of his phone ringing interrupted the suspenseful moment and the man picks it up immediately, "Yeah, I don't think she's home. Do you..."

Wait, you know this voice but you can't pinpoint who it belongs to. It's like listening to an old song and trying to guess who sang it.

The hand that is raised and ready to attack slowly drops to your side as you rake your brain and try to remember.

The man suddenly turns around and in reflex, your hand raises to attack him again to only abruptly stop once you see his face.

"Whoa! Whoa! Calm down!" He says with his hands up.

Then you recognize the freckles, the small mouth, the nose, and his deep voice that you finally remember who it belongs to.

"Felix?" You ask in disbelief.

"Yeah, it's me!" He says with his hands still raised and a horrified look on his face.

You miss him so much your eyes teared up that you finally get to see him in the flesh.

"Were you about to punch me?" He asks, eyeing the key between your knuckles.

You cry-laughing in response, "And I'm still going to punch you," you say.

You proceed with your plan, playfully punching him in the chest, "You said you would never forget me when you become famous," you say between your exhausted grunts.

You gently push him away, sending him staggering backward, "you lied to me," you say with your index finger pointed right at him.

He laughs and walks up to you again, "Hey, come on! That's why I'm here," he says, opening his arms to welcome you to hug him.

It's useless to try to act upset when you're immensely happy to see him again, the frown on your face gradually turns into a smile.

"I miss you," he says, being the one to hug you first.

You cave in almost instantly and hug him back, letting the memories from the teen years you spent together flood your head like a fast-paced montage. You hug him as someone who misses her best friend would, tightly and warmly. What is there left to do than letting him know it with words?

"I miss you," you say back, saying it makes it real that you feel a sting in your heart.

"How did you know where I live?"

You take two cans of beer out of the fridge and push the fridge door close with your hips.

Felix is looking at the wall covered with photographs you took from your years of studying photography abroad.

"Your mom told my mom and my mom told me," he walks to the sofa to sit next to you, taking one of the beer cans from you.

"Thanks," he mutters, doesn't waste a second to open it.

You also take a long gulp, unexpectedly thirsty from experiencing a short adrenaline rush earlier.

"Oh, my God! I forgot that our moms are friends," you say.

You and Felix were neighbors thus explaining how the decade-long friendship formed since you were in middle school.

"Unlike us," you jokingly add.

While you had to leave to study abroad, Felix stayed and pursued his dream to study music which marked the part of your lives branched out, growing apart from each other.

"Here we are now," he says and clinks his can of beer with yours.

You smile and take a small sip.

"So, you're a photographer now?" he puts down his drink and leans back with his arms outstretched on the headrest of the sofa.

"Yep!"

"And how is it going?" He turns his head at you with his hand playing with the end of your hair.

"It's great! I got fully booked until the end of the year," you answer with a sly grin.

"That's incredible!" He sincerely praises.

"Yes, it is!" You take another sip of beer, then burst into laughter.

"Except that I'm lying," you sadly add as the laughter turns into a grim look.

Felix doesn't say anything but put his arm around you, lets you rest your head on his shoulder, and endearingly pats your shoulder to comfort you.

"I'm glad that we're reconnecting cause now I know I can borrow some money from you," you say with a heavy sigh.

He nudges your shoulder with his, "I'm sure it's not that bad," he says.

"It is that bad. I'm barely booked for a job," you admit how pathetic you are to a friend you haven't seen in years but it's relieving to have someone you can openly tell your worries to.

His arm draws you closer so he can plant a kiss on top of your head, "just give it some time," he says.

It's the one thing that doesn't change in him: a man of physical affection. As someone who knows him for years, you don't mind him entering your personal space because that's just how he shows his affection, it's through physical touches. As he brushed your hair with his fingers, you feel nothing but comfort.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" He asks.

"It's the perks of being a freelance photographer, you have a flexible working time which technically means that I'm jobless so yeah, I'm not busy at all," you ramble as you catch his hand and clasped it with his.

"How about we have fun and have some good music tomorrow night?"

You get what he meant when he said 'tomorrow night', his band is having a concert and you need the distraction from this adulting thing.

You turn your head to look at him, "I would love that."

He smiles while looking down at you, "I'll have someone pick you up tomorrow afternoon," he says.

You tilt your head up, "Doesn't it starts at seven?"

"You don't want to join us for the soundcheck?" He asks back.

You grin at the thought of being exclusively invited to it, "can I bring my camera?"

He thinks for a moment, "I think so, yeah," he doubtfully answers.

His phone has been vibrating inside his jeans pocket but he keeps ignoring it. You leer at him, "It's okay if you have to go," you tell him.

He takes his arm away and pulls his phone out to reject the call, "It's my manager. We have tons of interviews to do tomorrow before the show so..." he sucks air through his teeth instead of finishing his sentence.

You get it that he feels bad for not having time to catch up on a lot of things with you yet he has responsibilities to do on behalf of his job.

"Then go!" You simply tell him.

He squints his eyes at you, "Are you kicking me out?"

"Yes," you take his jacket from the armrest of the sofa and toss it at him.

As much as you wanted to catch up with him, you can't be selfishly holding him from fulfilling his duty. Moreover, he needs the rest.

It's close to midnight and the street is almost empty, it's a good thing, there's a thin chance of people recognizing him.

"You wanted to punch me earlier and now I got kicked out of your apartment," he mumbles as he pushes the door to get out of your apartment building.

"Goodness, Felix!" You sigh and it feels weird calling his name again after a long time.

You hail a cab from across the street for him and the other hand holding his, "We'll meet again tomorrow, remember?" you remind him.

The taxi stops on the side of the road and you open the door for him.

Felix puts his arms around you, pulling you into a hug, "I'm so happy to see you again," he says with a breath of relief.

Knowing that the feeling is mutual, you smile as you hug him back, "me too, Felix, me too," you say, rubbing the small of his back to let the words seep into him.

"See you tomorrow!" Felix doesn't hesitate to kiss your cheek, a long, lingering one then lets go after a while.

He flashes a warm smile at you as he gets into the taxi, "go back inside!"

You nod, walking backward toward the entrance of your apartment building with your hand waving at him, "Goodnight!"

You watch the taxi drives away which makes you hit by a wave of nostalgia.

The day you left to study abroad, Felix sent you away in a taxi and you remember crying so hard the whole ride to the airport, heartbroken by the fact you won't be meeting someone like him to where you were going.

The moment you're back at your apartment, you dig into your vinyl collection, searching for an old record you haven't been playing in a long time.

"Gotcha!" You exclaim when you finally found it. You rush to the record player and carefully place the needle on the vinyl.

As the song starts playing, you sit by the window sill with a new can of beer, looking out at the view of the city with its blinking lights. It surely reminds you of those grueling first few days of living so far away from home. You cooped in your small flat and listened to this song through the headphones, being severely homesick.

"So what do you say? You can't give me the dreams that are mine anyway."

It wasn't a place or a certain object or the dull routine that you long to do, Felix's face ran through your head whenever you thought of home.

"You're half the world away... Half the world away..."

And tonight, you want to replace the bittersweet memory it elicits and plant a new one so the next time you listen to this song, you'd think of this day when you finally reunited with him.

"I've been lost. I've been found. But I don't feel down."

The car is pulling up right in front of you and you doubt that it's the one Felix sent to pick you up. The car is way too big and too fancy to pick up someone like you.

The window rolls down and you see someone with a bleached, buzzcut hair on the driver's seat.

"Are you a friend of Felix?" He asks.

It takes you a moment to process such a simple question, "Y-yes, I am."

"Okay, great, get in the car then!" He says.

You stand there and exchange confused glances at each other.

"I came here to pick you up," he explains, "Felix sent me."

He butchered the key information that assures you he's the one Felix ordered to get you to the venue. Seeing that you're not convinced yet, he pulls out an ID hung around his neck.

"I would appreciate it if you get in the car right now or else, we'll be late for the soundcheck," he says.

You stifle a nod and get into the car, sitting on the passenger's side, and putting on your seatbelt quickly.

"And thank you for sitting in the front," he says.

He drives fast despite the heavy traffic on the way to the concert venue. While waiting for the traffic light to turn green, he uses the opportunity to introduce himself.

"I'm Lou, by the way," he introduces himself.

You introduce yourself back, "Are you working for the band?"

He sucks air through his teeth, "you can say that, yeah," he vaguely answers.

You don't want to pressure him to answer your question especially when you just met him minutes ago.

After driving past the intersection, he continues to speak more about himself, "I'm a friend of Han and he got me to work with him, as a roadie."

"Ah, I get it," you lowly exclaim.

"I guess it's better than staying unemployed," he says.

You nod, agreeing with him. Anything is better than having no money.

"What about you? I heard you're a photographer?"

"That's right, yeah, I'm a freelance so I'm as good as a jobless person," you jokingly say.

He glances to see that you're not bringing anything but a sling bag, "you're not taking any cameras with you?"

You planned on taking one but you doubt that they'll let you take any pictures in there anyway so you decided not to. You still can take pictures with your phone anyway.

"I'm not sure if they'll allow me..."

He nods, "Yeah, I'm not sure either."

You let out a breath of relief knowing that you made the right decision.

Lou parks the car at the back of the concert venue, he tells you to keep following him but he walks so fast that you start to panting.

"ID, please?" The security asks him.

He shows his ID at him then points at you, "She's with me."

Lou continues walking fast while greeting everyone he meets on the way. It's like walking in a maze but he takes you to one of the doors that leads to the pit.

"I think we're late," he says.

As he pushes it open, the sound of music playing greets you.

There they are, the three of them on the stage, adjusting their instruments to get them ready for the soundcheck.

"Sit whenever you want!" Lou tells you.

You nod and find it hard to choose where to sit despite they're all empty.

"I'll come back in a few minutes with a pass for you," he says before leaving.

"Thank you," you mutter to him but he probably can't hear it against the blasting electric guitar playing from the stage.

You can spot his red hair, catching your eye right away as if his head caught on fire.

He's shredding his guitar, playing a riff that you recognize is an intro from one of their songs. On the back, you see Felix, tightening the screws on his drums and checking his pedal.

The other one is setting the amplifier next to Felix's drums, playing his bass to see if it's the tune he desired.

It doesn't stop there, next, they're checking their mics by calling their names into it.

"Check one two, one two, it's Han," he says into the mic.

You wouldn't say you don't know any of them because who doesn't?

Ssick is a band founded by Han, the vocalist and informally, the frontman of the band. He met Felix at a college and started jamming together but to start a band, they needed a guitar player, so Felix introduced him to Hyunjin who's now their main guitarist.

So they began playing as a band from one place to another throughout their college years and they grew a great following.

A year later, they got offered a record deal. Little did they know, they're off to great things. It's their third year as a band now.

As you grow older, you're off the radar on knowing what's popular these days so you can't exactly know how big they are but they're having a showcase concert to promote their third album right now so that says a lot.

They start playing a song on the stage right now, it's one that you heard so many times on the radio and again that says a lot about their popularity.

You can't help but notice how much Felix has grown, he used to be this boy who eats sweets and left the wrappers strewn around your bedroom floor and now he's there, being what he always wanted to be, a drummer for a band, a rockstar.

It sounded like a silly dream back then but look at him, proving that you're wrong.

You unconsciously get up from your seat once the soundcheck is done and clap your hands together, you doubt that they can hear it because you're sitting far enough and they get off the stage right away.

"Okay, now what we're doing?" You awkwardly ask yourself.

Lou says he'll be away for a few minutes but he hasn't come back yet. You look around the empty arena only to spot a few staff putting numbers on the seats.

It won't be long until one of them find out that you're an intruder walking around the concert venue, it's not like they would believe that you're a friend of one of the band member. Things don't work out that way.

You exit through the same door Lou took you in and start looking for him. The faster you get to him, the better chance you get of not getting kicked out.

However, the constant reminder of telling yourself to put on a calm face only makes you even more suspicious. Someone spotted you walking through the hallway and makes his way toward you, it's too late to turn back.

"Sorry, miss," the tall guard says.

He looks for something which you believe is an ID hanging around your neck.

"May I know what your business here is?"

You open your mouth but nothing comes out of your mouth, it isn't like you commit a crime but it feels like you got caught stealing something.

"I-I got here with Lou," you stammer.

"Who?"

"Lou, I came here—" your throat is closing up the more you try to explain, "but h-he went to get me—"

"I'm sorry, miss. I can't let you walk around here without an ID," he sternly says, holding his hand out to escort you somewhere.

Somehow you find yourself walking to where he's leading you as you try to come up with something convincing, "I'm a friend," you say.

With a flat smile, you know he dismissed you right away.

"I swear, I know Felix," you say but that sounds delusional coming from you who have no proof whatsoever.

From the opposite direction, you notice a familiar face who you think may be able to get you out of this dire situation.

You only have a little time as you're about to meet in the middle, hesitated and groggy, you call out his name.

"Hyunjin?"

You see him walk past you with his headphones on. Hopeless, you pull the sleeve of his jacket at once that the phone he's holding drops onto the floor.

Hyunjin immediately turns around and sees you.

"I'm so sorry," you quickly mutter, scrambling to pick up his phone from the floor. In one glance, you can tell the song he's listening to on his phone.

"I'm sorry," you say again while looking up to see and make sure that it's him, the red hair peeking out from the black beanie he's wearing confirmed it.

He stares at you for a moment but you sense that he's going to come at you for dropping his phone.

"Can you help me?" You ask, getting ahead of him.

His forehead wrinkles in confusion as he cleans the screen of his phone with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Can you call Felix for me? Let him know that I'm here?" You desperately say as the guard stands right behind you, witnessing the awkward exchange.

He looks at you again with an even more intense stare.

"Please?" You plead with a thin smile.

Hyunjin shifts his eyes to check for any damage, "and who are you?" he asks without looking at you.

"I'm a friend of Felix," you say and you wished that you said it confidently.

He looks up from his phone, his eyes are once again on you but what is strange about his stare this time is it's as if he saw another human for the first time: pure bewilderment.

"Can you please call him for me?" You kindly ask him again.

But the long pause only tells you that he has no intentions to help you.

"You know what? Never mind," you sigh.

You decide to give up trying to convince him. You have no proof to make him trust you anyway so why bother trying?

You turn around to let the guard take you to wherever he's going to send you, probably toss you out to the street.

Thankfully, at the end of the hall, Lou appeared to stop that from happening.

"I've been looking for you!" He says when he's still a few meters from you when it should be you saying that.

"It's okay, she's with me," he says to the guard.

He lets go right away and turns to do his job elsewhere, as much as you hate to experience it but that man is merely doing his job.

You let out a big sigh of relief, "what took you so long?" You whine and sound exactly like you're about to cry.

He puts the pass around your neck like a necklace, you check it to see that it's an all-access pass.

"Logistics stuff," he concisely explains.

You choose to let him off easy, he's also, just doing his job.

Putting his arm around your shoulder after, Lou takes you walking with him in the opposite direction of the hallway and when you think about it, it starts to feel like a maze.

"Where are we going?"

"The green room!" He shortly replies.

You both arrived at two big doors with the name of the band plastered on them and guarded by a security guard. He glances at your pass before opening the door for you.

Suddenly, a wave of anxiety hits you. Because what if you're not welcome there? You stop Lou from taking you inside with your hand holding onto the door.

"Is it alright for me to be in there?"

Lou got so perplexed by your question, "Of course!"

The little incident earlier gives you an inkling that someone inside wouldn't want you there. Lou probably thinks that you're nervous, he takes your hand to drag you inside, "If it's not alright then why Felix asked me to take you here?"

The green room is empty except for a few people sitting on the couch and a few others are in another part of the room.

"Hey guys, I found her loitering outside," Lou playfully announce your arrival to Felix who was talking to someone on the couch.

"Should we take her or not?"

Felix chuckles and leans back on the couch, scanning you from head to toe, "I'm not sure," he says.

Lou grabs both of your shoulders, "okay then I'll just toss her into the recyclable bin," he jokes.

You glare at both Felix and Lou, keeping your face stern.

Felix softens right away, "Okay, okay, come here!"

He takes your hand, pulling you hard enough that you topple onto his lap. You immediately get off his lap, afraid that people might take it the wrong way.

"Thank you for taking her here," Felix thanked Lou.

"No problem, man!" He replies, walking to the fridge stocked with both alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. He picks up a can of cola and plops down on the other sofa.

"Where's Han?"

"In an interview in the other room," Felix replies, also grabbing a can of cola from the fridge without getting up. He opens it and hands it to you.

"Thanks," you mutter.

He leans back on the sofa again, looking tired even though his day is far from done.

"So, how was the soundcheck?"

You quickly swallow your first sip of soda to answer, "It was great!"

"Just great?"

You lowly chuckle, "we were much greater," you answer with a cheeky grin.

"That! I don't agree!"

Your head turns to see someone standing behind you and for a second, you thought it was the last person you want to see there and vice versa.

Han plops down on the sofa next to you, "I'm Han," he offers his hand at you.

You tell him your name while taking his hand to shake, "here I thought no one shakes hands anymore," you say.

A cocky grin appears on his small, round face, "I'm classy that way," he says.

Felix snorts next to you, "Trust me, there's nothing classy about this man!"

Han hits Felix with a cushion, "Back me up here!"

"She'd know if I lied," Felix defended himself.

"No, actually," You turn to Felix and continue speaking, "Anyone can tell when you're lying, Felix!"

Now, it's Han's turn to laugh, he puts his hoodie on and moves to the smaller sofa, getting comfortable by putting a cushion under his neck.

"I'm taking a nap," he announces and puts on earplugs.

Felix puts his hand around your shoulder and pulls you close until your head meets his, "am I that transparent?" He asks you in a whispery voice.

You lowly laugh, "Since day one."

He drops his head onto your shoulder and heavily sighs.

You pet his head and his hair is perfectly tousled as if someone spent hours styling it that way.

Something red enters your peripheral vision and your heart skipped a beat, you haven't decided how you should act upon the little incident earlier.

Should you be wise and let it go? You also hate to be in this situation.

"Hyunjin, I want to introduce someone to you," Felix shouts at him with his head still resting on your shoulder and your hand in his hair.

Hyunjin stops on his track for a while, looking at Felix, then at you. As he sets his eyes on you, you decide to bravely stare back at him, letting him know that it's the right time for him to say something.

All he does is this subtle shrug then goes to the other part of the room. No apologies or even a hint of regret for dismissing you earlier.

Holding a grudge seems to be the only right choice at the moment and you don't care how petty that sounds.

Felix knows that Hyunjin just gave you a not-so-friendly welcome greeting, "he's always like that before a show," he assures you.

"Man, he's like that even after the concert," Lou adds.

With eyes closed, Han injects himself into the conversation, "pretty boys are like that," he jokingly remarks.

"The fact that you aren't like that means you're not pretty?" Lou pokes fun at him.

He smirks with eyes closed, "that's because I'm cool," he ends with a bold statement.

Thankfully, Felix doesn't have to go anywhere but get his makeup done.

The make-up artist doesn't do much on him, just a thin layer of foundation that covers enough with his freckles still showing, dusting both of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

After that, he does his preconcert rituals and which consist of having a light meal, drinking hydration drinks, memorizing the setlist, warming up, and having a quick briefing with the stage director.

You feel like a real intruder as you walk with him to the back of the stage, you have no other choice with his arm around your shoulder.

The manager finally appears a few minutes before showtime, everyone gathers into a circle while you stand in the corner.

"Come here!" Felix says, gesturing you to join in.

Lou is pushing you from the back, also joining the circle for team cheer. Hands are stacked in the middle of the circle you can't tell whose hands belong to who anymore.

The manager shouts encouragement loudly as the opening sequence of the concert has began playing on stage and the crowd cheers at the anticipation.

"On three!" Han shouts.

"One, two, three!" He shouts as everyone throws their hands in the air in unison.

"WE'RE SO SSICK!" Everyone shouts in unison except you.

The path to the stage is signed with neon-colored tape plastered onto the floor but it's still dark to see what you're stepping on. Lou is quick to turn on the flashlight from his phone while fisting the back of your t-shirt, afraid that you might stumble with the cables slithering on the floor.

Everyone is stopping at the side of the stage, still out of the crowd's sight.

"You can watch from here!" Felix tells you.

You grab him by the elbow to whisper to him instead of trying to talk over the loud music, "Good luck!"

He smiles, then pulls you into a quick hug. He turns at Lou but he knows what he's going to say.

"Don't worry! I got her!" He assures him.

The moment each one of them steps into the stage, the crowd cheers louder it's deafening.

"Your friend worries a lot," Lou whispers to you.

"I know," you mouthed at him while laughing.

The show starts with a blasting guitar playing from Hyunjin, a riff from the title song in their last album. It feels as if someone just electrocuted you because all of sudden your body is buzzing all over but in the best way.

Then Felix starts banging his drum with his foot hitting the pedal so hard that you can feel every beat right in your eardrum.

After a few bars of intro, Han takes over his place in the front and pushes his mouth close to the mic, singing the first line of the verse followed by the crowd singing along with him.

Somehow, you picked up the lyrics of the chorus right away and sang along on the second verse. Your body is controlled by the music that you're no longer trying to stop yourself anymore but giving in.

In the break between the songs, you take a step forward to see how many people are there coming to the concert. Turns out, the arena is full of people from top to bottom, front to back. There are so many people you can't possibly count them in your head.

All of the hairs on your arms are standing as you take a step back to the side of the stage, "oh my God!"

Lou grins at you, he seems to be used to this view. Unlike you, he's busy looking at the members the whole time, to check if anyone needs something fixed quickly.

They'll signal him if something is wrong or the sound is either too low or high, mic problem. Lou also helps if either Hyunjin or Han needs a change of instruments.

"Here! Felix's solo is coming soon!" He gestures for you to come over to him.

You comply, standing a little too close to the stage but hidden behind the stage equipment. There, you get a clear view of Felix playing his drum, every movement of his hands and feet on the pedals.

Hyunjin stops playing his guitar, leaving only Han playing rhythmical guitar as the background to Felix's solo drumming.

You were wrong to ever thought that Felix's dream of becoming a drummer is a silly thing. Here you are, watching him become one and he's incredibly good at it that it feels like he's sticking his middle finger right to your face.

Other than that, you are so proud of him, proud of what he has become yet remains the same person.

Felix is too focused on playing that he only realized you were watching from the side once he's done with his solo. He slyly grins at you with one eyebrow raised while his hands are busy carrying the beat.

"Told you I'm great!" He shouts at you.

"Yeah keep telling that to yourself," you playfully reply.

It feels a whole lot different watching them from the side of the stage like this and seeing what's happening behind the scene, that there are a lot more people involved in the show to make sure everyone leaves with unforgettable memories.

They finish the last song on the setlist and take a break before going back in for the encore.

Lou is handing out extra towels as each one of them comes to the side of the stage. Felix grabs one, then begins aggressively drying his hair with it, making a mess of it.

Han has his tongue out as he tries to catch his breath, standing facing the nig portable air conditioner to cool himself down.

Hyunjin is the last one to come backstage, practically drenched in sweat. His t-shirt is soaking wet that it's stuck to his body.

He sits on top of a box with his head down, sweat dripping from the end of his hair with the red hair dye fades into the white t-shirt he's wearing.

Felix puts his hand on your shoulder as a support, as he too, is running out of breath. The sleeveless top he's wearing is sticking to his skin despite it having two gaping holes on each side, exposing just enough to let everyone know he has toned abs under there.

Realizing that you unintentionally ogling at your best friend, you shake the thoughts away, quickly grabbing a bottled water nearby and uncap it for him.

"For the greatest drummer in the world," you switch the towel in his hand with it.

He's too exhausted to laugh at it that he can only grin, then takes a long, big gulp of water it spills out the corner of his mouth and dribbles down his chin. He finishes the whole bottle in under a minute.

With the already damp towel, you dab the sweat on his face and neck, carefully not ruining the make-up that somehow survives the extra moisture on his face.

A few minutes have passed with the crowd chanting for an encore when it's obvious that they need another few minutes of break.

You check the setlist taped to the wall and they have three songs to play for the encore. You wonder how they can still fully function after performing for more than two hours already.

"Whenever you're ready, boys!" Someone says, which you believe is coming from the manager.

Felix grabs another bottled water, not to drink it but pours it on his head to cool it off, he pushes his bleached blonde hair to the back with his fingers.

This is the kind of sight that would make the fans go wild, but what can you say? Guess tonight they're not lucky as you.

Felix takes the towel back from you to wipe the water dribbling down his neck, "do I look alright?" He asks with his eyes wide.

You saw the stylist put on mascara on him earlier and now it's slightly smudged with how much he sweats, but that only adds to the rockstar look. You decide to only wipe the excess under his eyes ever so slowly with your pinky finger.

"Let's get ready!" Han says as he looks around for the members despite he's still catching his breath.

Felix puts his hand away from your shoulder to get a clean towel, using it to dab fresh sweat on his face.

Behind him, something catches your eyes, the red of Hyunjin's hair and him casually taking his t-shirt off in front of everyone. Well, everyone is probably used to this but not you, you're the only one having a hard time trying not to look his way.

Look away, look away, you repeatedly tell yourself, but instead of doing that, you do the exact opposite.

You stare at his back figure and see the ridges his back muscles made as he puts a t-shirt over his head that eventually covers his smooth skin, glistening wet even under the poor lighting backstage.

Han once again takes the lead, walking up to Felix and tapping him on the shoulder repeatedly as if to transfer his energy to him.

"Let's go!" He excitedly tells him.

Felix always manages to catch you off guard, surprising you by pressing a kiss on the cheek and you can only give in to him.

"Be right back!" He says with a grin.

Hyunjin follows them not long after, but stopping at the side to dry his hair with a towel, you feel a few drops of his sweat land on your arms.

He briefly glances at you, then tosses the damp towel away before entering the stage again.

That one stare reminds you why you're still holding a grudge against him, but at the same time, you don't want it to ruin the night.

However, once Hyunjin plays his guitar, you forget all about it.

You feel the shiver down your spine, and it's getting intense as the guitar riffs he plays charmed you to keep watching.

And it's hard to do so because he's so blinding.

Before you fall in deeper, you turn to see Felix who's just as blinding, shining in his own limelight. You don't have to talk about Han, he shines in his own way from the way he got everyone wrapped around his little finger.

The pit is going berserk as they play a song they have probably been waiting for. The loud cheering returns and the music starts filling the entire space, letting it hypnotize and control them.

There's no use in fighting it, you let yourself get carried away and notice that Lou joining you as he puts his arm on your shoulder, jumping together to the intensified music as it comes close to its ending.

As the music stops, you found yourself panting and turn to the side to find Lou laughing, you can't help but laugh along with him even though you feel like you're about to faint.

The concert is close to three hours long but it seems like none of the attendees wanted to go home. You can relate to that after what you've experienced, that incredible feeling of being a part of something much bigger than ourselves. It's one-of-a-kind, euphoric, and addictive.

"Let's wait in the back!" Lou says, leading you down the steps with the help of the flashlight from his phone.

After the curtain closed and the lights are out, they finally come down to the backstage. The cheers from everyone who's working just as hard behind the curtains welcome them, applauds and whistles.

They give handshakes, high-fives, and quicks hugs to thank them for their hard work while you're trailing behind as they make their way back to the green room.

Felix stops on his track with his head turned, searching for you.

"She's here!" Lou says as he gently pushes you his way.

You walk up to him with a proud smile on, profoundly proud of him for not only achieving his dream but keep thriving at it.

"You were so great!" You got choked as you tell him that and he knows it's coming from the bottom of your heart, you're about to hug him when he avoids it.

"I'm sweaty, babe," he says, maintaining a space between your bodies.

He drops his hand to hold yours instead and starts walking together.

Felix comes out of the green room with his damp hair brushed to the back, carrying a bag on one shoulder with a smile blossoming on his face the second he sees you.

You've been waiting outside because they must be tired from the show, you should give them the space to cool down.

You stole a few packs of sweets and waited outside with Lou.

Felix walks towards you with his arms outstretched, hinting that he's going to hug you and you immediately rise from your seat to receive it.

His freshly shampooed hair smells nice but what you like the most is that natural scent that clung to his clothes.

"You smell way better now," you playfully say as you pull away.

"I know," he coyly answers with a smile.

He puts his arm around you and starts walking down the hallway that leads to the parking basement where a van is already parked right outside with the driver already waiting.

"You get in first!" He says.

Again, you comply without a word and only realized that you have no idea where he's taking you once you are seated in the back row of the van.

Felix plops down next to you and puts his bag next to him.

"Where are we going?" You ask.

"The after-party, of course," he simply answers.

"Aren’t you... tired?"

That must have sounded so naive coming from you that he chuckles, "Why? It's past your bedtime?"

You nod, "Yes. I actually want to go home. I miss my bed."

He glances at you in disbelief and shakes his head with his hand rummaging the inside of his bag.

"I use the same one," you share as he takes out a cherry lip balm.

He applies it on his lips, then says, "Want me to apply it on you?" he leans in with his lips puckered.

Your hand reflexively pushes him away as he playfully tries to kiss you. At the same time, someone enters the car and from the bright red of his hair, you know who it is without having to see his face.

Your laughs die down as he sits on the seat in the middle, you hear him sighing then drops his bag on the space next to him with a low thud.

It's getting quiet inside the dark of the van, the only source of light is coming from Felix's phone as he's checking his messages.

"Are you even allowed to take your girlfriend?" Hyunjin suddenly asks.

He doesn't even turn his head to the person he's asking the question to. Felix puts his arm around you to pull you closer to his side even though he has no one to show it off to.

"Why? Are you jealous?" Felix asks back instead of denying him.

You turn to the side to see Felix slyly grinning with the lights from his phone illuminating his face. On the other hand, you hear Hyunjin sighs again then puts his headphones back on again, probably regretted for asking about it.

A while later, Han and Lou finally get into the van, sitting on the front seats together. They're already busy chatting about a few things all at once and it's the first time you hear Lou talks so much.

Someone else gets into the passenger's side and the car lurches forward, exiting the parking basement. As the car drives out of the building, you can see a group of people lining up to perhaps, see the band once more before going home.

They're cheering as the van rides past them despite they can't see through the heavily tinted glass.

Calculate it fast in your head, they have waited for almost two hours after the concert ended just to catch a glimpse of them.

It makes you realize that you're lucky to be able to comfortably enjoy the show and now, being in the same car with them, an experience that a lot of people dream of having.

The whole ride is quiet and when you thought they must be resting out of fatigue. When the car stops in another parking basement in which you have no idea where.

Everyone can't wait to get out of the car, you're the last one to come with Felix helps you get off by holding your hand.

It's when you enter the building that you recognize it's the hotel they're staying at.

As everyone waits for the elevator to arrive, Han notices you standing across from him. Since your eyes make contact, it's only right to say something.

"Hey," you sheepishly say, afraid that he's not in the mood to talk to someone.

"Hey!" He greets back, "How was the show?"

He looks alright for a man who has sung more than twenty songs in two and a half hours.

"Incredible!" You shortly reply then realize that's not enough of a compliment.

"It's just amazing from first to last," you add and hope that it doesn't sound phony, you're just bad at verbalizing your thoughts.

He smiles back while fixing the collar of his jacket, "well, I'm glad you came," he says.

You don't expect him to be this charming in person, he has the kind of charm that slowly growing in you.

Felix hisses at him, "she came for me," he says while pushing you into the elevator as the doors slide open.

Han nudges Lou's elbow, "I didn't know Felix can be this possessive," he whispers to him intentionally loud.

Inside the small space of the elevator, Hyunjin remains unbothered with his headphones still on, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. You can only see his face through the reflection on the shiny furnace of the elevator as it shoots up to the top floor which you assume is where all the luxurious suites are located.

It shouldn't come as a surprise to you anymore but the reality that your friend is in a famous band hasn't sunk in yet.

The after-party isn't what you expected it to be, it's more like a get-together with a hotel bartender working behind a small bar, tending to everyone's drinks.

You recognize most of the people there as the staff working in the green room earlier except that they're way more relaxed.

Everyone scatters like they know where they need to go and you hate to always have to cling to Felix which only shows how shitty you are at socializing.

"Drinks?" Lou asks from beside you.

"Yes, please!" You let out a sigh of relief at the end of the sentence.

Lou doesn't hesitate to order a hard liquor while you chose to have something with the least amount of alcohol in it. You take a sip to confirm that it tastes more sugary than an alcoholic and have a bigger sip after.

Being Lou is exceptionally easy, maybe because he's so laid-back and nonchalant in a sense that makes you feel like he's not going to attack you with personal questions.

"So, what do you guys usually do at the after-party?" You ask.

He snorts, "Actually, nothing, we just... chill?" He doubtfully answers, then pulls out a phone from his jacket.

"Let's take a picture!" He gives you no time to think of a pose but holds out his hand far enough to fit both of your faces in the camera.

What kind of photographer who doesn't know how to pose? You almost roll your eyes at yourself as the thought runs through your head.

"What's your Instagram?"

"I don't have one."

He squints his eyes at you for a moment, "No media social presence? Cool!"

You can't tell if he's being sarcastic or earnestly complimenting you, whichever it is, you don't feel offended by him.

"I have one but it's for my photography and work stuff," you add before you weirded him out more.

"Here," he hands you his phone to let you insert your username.

As you're handing his phone back, Felix comes from behind you. He gently puts his hand on your shoulder and talks close to your ear.

"Hey, I need you to meet someone," he says.

You turn to the side to find him leaning so close to you that it startles you.

"Who?"

He drops his hand to yours, "come with me," he orders.

"Okay, wait," you gulp the rest of your drink before letting Felix take you somewhere.

You haven't had the chance to look around the suite to know there's a balcony and a group of people lounging out there.

This is where they scooted away to, you say as you spotted Han and Hyunjin sitting on the long sofa.

Felix is taking you exactly there and makes you stand in front of everyone, putting you in the center of attention.

He points at the man sitting on the other sofa, "This is Vin," he introduces.

"He's the tour manager," he adds.

You hold out your hand because this sounds formal and it's basic etiquette, something that you learned from Han earlier.

"Hi, pleased to meet you," you sincerely say.

There's a hint of regret that you didn't choose to drink something stronger back in the bar, this calls for that too with the attention you're getting.

"You're a photographer?" Vin asks.

You clear your throat before answering, "Yes," you stammer.

That doesn't sound convincing so you try again, "Yes, I am."

He fixes his seating on the sofa and leans forward as if he's needing to take a better look at you, "I don't see you taking your camera with you tonight."

"I thought I'm not allowed to so I–" you pause as you heard someone snorts, everyone else there is chatting to each other however you feel their eyes on you.

"I'm sorry," you conclude instead of finishing your sentence and oh, you hate to apologize when you don't even do anything wrong.

Vin nods as he takes his glass of drink from the glass table, "so what do you think about being the band's photographer?"

The question takes you out completely. Firstly, because you didn't ask for it, and secondly, you don't know how you feel about it because you never even thought about it.

"Felix has been telling me about you," he says.

You look at the culprit next to you and he's grinning ear to ear, he knows that you can't be mad when he's putting his sunshine face on.

"We'll be going on tour next month," Vin continues, shifting on his seat and hastily sipping his drink, "how about you join us, taking pictures of the boys, the stage, everything..."

This is so sudden, so out of the blue and you don't like doing things unplanned. You take a low breath to supply your brain with more oxygen so you can think clearly.

After a while, the cogs are turning and your head started to fill with the pros. One, It's a job, you're barely booked and the tour is next month, two, no one booked you next month and third, it's a huge opportunity, you'll not be just a photographer for a band, it's THE one famous rock band, it's Ssick.

Vin hisses as he takes another sip of his liquor, "Just for the tour and you'll be paid, of course!"

Oh, and money. You need money, a lot of it to rent a photo studio.

"Oh, you're going on tour with us?" Someone asks.

Your head turns to see Han sitting on the armrest of the sofa, talking excitedly as if he's delighted to have you as one of his entourage. Or maybe he does and that lands him on the pros list.

You're getting confident about it now and about to answer him when your eyes somehow turn to the guy sitting next to him, the bright red of his hair is a contrast to his pale face that tells he is opposed to the idea, well, he can be on the cons list and you couldn't care less.

You look away from him and turn to Vin, "I'd love to, yes," you confidently answer.

It's the first time in your life saying yes out of a whim and you feel anxiety rises inside you.

"See you on tour then!" He coyly says with his glass slightly raises at you.

You excuse yourself the second the deal is made and run back to the bar, you meet Lou on the way there as he's talking to someone.

"Can I have it?" You point at his drink.

He shrugs and hands it to you without complaint.

You drain it empty in one long gulp and wince at the bitter aftertaste. It's whiskey and it's burning your throat that you can't speak without feeling like you're about to spit fire.

He rolls his head to the back to look at you, "what's wrong?"

You can only respond by shaking your head, telling him that you're alright and that you needed to release some jitters.

When you thought you can take it, you can feel the alcohol is making its way back out of you.

Lou is quick-witted, he gets up from the sofa and pulls you to a bathroom at the end of the hall. He closes the door for you as you rush to kneel on the floor, vomiting into the toilet bowl.

You check yourself in the mirror and see the mess you made on your t-shirt. You wet a towel to clean it but it's doing nothing, if anything, everyone would know you just vomited.

Someone barges into the toilet, it's your fault for not locking it after Lou closed it for you.

"It's occupied!" You shout, putting a hand to stop someone comes inside.

"It's me!"

From his deep voice, you can easily tell that it's Felix. Slowly you let go of your hand from blocking the door and open it for him.

His eyes dart to your wet, tainted t-shirt.

"I'm so grotesque, I know," you whine and continue your effort to clean it by roughly wiping on it with the wet towel.

Felix takes off his hoodie and hands it to you, "here, wear this," he says.

You take it from him without thinking, it's the only right option. He turns around to let you change your clothes.

"Are you mad?" Felix asks.

His question sounds so loud in this bathroom that is bigger than your bedroom. Other than that, you hear the sheer anxiety in his words.

"I'm not mad, Felix," you shorty reply.

You take a second to put on his hoodie and fix it while looking at the mirror, "You can turn around now!" You tell him.

He turns around and puts his hand against the sink, leaning his body to one side.

"But...?"

He knows you well that no detail is missed from you, "I was just a little taken aback," you honestly tell him.

He stares at you, making sure you're being honest and you let him see it in your eyes.

"If you feel pressured to do so but couldn't tell Vin, you can just tell me," he says as he takes a step toward you.

You shake your head and toss your unsalvaged t-shirt into the trash bin unintentionally hard, "are you kidding me?"

Felix gets startled that he reels to the back, "What?"

"What makes you think I'll pass the chance to go on a road trip with you and get paid for it?" You put both of your hands on his chest and playfully shove him away.

"I don't think so," you add with a playful grin.

His face loosens at your answer, he pulls you into a hug but you're fast to avoid it. You walk past him and stumble out of the bathroom, running away from him.

Felix catches you with his arms around your waist and you squeal as he lifts you off the floor.

"Put me down!"

"No!" He refuses, tightening his arms around you instead.

You hit his arms to force him to let you go but he's starting to spin you around as if you haven't just vomited a few minutes ago.

"Can you guys get out of the way?"

Both of you turn your heads at the same time to see Hyunjin with his annoyed face, waiting for any of you to make a way for him.

"Sorry," you meekly say and get to the other side with Felix.

"There's another bathroom..." Before Felix can finish his sentence, Hyunjin is already inside the bathroom.

Felix shrugs, "he probably needs to go number 2!"

As your eyes meet again, both of you burst into laughter at the same time.

The after-party is still going but it's past midnight and you're booked tomorrow, "I have to go home," you tell Felix.

He starts groaning, fussing like a child, "stay a little longer," he pleads with an adorable pout.

"I am booked for a job tomorrow," you share, and that the job requires you to be there earlier than the appointed time.

He pouts more it's forming into duck lips and you put your hand over it, slowly pushing him away.

"I have to go," you groan back.

He holds both of your hands, looking defeated.

"I'll have Lou drive you home," he says.

"No!" You strongly refuse, "I'm sure he's tired already."

"I'll drive you then," he offers with a flirty wink.

He's so relentless it's silly, you laugh and push him away from you, "I'll take a taxi home, the hotel reception can get one for me," you tell him.

You make a quick trip around to say bye to everyone, well, just a few of them that you know.

"Hey, I'm still glad that you came," Han says as he waves back at you.

"See you on tour!" Lou says to you with a quick, side hug.

This feels nice, this feels like you're welcomed even though the tour hasn't begun yet. Part of it is because Hyunjin is still out of your sight until you leave the suite. Well, you don't have to worry about him until next month.

Felix insists on sending you off, he comes to the hotel lobby with you and waits for your taxi to arrive.

He intertwines his hand with yours on his lap, "It'll be fun!"

Felix is filled with giddiness after he made sure you fully agreed to join the tour.

"We'll have so much fun!"

His gleeful grins are so child-like, you can't say no to his wishes when he's adorable like this.

"Are you that happy?" You jokingly ask.

He enthusiastically nods his head like a puppy.

You can't help but smile. The hotel doorman informs you that the taxi has arrived. You both get up from the chairs and exchange a hug.

"You were so great today, Felix! I'm so proud of you," you've been wanting to tell him that and make sure he hears it well, he has to know that he's doing great.

It seems that he doesn't expect to hear that from you but you feel his hand squeezes your shoulder.

"See you soon!" He finally utters something after what you said to him, then pulls away.

You wave your hand at him before exiting the hotel and sigh the moment you get into the taxi. A month feels so long, so far when excitement fills you to the brim.

A month couldn't come sooner.

It feels nice to be home and be in the comfort of your bed.

You pick up your phone to set an alarm since you have to wake up early for a job tomorrow. There's a notification and you click on it to see the photo Lou posted on his Instagram with your handle tagged on it.

Turns out, Lou has his fans as his followers count can grant him an influencer status. You scroll down his social media page to see the photos he has posted and they're mostly the photos he took of the band, random bits, here and there.

There's one photo of Hyunjin eating a donut with a box full of it sitting on his lap with his hair still dark and tied into a tiny ponytail that formed a little palm tree on the top of his head.

"Flour boy," Lou captioned it and a chuckle escapes your mouth.

You slap yourself on the face to remind yourself that you're holding a grudge against him and the next thing you know, you fall into the rabbit holes of things you should have done or said to him, making scenarios in your head until you can't take it anymore.

You can't go to sleep like this, not when the last thing on your mind is that annoying red-haired flour boy. You're flipping through your vinyl collections to check if you have what you're looking for.

Everyone knows that album artwork of a painting of a banana by Andy Warhol but you're not sure if you ever bought it.

Giving up, you end up looking for the album on your phone and play the same song Hyunjin was listening to as you knocked his phone down.

You sit down on the carpeted floor listening to the song playing the intro of the song then you hear a girl starts singing...

"Here she comes

You better watch your step

She's going to break your heart in two

It's true..."

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skaruresonic · 11 months

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The common rebuttal to "this reads like fanfic (derogatory)" is "read better fanfic," which is true in certain cases, but on the other hand, there is some grain of truth to the idea that you can tell when someone's primary mode of literary analysis is fanfic instead of... well... literally anything else. It's okay to like or even prefer fanfic, but if you want to take your craft seriously you also need to read books, dude. Published books will teach you a lot of stuff fanfic doesn't, like proper dialogue formatting and how to introduce your reader to unfamiliar characters. Even the crappiest book (well, if it's not After or 50 Shades, which started off as fanfic to begin with lol) will have been subjected to some sort of editing process to ensure at least the appearance of proper grammar. That's not a guarantee with your average fanfic, and hence why you can't always take all your writing cues from fanfic because it's "so much better" than commercially published original fiction or whatever. Frankly, fic writers tend to peddle some absolutist and downright bad takes sometimes. "Said is dead" is a terrible rule, though not because said is invisible and a perfectly serviceable tag; that's just part of it. Dialogue tags are a garnish, not a main dish that can be swapped out for more ostentatious words. If your characters murmur and mutter instead of simply saying stuff, your readers are going to wonder why nobody speaks up. "'I'm explaining some very plot-important shit right now lol,' she elaborated," likewise, is a form of telling. Instead of letting the reader extrapolate that "she elaborated" via the contents of the dialogue itself, you're telling them what to think about it. And that's why it's distracting: your authorial hand is showing. Writing is an act of camouflage. You, as the writer, need to make your presence as invisible as possible so as to not intrude on the reader's suspension of disbelief. That's the driving reason behind "show, don't tell." And overall, everyone could stand to cut down on the frequency of their dialogue tags anyway. Not every exchange needs "he said" or "she whispered" attached as long as you establish who is doing the talking before the exchange. Some people will complain of confusion if you go on for too long without a dialogue tag, and that definitely is a risk, but at some point you also need to resist the temptation of holding the reader's hand. If they can't follow a conversation between two people, chances are they weren't meeting you halfway and paying that much attention in the first place. In fact, you don't even necessarily need action beats in between every piece of dialogue, as Tumblr writing advice posts will often suggest as a fix. Pruning things often cleans them up just fine.

Another fanfic-influenced trend in writing is, I guess, beige prose? A heavy focus on internal narration with lots of telling. It's not a style I can concretely describe, but every time I click on a non-mutual's writing, I feel like it always has, like. This "samey" voice to it. There's no real attempt to experiment and use unique or provocative language, or even imagery half the time. It's almost a dry recital of narration that doesn't leave much room for subtext. I see this style most often in fanfic where you can meander and wax poetic about how the characters feel without ever really getting around to the plot. And it's like. DO something.

Other tells that the author is taking their cues from fanfic mores rather than books: >>too much minute description of eyes, especially their color and their movement >>doesn't leave much room for subtext (has a character speak their every thought aloud instead of letting the reader infer what they're thinking via action or implication) >>too much stage action ("X looked at Y. Y moved to push their seat in. X took a deep breath and stepped toward Y with a determined look on his face. 'We need to talk,' he said.") >>tells instead of shows, even when the example is about showing instead of telling ("he clenched his teeth in agony" instead of just "he clenched his teeth") >>has improper dialogue tag formatting, especially with putting full stops where there should be commas ("'Lol and lmao.' she said" instead of "'Lol and lmao,' she said." This one drives me up a wall) >>uses too many dialogue tags >>"em dashes, semi-colons and commas, my beloved" - I get the appeal but full stops are your friends. Too much alternate punctuation makes your writing seem stilted and choppy. >>"he's all tousled brown hair and hard muscle" and "she's all smiles and long legs." This turn of phrase is so cliche, it drives me up a wall. Find less trite ways of describing your characters pls. >>"X released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding" >>every fucking Hot Guy ever is described as lean and sinewy >>sobbing. why is everyone sobbing. some restraint, pls >>Tumblr in general tends to think a truism counts as good writing if you make the most melodramatic statement possible (bonus: if it's written in a faux-archaic way), garnish it with a hint of egotism, and toss in allusions to the Christian God, afterlife, or death. ("I will stare God in the face and walk backwards into hell," "What is a god to a nonbeliever?") It's indicative of emotional immaturity imo, that every emotional truth need be expressed That Intensely in order to resonate with people. >>pushes the "Oh." moment as the pinnacle of Romantic Epiphany >>Therapy Speak dialogue. why is this emotionally constipated forty-something man who drinks himself stupid every morning to escape gruesome war memories speaking about his trauma like a clinical psychologist >>"this well-established kuudere should Show More Emoshun. I want him to break down crying on his love interest's shoulder from all his repressed trauma" - I am begging u. stop >>"why don't the characters just talk to each other?" "why can't we have healthy relationships?" I don't know, maybe because fiction is not supposed to be a model for reality and perfect communication makes for boring drama?

>>improperly using actions as dialogue tags ("'Looks like we're going hunting,' he grinned") >>why is everyone muttering and murmuring. speak up >>too many adverbs, especially "weakly" and "shakily." use stronger verbs. ("trembled" instead of "shook weakly") >>too many epithets ("the younger man" or "the brunette detective") >>too many filter words ("he felt," "she thought," "I remembered")

>>no, Tumblr, first-person POV is not the devil; you're just using way too many filter words (see above) and not enough sentence variation to make it flow well enough. First-person POV is an actually pretty good POV (not just for unreliable and self-aware narrators) if you know what you're doing and a lot of fun crafting an engaging character voice. Tumblr's hatred of first-person baffles me, and all I can think is you would only hate it if your only frame of reference was, like, My Immortal. Have you tried reading A Book? First-person POV is just another tool in your toolbox, and like all tools, it can be used properly or improperly. But it's not inherently a marker of bad writing. The disdain surrounding it strikes me as about as sensical as making fun of the concept of characters. Oh, your work has characters in it? Ew, I automatically click off a fic if it has characters in it. like what.

#writing #obligatory disclaimer that I am speaking broadly and this is in no way intended to make anyone feel self-conscious

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the-fluff-piece · 10 months

Text

"Invisible" choose your own romance

- Zoro or Sanji?

This is a "choose your own adventure" type continuation of "invisible", if you haven't read that, start here. You can chose at the end if you want to be with Sanji or Zoro, click on the link to get to the corresponding story

After Sanji rejected you, he offered to be friends - you accepted. As you get to know each other better and better, you discover new sides to your crewmate Zoro. Which one will you choose in the end?

The new friendship with Sanji led to new routines in your day. You started to help him a lot, earning his praise and time spent together, just the two of you.

Laughing, talking, working together; when no one else was around, it felt like you were made for each other. You enjoyed his company, his laughter and even occasionally his friendly teasing. When you closed your eyes, it felt like the day you had with him in another body.

You opened your eyes again and looked at your crewmate. Sanji was cleaning the table while you were washing dishes. Whistling, he threw the rag on the counter and proceeded to make tea in his careful fashion.

Your heart sank a little, he was preparing Nami's afternoon tea. Soon, the suspension of disbelief would dissipate and Sanji would prance to Nami, drooling and babbling like an idiot. Not leaving an ounce of doubt who he saw as desirable and who was just his platonic friend.

With a sigh, you saw him run out the door. And like always, you finished the chores on the kitchen alone.

Putting plates back in cupboards, bringing his knives, pots and pans back in order, you were deep in your work and almost fell backwards when a hunched figure said "yo" over the counter.

Stumbling and gasping, you saw that it was Zoro, who must have snuck in like a cat.

"Whoa Zoro don't do that! You're giving me a heart attack" You were heaving with shock.

"Sorry, I thought you saw me" He raked his hand through his hair, looking around like he was searching for something.

"Do you need anything?" You asked, leaning over the counter. Zoro wasn't exactly someone you had long conversations with, so it was plausible that he was just hungry.

"Do you have any leftovers?" He looked a bit sheepishly over the counter.

"We just ate" you chuckled.

"Well...I forgot how hungry I was" He sat down, swords clanking at his side.

"You forgot..." You raised your eyebrows at this. He blushed.

"Yeah sometimes I just want to get back to training so bad, I forget how hungry I really am" His stomach rumbled loudly and he looked embarrassed.

Without asking for a better explanation, you took the leftovers out of the fridge and reheated them on the stove, while a single blue eye watched hungrily.

When you eventually pushed a steaming plate towards your crewmate, he looked grateful and dug in with a "thanks!"

He was eating like a starving stray dog, he must have been really hungry.

"Stupid cook usually doesn't heat it up...smug bastard..." he said with his mouth full.

While he ate, you decided to sharpen the kitchen knives a bit, since Sanji loved to work with well kept equipment.

As you started to sharpen them, Zoro almost jumped over the counter: "nooooo!" And ripped the knive from your hand.

"What?" You shrieked at him.

"You're doing it all wrong!" He clutched the small chopping knife to his chest like a newborn.

"I'm doing it like Sanji showed me" you tried to pry it from his hands again.

"Well he's an idiot and incompetent with swords" Zoro stated, looking at the blade.

"I'll sharpen them for you. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't exactly wrong what you did, it was just not perfect. It took me years to perfect the process." He already started to run the side of the blade over the stone, keeping a careful angle and rhythm.

"Take it as thanks for feeding me" He winked.

"You know, steel may be hard, but it needs lots of care to stay sharp" He began lecturing you on his favorite subject - blades. While sharpening every knife in the kitchen, he talked about how he learned his trade. You felt that it really was his biggest passion and listened intently.

Sanji

Home.

For the first time, Sanji felt at home. Whole. Loved. Safe.

His crew was like his family and he knew he could always depend on them. With y/n, he has now gained an unexpected companion.

He lovingly looked at the album she made, it was right next to his cookbooks on the shelf and he took it out just as often.

After all he's been through, he felt he deserved someone like her in his life. He bathed in her appreciation, sucked up all her kindness like a sponge. She wasn't a guy - he could never accept help or gifts like that from a guy - but she also wasn't exactly a lady, high up on a pedestal, unreachable and perfect.

He could talk to her normally, confide in her, be himself. It felt like the purest form of friendship he had ever experienced. He could share his thoughts and feelings with her.

And she helped him in the kitchen, even if she tried to hide it. She kept order while he was away, she helped him prepare meals and made his life a whole lot more relaxed. He had more time for training now, fishing and taking special care of Nami and Robin.

He hummed to himself as he prepared afternoon tea for Nami. He smelled cake, y/n had surely made something in the oven. She used the kitchen now more of her own, after he had made sure that she knew the rules and kept order.

He watched her as she cut two slices of the fresh cake onto plates, loading them on her arm like he taught her and make her way out of the galley.

"Hey, where are you going?" He bend over the counter to catch a glimpse of her as she blushed slightly.

"Just eating out on deck" She mumbled and vanished out of the door.

Sanji got a strange feeling in his stomach. Something wasn't right. He left the tea to cool a bit and followed her outside. She made her way over the sunny's deck to a shady corner, where something was lying that looked like a pile of dirty rags to Sanji.

"Mosshead" He growled under his breath.

He felt the knot in his stomach tighten as she kneeled down in the grass and poked Zoro awake. The swordsman smiled broadly as he saw the cake - just as broad as Y/n who watched him take the first bite.

Sanji was already putting together insults in his head, when he stopped for a second to think about why he wanted to ruin this for y/n. She seemed happy. It made him mad.

They began talking. They laughed. Sanji realised he had almost breathed in the whole cigarette with angry puffs. While he was still searching for a good reason in his head to pick a fight with Zoro in this moment, the egg timer he had set for the tea went off and he decided to let it go, for now.

He tried to calm down, but failed miserably. When he served Nami her tea, he couldn't savour her exquisite appearance and the deep cut shirt she wore. Mechanically, he prepared dinner, alone, wondering where Y/n was and what she did. And with whom.

When he decided to go look for her, she was nowhere to be found. Except he didn't want to go look in the crows nest.

You

You regretted not talking to him sooner. Zoro was intimidating at first, but in the end he was just a laid back guy with a strange obsession. He liked swords and fighting, but he was interested in whatever you had to say, too. He listened closely, asking questions that showed you he really cared about what you had to say.

And he seemed more than delighted when you cared for him- reminded him to take a break and especially if you brought him food. He trained hard every day, he needed to eat a lot to keep up his strength.

Usually, gruff and buff wasn't your type, but Zoro turned out to have a charm of his own and you found yourself thinking less and less about Sanji the more time you spend away from him.

Whatever this was, one question burned on your mind before you let your feelings grow any further.

You sat with Zoro in the crows nest, talking about the last adventures and eating rice balls.

"Zoro, I know you've been sailing with Nami for a long time now. Do you...uhm...like her?" Your emphasis made clear what exactly you meant.

Zoro almost choked on his meal.

"What? Like? That egotistical, lying gold digging hag???" He seemed appaled at the idea, "Why are you even asking me this?"

"Most men seem to love her, I just wondered. She is really hot." You avoided looking at him.

"I don't care for that" He said.

"Why?" You had to ask. You've seen how he wasn't in the least interesting in women like Boa Hancock, Shirahoshi or even Hyori- who clearly wanted him.

He just shrugged. "Why should I? Dating a hot girl doesn't make me stronger." He seemed to think for a moment.

"You know what makes me stronger? When someone looks out for me, brings me food, listens to what I have to say" He looked at the onigiri you made for him, an than his serious gaze was set on you.

"Know what I mean?" His question sounded meaningful, like even he didn't dare to clearly state his mind.

"I guess so" you looked away.

Shit.

You weren't sure if you just ruined something that hasn't even started. Not even sure if he really meant anything at all.

"I'm sorry Sanji hurt you" he said out of the blue,"Just say the word and I'll whip his bony ass and cut his hair" a sinister smile played around Zoro's lips, you were sure he really meant it.

The talk with Zoro left you confused, but also excited and full of energy. You spend the whole next day occupied in a flurry of different feelings. Insecure how to act around him, you avoided Zoro, who respectfully kept his distance.

You were ripped from your thoughts by the sound of a hard impact on the ship - an attack?

You hurried to deck, were you found Zoro and Sanji at each others throats.

"Stop it you two!" Nami shouted at them.

"Not until he apologises!" Sanji aimed a fiery kick at the swordsman, who blocked with one of his blades.

"Apologise? You are the one who should be apologising - to y/n!" Zoro growled as he drew his second sword.

The two clashed, rocking the ship. Everyone was on deck now to watch the spectacle.

"I would never hurt her, stop saying that!" Sanji kicked against Zoro's crossed swords.

"Seems they're fighting over you, so it's your problem now" Nami said as she passed you, retreating into the ship.

Fighting - over you?

You watched helplessly as the two big hitters of your pirate crew clashed and fought.

"Stop it now!" You screamed and both didn't look at you, still locked in combat and pushing against each other.

"Go back inside y/n, I'll deal with this mosshead, he won't bother you anymore" Sanji shouted.

"Bother her? Y/n tell that stupid cook that you like hanging out with me way more than with him!" Zoro grinned maliciously as he realised he just set off Sanji more.

"No, you stop RIGHT NOW", you stomped your foot like an angry child, but they stopped, kind of. With a last clash they flew in opposite directions and landed on different sides of the sunny, still eyeing each other suspiciously.

Zoro was the first to stop, he slid his swords back into their sheaths and turned to you.

"I just told him that he should apologise for breaking your heart. You're far too good for him." He paused and swallowed. "And also...I think you're better off with me" He straightened nervously and avoided your gaze.

"NoooooOOOOOO" Sanji's protest grew louder as he dashed to you. He looked distressed, his usually neat hair in disarray. He bowed slightly, his voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

"I know I have no right to tell you this anymore. I hurt you because I was too stupid to even see you. But I've.." he swallowed audibly, "I've come to love you over the last weeks. You're not just my friend; you're the person who makes my world brighter, who I would do anything for. I can't imagine my life without you in it" he theatrically sank to his knees, "only the thought of losing you to another man made me realize that."

‐----

So tumblr postet stuff again without asking me, so the whole piece is not done yet, I'm Sorry xD but it'll be finalised in the next days

What's going to happen now?

Chose Zoro

Chose Sanji

Taglist @sophsgloom @nim-rose @iloveartofcartoons-blog @caffeinated-chicken-nuggets @mugiwarasoul19 @yeeeeezly @atanukileaf @rosemaplefairy90 @carpinchootaku @corvinalitbitina

#one piece fanfiction #one piece x you #vinsmoke sanji #roronoa zoro #op sanji #sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x reader #sanji fanfic #one piece zoro #zoro x female reader #zoro x you #zoro x reader

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toxicstarboy · 3 months

Text

I Miss Your Warm Hands

Warning(s): toxic! male reader, reader is a cheater, reader was (is) a player, manipulation, toxicity, mention of harsh past for reader, mention of sexual abuse, and tbh Felix deserves way better.

no summary because i just don’t want to and because i want you guys to read it with “suspense” 😈

The blonde male sits on the couch. He didn’t want to go upstairs. Especially when he can hear the loud moans and whimpers from down where he sat. Felix couldn’t find the courage in his body to stand up to yell, cry, or scream at his beloved. He knew that it was mostly his fear for the future between the two. Plus, Felix also knew that M/n would do or say something to ease his mind.

Felix didn’t know what to do, but he would just have to wait until his boyfriend was done with whoever was in their bed. His eyes were leaking tears as he thought about the unknown man or woman in his bed with his lover. ‘How could he do this?’ He questions himself. Felix sniffles as he wipes his nose, but his eyes slightly widen when he hears the footsteps coming down the stairs.

Felix keeps his gaze in front of him. He tried to tune out how M/n and whoever he was with were talking at the front door. How could M/n act like he wasn’t there? Felix was so confused, frustrated, and overall sad. He stays seated as he heard the soft sound of his lover kissing and saying goodbye to his side piece. Felix grabs the wine bottle in front of him and opens it. He takes a long and delightful drink. He holds onto the bottle as he burps softly. The cushion on the couch next to him reforming when M/n sat on it.

“Sweetheart?” M/n whispers as he stares at Felix. Felix’s eyes firing more tears as he brings the bottle back up. He takes a large swig. Felix turns his head to M/n, “…Wh..How could you do that?” Felix asks as the tears go down his face. M/n sighs and looks down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” M/n says, clearly trying to play the clueless act. Felix scoffs, “You’re cheating on me, and all you can do it ask what I’m talking about?” Felix slightly shouts. He sets the bottle down on the coffee table and stands up.

M/n stands up as well and immediately grabs Felix’s hands. All for Felix to snatch them away. “I didn’t cheat on you. I’d never cheat on you.” M/n says as he shakes his head. “Why would I cheat on you? I love you too much to do that!” M/n says as he tries to keep his voice down. Felix laughs dryly as he pushes onto M/n’s chest harshly. He knew it would have no impact on M/n, but he wanted to cause him some sort of pain. Felix sobs softly, “You’re such a liar. You never loved me. How can I trust what you say when you just fucked someone else?” Felix yells at M/n.

Felix obviously shorter than him, so looking up at him was his only choice. But Felix didn’t want to look at the man before him. He was disgusted, but, for some reason, he didn’t know why he didn’t hate M/n. Even after he heard and knew of M/n’s secret affairs. M/n clicks his tongue and steps forward gripping Felix’s wrists. M/n putting his face in front of Felix’s, looking straight into his eyes. “I really do love you. I..We can get over this.” M/n whispers.

Felix looks at M/n in disbelief. “We? We will do nothing. You are such a fool, an idiot of all things.” Felix states as he glares at M/n. M/n takes a deep breath, “Yeah, you’re right, but you make me that way sweetheart. You make me fall too deep. I turn into a fool whenever I think, hear, and or see you. I could never love anyone like I do you..” M/n said as his hands rest on Felix’s waist. “You’ll just have to trust me. She seduced me. It wasn’t my fault, you know that.” M/n runs his thumb along Felix’s hips.

M/n looks away as his eyes water. The manipulation in his eyes, but Felix looked over that. Felix listened to the sweet words M/n spoke. His gaze looking at M/n’s “innocent” facade. Felix didn’t know what to believe. And M/n knew one last thing to say to push Felix over the edge. “I know I’m not the best, but I’m trying to be. You don’t deserve what I do to you. I love you way too much. I’m trying to put the past to the past, but you know it’s hard for me. I don’t like making you feel this way.” M/n’s words powerful. The look on his face and his words making Felix sniffle.

Felix knew there was a chance that M/n was just speaking what he wanted to hear. But Felix also knew of M/n’s past. Being sexually abused by his family for years had impacted M/n hugely. It turned M/n into a player. A player who used people’s bodies because it brought him pleasure. Felix brings his hands up and sobs into them. M/n was a victim, a victim of only knowing sexual love. Felix’s conscious slowly forgiving him as he thought about it. Felix couldn’t hold this against M/n.

M/n steps forward and hugs Felix tightly. “I’ll love you forever, even if you hate me.” M/n mutters. M/n kisses Felix’s forehead, “let me show you my love sweetheart.” M/n mumbles against Felix’s skin. M/n’s lips kissing Felix’s cheek, neck, and collarbone. M/n moves his lips against Felix before he kisses him passionately. Felix giving in and kissing him back just as intense. M/n smirked against Felix’s lips. M/n knew that he had Felix where he wanted him. He would continue to do as he pleased knowing Felix would come back. Felix could never resist M/n, and M/n couldn’t leave Felix or his desires behind.

Hoped y’all enjoyed it! I really went deep with this one. And I didn’t really know what brought up this idea. If you guys liked it please request something, and by something, I mean ANYTHINGGGG!!

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deliciousangelfestival · 8 months

Text

Silent Heir, Hidden Danger - 4

Character: Lawyer!Bucky x Female Character

Summary: She suddenly inherits a fortune from an unknown father, navigating dark secrets with lawyer Bucky Barnes in a suspenseful journey of deception.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , -

Main Masterlist

Bucky guided Y/N to the clandestine refuge owned by Max, hidden from prying eyes, a sanctuary reserved for moments of respite amidst the chaos of the mafia world.

Y/N, eyeing the surroundings with uncertainty, voiced her doubts. "Are you sure this place is safe?"

Bucky, glancing around to ensure their privacy, reassured her, "Max kept this place off the radar for years. It's our temporary sanctuary, away from prying eyes. Trust me, we'll be safe here."

As they entered Max's secret haven, Y/N's gaze wandered across the walls adorned with photographs capturing moments from her life, moments she was entirely unaware were being observed.

The images depicted her and her mother, frozen in candid snapshots that felt like stolen glimpses into their private world.

Sensing Y/N's contemplative mood, Bucky began to shed light on Max's clandestine efforts. "Max wanted to protect you, Y/N. He had someone watching over you and your mom all these years."

Her expression a mix of disbelief and frustration, retorted, "His efforts were useless. There were times when we were kicked out, left homeless, and Max never lifted a finger to help."

Y/N's gaze lingered on the pictures, a mix of resignation and bitterness etched on her face. "Forget it, Bucky. What's the point?"

She sighed, her voice carrying the weight of years of unanswered questions. "He's dead, and I never met him. I doubt my mother even knows her ex-husband is gone."

Aware of the complexity of emotions within Y/N, Bucky chose his words carefully. "I understand, Y/N. It's a lot to take in. But there's still more to the story, more layers to uncover. We need to figure out why he kept this place a secret, why he had someone watch over you all these years."

A hint of frustration in her tone, replied, "I don't need answers from a dead man. I need real answers. And I need to know why he never showed up when we were struggling. This," she gestured to the hidden haven, "doesn't change anything for me."

Bucky, sensing the exhaustion in both their eyes, gently suggested, "You should rest, Y/N. We both need it." He looked around the concealed sanctuary, a rare refuge safeguarded by Max's secrecy. "This place is secure. Max made sure no one knew about it."

Y/N, reluctantly acknowledging the need for respite, nodded. "Fine, but I still don't understand why he had to keep this place hidden."

As Y/N settled in, Bucky reflected on the revelation. "I found out about this place when Max had a stroke. He called me for help, and that's when I learned about the lengths he went to keep it a secret."

Y/N, her curiosity piqued, asked Bucky, "Why did Max hide his sickness? Was he afraid of something?"

Bucky, with a knowing look, replied, "Pride, Y/N. Max was the leader of the mafia, the Pope of the underworld. Showing weakness wasn't in his nature."

Y/N, a mix of shock and realization on her face, questioned further, "If I receive the money, does that mean I'm supposed to replace Max?"

Bucky chuckled, dispelling the notion. "Impossible, Y/N. Max's shoes are too big to fill. It's a different world, and you're not meant to step into his role."

Yet, as Bucky's words echoed in the hidden refuge, a subtle uncertainty lingered.

Deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that Max, in his unpredictability, might have orchestrated a game with rules yet to be revealed—a game that could reshape the destiny of the Wolfe legacy in ways neither Y/N nor Bucky could foresee.

#######

The next day

As the early light seeped into Max's secret refuge, Bucky roused from his brief respite. He quietly moved through the concealed space with a sense of purpose, his footsteps masked by the hushed ambiance.

As the dawn painted the room in soft hues, he approached Max's impressive collection of firearms, selecting a weapon that resonated with familiarity.

Draping himself in a bulletproof vest, Bucky meticulously secured each strap, a tangible shield against the uncertainties that lay beyond the sanctuary's walls.

With the weight of the gun in his hand and the protective vest snug against his chest, Bucky cast a final glance at Y/N, still in peaceful slumber. As he moved towards the hidden exit of the refuge, a creak echoed through the room, catching his attention.

Startled, Bucky gripped the firearm tighter. He scanned the room, suspicions heightening. The concealed sanctuary, meant to be a haven, now harbored a whisper of intrusion. Someone had breached Max's fortress of solitude.

Y/N stirred, roused by the subtle disturbance. "Bucky, what's happening?" she asked, her eyes searching for clarity.

Bucky, his instincts on high alert, responded in a hushed tone, "We've got company, Y/N. Stay low and stay quiet."

Bucky's tension eased slightly as the hidden door swung open, revealing the unexpected visitor. At the entrance was Leonard, Max's notary—an unexpected but seemingly innocuous figure. Y/N, however, couldn't hide her shock.

"You? Leonard, Max's notary?" Y/N's disbelief was palpable as she struggled to reconcile the unassuming man before her with the mysterious figure overseeing her father's legal affairs.

Leonard is her neighbor. He always helps her and her mother whenever they need help in their apartment.

Leonard, with a calm demeanor, nodded. "Yes, I've been handling Max's legal matters for years."

Bucky, still cautious, eyed Leonard. "What brings you here? And how did you find this place?"

Leonard's gaze shifted, revealing a trace of hesitation. "Max trusted me with a key to this refuge. He foresaw the need for a secure location, especially considering the recent developments."

Leonard, sensing Y/N's lingering questions, chose his words carefully. "Max cared deeply for you and your mother, Y/N. His life's work, however, placed constraints on the ways he could show it. He was aware of your struggles, but direct assistance would have brought danger to your doorstep."

Y/N, grappling with conflicting emotions, Y/N asked, "So he watched us from afar, knowing we needed help?"

Leonard nodded. "In his world, showing vulnerability is a perilous game. If he intervened openly, it would have exposed his weaknesses, putting you both in even greater danger. The secrecy was his way of safeguarding you."

Y/N, still grappling with the weight of revelations, expressed her frustration. "I don't understand Max's way of thinking. Now, with all this secrecy, I've not only inherited his fortune but also the danger that comes with it. My step-siblings will be after me."

Leonard, empathetic but resolute, responded, "Max's world was complex, Y/N. He wanted to protect you, but it came at the cost of unveiling his vulnerabilities. The danger is real, but we can navigate it together. There's more to uncover, and your safety remains our priority."

Choosing his words carefully, Leonard responded, "Y/N, Max's decisions were strategic, even when it came to the people he involved. Bucky has a crucial role in ensuring your safety. He's more than just a lawyer; he's your guardian in this intricate game."

Bucky, caught off guard, echoed, "Huh?"

Leonard, unraveling another layer of Max's plans, dropped a revelation that left Bucky stunned. "Max wanted Bucky to replace him."

Bucky, incredulous, echoed, "What?"

Leonard continued, "Max had reservations about his sons. He didn't trust them to lead the empire he built. He believed in Bucky's capability and loyalty."

As Bucky grappled with Max's unexpected sense of appreciation, Y/N, in contrast, still felt like an outsider in this unfolding saga.

Leonard, recognizing her uncertainty, sought to provide clarity. "Y/N, you deserve this money. Max had been sending financial support to your mother, but it was consistently blocked by his other wives. This inheritance is not just about wealth; it's about rectifying the injustices Max's complicated life inadvertently caused."

This information fueled Y/N's anger. The inheritance, initially a symbol of opportunity, now bore the weight of injustice. The realization that Max's support had been obstructed by his other wives intensified the storm of emotions within her.

The revelation took an unexpected turn. Leonard disclosed, "Max intended to appoint Bucky as his successor, but with a condition – you marrying him."

Y/N, caught off guard vehemently opposed the idea. "Marry Bucky? I can't marry this madman!"

Leonard, offering a counter, explained, "Y/N, you need the money to settle the debts your family has accumulated. This is Max's way of ensuring your financial security."

Frustration etched on her face, Y/N gritted her teeth. The intricate web of mafia dynamics unfolded before her, revealing a path fraught with danger and the stark realities of obligation and compromise.

Upon pressing the situation's urgency, Leonard explained, "Y/N, you need Bucky for protection. Max's will has brought your existence into the spotlight. Everyone in the underworld now knows about you, and without the safeguard of a marriage to Bucky, you'll be vulnerable."

Leonard, delivering the final blow of necessity, revealed, "Your mother will be the next target as well. If Bucky becomes the leader, it ensures a shield over both of you. No one in the underworld will dare to touch your family."

The stark reality of the situation hung in the air. Once shrouded in mystery, the legacy Max had crafted now demanded a sacrifice that extended beyond Y/N's personal reservations.

"Max's funeral in two days, attended by other mafia leaders, and they'll choose the next leader on the same day. This is happening so fast," she remarked, a tinge of anxiety in her voice.

Leonard's words echoed through the room, setting the stage for the imminent challenges ahead. Y/N turned to Bucky, concern etched on her face.

Bucky, his gaze steady, replied, "The underworld moves swiftly. We can't afford to delay. We need to be there, navigate through the shadows, and ensure we play our cards right."

After Leonard's departure, Bucky, with a pragmatic tone, turned to Y/N. "Well, we should get our marriage certificate."

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4 ,-

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