#update: still staring at the lamp

[stardew-obsessed-ora]

i redecorated my stardew home (will post once stardew stops shitting itself) and morris just keeps staring at everything.

i LOVE the enthusiasm real glad I made the decisions I did (id also zone out staring at a lamp for 2 hours. can't judge)

(i thought he was going toward the kid but no he just stops dead in front of the lamp and stays there)

[erwinsvow]

you had lived in the house next to tannyhill your entire life. though it was smaller, much less grand and a little older, it was home.

your bedroom faced the opposite side of the street, looking out onto the other neighbors. you occasionally ran into sarah and wheezie on the block or during a stroll on your bike and your dad would sometimes be seen talking to ward in the backyard about the weather or the updates to the golf course at the country club.

but in all the years you had been living here, you had never caught the older cameron's attention—at least until the tree poked through your window during the most recent hurricane.

your bedroom—your most sacred space—was now a litter of broken glass and scratched up floors. it would be easy enough to replace, once your parents found someone reliable enough to do it, and the best solution offered to you was relocating temporarily to the guest bedroom. it faced the other side of the street, looking out over the cameron pool and, unbeknownst to you, rafe's bedroom.

at first you just move some of your things in, knowing your parents wanted you to stop running back to your old room until it was fixed. then more things come in, making yourself more comfortable, until it seems that this might as well be your new bedroom. it's easy enough—decorating walls with photos and posters, dragging in your bookshelf and appreciating the joint bathroom a little too much.

you get very comfortable—though you don't realize the curtains in this room are completely sheer. it faces windows of tannyhill that you've never seen another person in, so you assume they must be empty too.

that's when rafe sees you for the first time—changing in your bedroom through his window. you walk in with a white towel wrapped around your body, drying your hair while you pace around. he feels a little green, staring at pretty exposed skin and wet hair like it's the first time he's ever seen a half-naked girl.

you brush your hair and then get closer to the window, a foot perched on the windowsill while you rub lotion onto your legs, and then your arms. rafe's still staring, and though he's sure he looks like a creep if you glanced up and at him, he doesn't stop. finally you get to your neck, and just when he thinks you've finished, you loosen the towel and let it fall to the floor.

all the blood rushes out of his head—watching your hands massage in lotion to the soft skin of your stomach, your back, finally stopping at your tits before you're out of his eyeshot. when you get back in, you're holding clothes in your hand, slipping into a big t-shirt and a pair of panties. he can even make out their blue color from how hard he's staring.

it's a little late—the sun's gone down but your room is still illuminated with light. he sees you crawl into your bed, getting under the covers and picking up a book from the nightstand. like an idiot, he keep staring until you turn your lamp off and go to bed, and like an idiot, he's still hard.

the next morning—after an entire evening spent trying to resist staring at your sleeping form—he goes downstairs to ask someone about you.

"who's the new neighbor?" rafe tries to ask it but it comes out more like a demand—wheezie looks up at him confused and sarah ignores him.

"huh?" his younger sister questions back, looking up from her breakfast. "what new neighbor?"

"on the pool side. saw a new girl. when did they move in?"

"what are you talking about, rafe?" sarah says. "she's always lived there. how are you this ignorant?"

"well, i've never fuckin' seen her before-" he thinks he's starting to get a little angry—maybe more at himself. how is it that he's never seen you before? how is it that you're dumb enough to leave a window uncovered enough for him to stare at you all night, naked, no less?

"dad said the neighbor's tree fell into a window. that's why he's getting the one by their room cut down, they said it was really bad-"

"that's so horrible. the tree was there first-"

rafe steps away, back up to his bedroom and his view of you. you're not there now, he saw you leave the room earlier. he can't help it—he wonders where you went.

that night, the same thing happens. it's terrible—he even turns the light off in his bedroom so you don't get alarmed. you come in around seven, talking on the phone with someone, juggling ice cream and shopping bags. you hang up the phone a little later, putting on something on your television and eating the ice cream from your bed.

he should've stopped looking the second you lick melting ice cream from your fingers, but he doesn't. he watches you pick up your towel and walk away, coming back wrapped in it just like yesterday. same as then, you put on lotion, taking extra time to blowdry your hair. you don't read tonight—probably too tired, he guesses—and go straight to bed. after he's sure you're asleep, he flicks his light back on.

it goes on for longer than he realizes, longer than he expects. it's fun watching your little routine, how oblivious you are to the fact that he's watching it. and you seem nice—sweet, even, with the way you smile brightly whenever your parents come into your room, the way you swing your feet when you're on the phone.

he does a little more digging—true to what his idiot sisters said, you've lived in this house forever. you've been a few hundred feet away this entire time.

like every night—he flicks off his bedroom light at eight. you bounce in, doing everything you always do, exactly the way you always do it. something seems different though—you don't seem tired, crawling into your yellow sheets a little too early.

rafe stands up so fast when he realizes what you're doing, he almost knocks his chair flat to the ground. one hand snaking into your panties—pink tonight—and the other under your t-shirt, you rock against your hands. your room is only lit up with the light of a faint lamp, but it's enough for him to see everything—the way your face contorts into pleasure, the moan you try to muffle with the back of your hand, when you finally cave and take off your shirt.

he keeps staring, about as hard as he's ever been, watches you give up on your hand and fold a pillow in half instead, mounting it and giving him the show he didn't realize he'd been waiting for. and fuck, it's perfect, exactly how he thought you'd be.

rafe doesn't realize he's doing it, palming himself before giving in and taking out his dick, angry and red already, watching you. his own strokes match your pace against the pillow, and it doesn't take long at all—you cum with your head pressed against your sheets and he cums into his hand, so close to the window his breath fogs up the glass.

he gives in twice more—repeating the events of that night when you touch yourself again. the other times he's content just to watch you, not sure when that become such a pleasure in and of itself.

one night you come home with some shopping bags—nothing new. you strip down and try on a pretty white dress with orange flowers, tight where it needs to be yet nothing you couldn't wear around family. you twirl around your room, and then call someone on the phone.

he doesn't know how the thought gets in—maybe because your window was a little cracked and his was open all the way, sound traveling through the window and the words he hears leads to the idea of you, going on a date with someone else, in that dress, plants itself in his mind.

rafe paces around his room, not even caring if you see. you can't go on a date, not with anyone but himself, and the very idea that you'd do something like that makes him angry. it's irrational, though he hardly cares, all he can think about is how to make sure it doesn't happen.

the next night—saturday—you get dolled up, though rafe's not there to watch this time. you put on makeup and even do your hair all pretty, slipping into the dress and tidying your room before making your way downstairs. your date said he'd swing by around seven to get you—and though he didn't seem the type, he was already ten minutes late.

you wait on your front porch for another ten, before deciding to send a text. it bounces back. you call him, but it goes straight to voicemail. with the bitter realization that you've been stood up almost twenty minutes later, you're about to go back inside with watery eyes, when you hear the sound of footsteps in the distance.

"hi, is that you?" you call out uncertainly into the night. your porch lights are dim, only giving you a little glimpse of a man walking towards your home from the street. but he's not coming from your driveway—he's coming from the side, from the cameron house.

when he gets closer, you see that it's rafe cameron—the boy you've been living next to for years but haven't ever spoken to. even if you didn't know your neighbors and his sisters, you'd still remember him—you only nursed a crush on him for years.

"rafe?"

"hey, kid. what're you doin' out here all alone?"

"i.." you stop yourself short—you don't want to tell him you've been waiting for your date, it feels wrong. "i was just waiting for someone. um, what're you-" rafe doesn't let you finish.

"yeah, he's not comin'. not tonight, not ever."

"what?" nervous, frightened, your knees start to shake, feeling like you need to get far away right now.

"i said he's not coming. neither is anyone else. not goin' on any dates. get inside and get upstairs."

"rafe?" you question again, big eyes staring at your neighbor, fearful and confused.

"are you gonna make me repeat myself?" he asks, and almost automatically, you shake your head, complying, but still don't move. "go to your room."

you dart inside. rafe can hear your feet sprinting up the stairs. he turns off your porch light and walks inside your house, up the stairs, until he's face to face with your door with his hand on the knob. he twists, realizing you left it unlocked.

[janaispunk]

sun is going down

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, blood, guns, i think that’s it?

a/n: i’m ridiculously nervous about sharing this story, it has been on my mind for over a year and i’ve been too intimidated to start working on it for the longest time. i really hope that someone likes it haha

follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The alarm goes off in the middle of the night. You shoot up, your body on high alert, your heart beating rapidly, before your mind is even fully awake.

Probably just a false one, you try telling yourself as you make your way to the office. You’ve never had a false alarm, but– one can hope, right?

The place is plunged into darkness, no windows for any moonlight to seep through. You turn on the camera feed, squinting at the grainy screen. There’s movement in the living room, two people, from what you can make out. Not infected, judging from the way they’re moving, but one of them seems to be injured. Please don’t be raiders. There isn’t much to loot in the house, but the anxiety is already settling in your chest, threatening to crawl up your throat.

You turn on the sound and a panicked girl’s voice rings through the room as if you were standing right next to her.

“Fuck, Joel, wake up. Joel, please–”

It’s eerily similar to words that you’ve said once, the memory still fresh, even now. You wonder if your voice was as thick with tears then as that girl’s is right now.

Not again. Not in this house, not while you’re watching, unable to do anything. Not again.

You still hear it, the echo in your mind clear as ever. Keep them safe. Promise me. The promise you failed to keep.

Unblinking, you stare at the screen, your mind running a mile a minute. This could be a trap. They could have been watching, could have somehow figured you out. Or, the tiny voice in the back of your head insists, or they really need help.

The girl is pleading for the man to hold on, to not fall asleep. The desperation in her tone is tearing at you, urging you into action. Fuck it, you have to do something.

You grab your gun from the wall and slowly make your way up the stairs, ignoring the anxious trembling in your hands. Maybe this is how you die.

Leaning your back against the wall, you take a deep breath, a fruitless attempt to calm yourself, and switch on the lamp outside. You can’t hear them anymore, but knowing that the living room is now bathed in light, you’re certain that they’re on high alert now. Shit shit shit. You steel yourself, undo the complicated lock and push the heavy door open.

Please don’t let it be a trap.

They’re both staring at you, a young girl standing in front of a man, lying on the ground, taking panting breaths. She’s pointing a gun straight at you, as if she’s trying to shield his larger body with hers. The weapon looks much too big in her hands.

The memory of a similar image tugs at the back of your mind, but you shove it away. Stay in the present, stay right here.

You clear your throat, raising your hands slightly. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to another living person. Your voice cracks.

“I– I don’t mean you any harm. I live here, I saw you on– on the cameras.”

The girl furrows her brow, her eyes flitting across the room.

“They’re hidden, you won’t– Listen, I just want to help, I promise.”

The sound of your voice wavers, almost unfamiliar to your own ears. The girl lowers her gun a fraction, but the distrust is written all over her face. You can’t blame her. You clear your throat again, willing your hands to stop shaking.

“Your dad, is he– has he been bitten?” Please say no, please say no, please say no.

She shakes her head quickly. An expression that you can’t place flies over her features. Thank god.

“He’s not my– no. He got– he got stabbed.”

You can tell that she tries to sound strong, brave, but you recognize the panic in her eyes. You see it often enough when you look into the mirror.

You take another steadying breath. You can do this.

“Okay. I can help with that, if– if you want. I have medicine, bandages…”

Hope flashes over her face, mixed with the obvious conflict of not trusting you.

“You can come downstairs, it’s safer there. I– I should turn the lights back off.”

You’re painfully aware of how bright the house must shine through the darkness, from how far away it’s probably visible right now. Your nerves are fluttering anxiously.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Just– let me help you.”

She swallows, hard, and fixes you with a stare.

“It’s just you down there?”

You nod in silent confirmation, not trusting your voice on this. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to admit it to anyone but yourself.

The girl sighs, her head turning between you and the man behind her a few times, surely seeking guidance from him, but his eyes are halfway shut, his lips trembling. Your gaze falls on the dark red stain on his shirt.

Don’t look, don’t think- Just focus on this, right now, right here.

You tell her your name, promise again that it’s safe. Finally, she nods timidly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You nod back at her, give her a small smile that she doesn’t return. “I’ll come closer now, we’ll carry him, alright?”

The girl looks at the man again. Her body tenses when you near them, but together you manage to get him back on his feet and half walk, half carry him. You push the door open wider and heave him down the stairs.

In the back of your mind, you take note of the sound of multiple feet walking down the steps, and how long it’s been since… No. Stay in the present.

You prop him up on the couch, where the girl keeps hovering by his side while you rush up again to close and lock the door and turn off the lights. Next, you throw open the bathroom cabinet, gathering all the material that you might need.

You return and crouch down beside him, lying your things out on the table, and take a closer look, your fingers halting over him. He’s watching you through lidded eyes, a sheen of sweat on his pale face.

“What’s his name?” you ask, looking up at the girl.

“Joel,” she answers reluctantly. “I’m Ellie.”

“Hi, Ellie.” You hope your smile looks sincere, not betraying how nervous you are right now. How shaky the sight of his blood-soaked shirt makes you feel.

“Okay, Joel?” you address him directly. He only manages a tired hum in return. “I’m gonna clean this and try stitching you up. It’s gonna hurt, I have painkillers, if you–”

But he shakes his head, humming again.

“Alright,” you sigh, and get to work.

You explain what you’re doing with every step, to calm both their and your own nerves. You know how to do this, you’ve trained for this. The wound doesn’t look too deep and you pray that there’s no organ damage involved, because you don’t have the means to treat that properly, but it doesn’t look like it. There seems to be an infection spreading though, so you gather some antibiotics as well, hoping that they’ll still work the way they’re supposed to. Joel inhales sharply a few times, but seems to be out of it for most of the time, which you’re grateful for.

“How did this happen?” you ask, looking up at Ellie who’s still standing beside you, watching intently over what you’re doing.

“Raiders,” she mutters. “It was a broken baseball bat, I think.”

“Jesus,” you sigh. You wonder how they got out, your thoughts circling back to the gun in her hands, and you suppress a shudder. “Are you injured too?” you ask, deciding not to press her about the attack.

“No,” comes her quiet answer. You don’t catch the way she averts her eyes.

“Alright,” mumble eventually and straighten up. You’ve cleaned and bandaged the wound to the best of your ability and now you just have to hope that it will be enough.

“Do you want something to eat?” you ask the girl, who has taken to sit beside the couch on the ground, now that you’ve moved away from it. Her face lights up at the question and she nods eagerly.

You get two bowls of the soup that you’ve had for dinner for the both of you and she has already had a few spoonfuls before she eyes you warily.

“It’s not poisoned or something, is it?”

You huff a laugh and keep eating yours, holding her gaze with raised eyebrows. “Does it look like it?”

“Um, no…” she trails off, swallowing another spoonful and sighing at the taste. You wonder how long it’s been since they ate something. “You could have poisoned only mine though.”

“Well I didn’t,” you grin. It feels foreign, talking to another person, another child, but a warmth is slowly spreading through you that has nothing to do with the soup.

She wakes Joel and gets him to swallow a little soup as well as some water before he collapses back on the couch, his eyes closed and his breath evening out.

“Why do you… have all this?” she asks eventually, setting her bowl down on the table and looking around the room, the wood-covered walls and the multiple doors.

“My dad built it,” you reply, forcing your voice to stay neutral. “B–before.”

She hums in acknowledgement, her eyes still full of wonder.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you hear yourself say, “until he gets better, I mean.”

You don’t know if you’re being reckless, if this will be the thing that finally gets you killed, but it seems too elaborate to be a trap. And maybe, just maybe you like the idea of not being alone down here, even just for a short while, a little too much. She thanks you, her expression just as weary as you feel.

You offer that she can wash up if she wants, use the shower, that you could give her some clothes of yours. You’re still not sure if you’re doing the right thing, or if you’re just being incredibly stupid, but the sight of her worn down shirt and the way her hair is matted down with dirt makes your heart swell with the wish to care for her.

Her eyes flicker nervously between Joel and the bathroom door a few times, but eventually she agrees. While the shower runs, you settle down on the armchair across from the couch, sinking into the cushions, your knees pulled up to your chin, your eyes resting on the sleeping man. He’s huge, taking up the whole length of it, his feet dangling over the armrest, overwhelming even in his unconscious state.

You really hope that they’re good people. He could overpower you easily, there’s no doubt of that. You might not be a terrible fighter, but you don’t think that you’d be a match for him.

Your gaze lingers on his face, the strong shape of his nose, the pout of his lower lip, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. His fingers are twitching, one wrist adorned with a broken watch.

Ellie exits the bathroom again, clad in your old clothes, her damp hair dripping into the neckline of the t-shirt, like a younger version of you. It makes your heart ache.

Now that the adrenaline is rushing from your body, you realize how weird all this really is. You haven’t spoken to anybody in years and now there’s two people here, in your space. Maybe you’ve finally lost it for good.

You show her to the biggest of the four bedrooms, the only one that no one has ever slept in. It’s easier, opening this door, than the two other ones that you keep shut. You debate moving Joel from the couch to the bed, Ellie mumbling about his back, but ultimately you decide against it.

“Okay,” you hesitate, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m in the room right next to you, if you need anything… Just– please don’t murder me in my sleep, okay?”

She mirrors your wry smile. “I won’t if you won’t.”

You nod and leave the room, praying that you’re making the right call here. You’re doing something good, right? And no one would plan an ambush like this. Would they?

You heave a sigh and retreat to your own bedroom, your gun clutched tightly in your grasp. You doubt that it would save you, not against that man who’s currently softly snoring on your couch. Still, it makes you feel a little better. You turn the lock on your door too, just in case.

When you sink back under the covers, eyes still wide open and staring into the darkness, a small smile creeps onto your lips despite your worries.

It’s not the way it was, it will never be that way again. But not being the only soul down here fills you with the ghost of a warmth that you had thought you’d never feel again.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[latenightdaydreams]

will there ever be an update to the trucker konig series?

Yes! Thank you all so much for being so patient with me!

Trucker!König x Stranded!Reader Part 5 (fem)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4

Final Part

MDNI🔞

Master List

🚫Massive Triggers for self harm.🚫

>cw: fem/afab, pregnancy, self harm, cptsd, breastmilk

2.6k word count

🚚

Tag list: @vivasab0tage, @teddy2510, @nexthyperfix, @nachofriess, @mariapallett, @prettystrangething, @smolduck126, @vampie-com, @sagedbelladonna

.

.

Now you’re eight months pregnant. The reality that you might have this baby with König weighs heavily on you. His paranoia has gotten so much worse since seeing the flier. He’s blacked out all the windows in the bedroom. Day in and day out, you sit in darkness other than a single lamp. He doesn’t let you leave the top floor of the house anymore, and you spend most of your days in the bedroom. Dark circles have formed under your eyes and your body has grown weaker.

This morning, König comes in and removes your restraints, bringing you to his bathroom. He turns on the shower and pulls your stained night gown over your head.  His hand goes to your breast instantly and squeezes some milk out. A smile crosses his lips as he leans in and latches to you, squeezing your breast while he sucks.

The sweet milk filling his mouth make his moan, his cock getting hard in his pants. “I’m going to have to keep you pregnant. I can’t go without this.” His lips wrap back around your nipple and sucks.

König pulls his head back with a pop, milk still spraying from your nipples. He wipes his face before opening the shower curtains and gesturing you to enter.

“Clean yourself well. The doctors coming and I want him to see how well I keep you.”

Once in the shower you roll your eyes. König times you on how long you can take in here, so you quickly wash your body. He doesn’t allow you time to enjoy it. When you step out, he has to be the one to dry you before picking you back up and bringing you to the bed room. On the bed was a beautiful lavender maternity shirt and a pair of maternity leggings. König puts you down on your feet for you to get dressed.

“You look so beautiful, Maus. Our baby boy will be here sooner than you think.” König’s voice was cheerful. His eyes scanned your pregnant body up and down like a hungry wolf.

Your tired eyes meet his, you give him a weak smile. Once dressed, you look at yourself in the full-length mirror. The person you see staring back at you isn’t someone you recognize. You look as if you’re wasting away, the large parasite inside of you transforming your body into one you don’t recognize. The light in your eyes is gone, leaving behind an empty dead stare. Mirrors have become your enemy.

König walks up behind you and hugs you, his hands caressing your large swollen belly. His touch sends chills up your spine. You just want to be free.

“Remember to smile.” He whispers in your ear.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. König gives you a look, as if you should be on your best behavior, before turning and going downstairs to open the door. You walk over to the bed and lay down. His bed is much nicer than the one he has for you in your room.

“Mom is in here.” König says opening his bedroom door and in came the man with him. König has never told you his name, but to just call him doctor.

“How are you doing, y/n?” The doctor asks as he sets up his equipment on the dresser near the bed.

“I’ve been well.” You smile cheerfully and look at König to make sure you’re doing well.

“Good. Have you been feeling a lot of activity?”

The doctor sits on a chair next to your bed and lifts your shirt. He squeezes out blue gel on your stomach, placing the ultrasound transducer on to your stomach and spreads the gel around.

“Yes. He’s very active.” You watch the doctor's every move.

On the small screen you can see the shape of your baby. Usually, a mother would love to see this, but you can’t bear to look at the screen. König’s blue eyes were gleaming with happiness as the doctor checked the baby; all he does is tell you how long he’s waited to be a dad.

The doctor pulls away and König hands you a towel to wipe your stomach off with. They spoke about the due date approaching and my birth plan. At home, only König and the doctor. You lower your shirt but stay laying in his bed.

With a hand extended, the doctor comes over to say goodbye to you. “I’ll see you again in a few weeks. Hopefully, the baby will be ready to come.”

“Yes! That would be very good.” König interjects and kisses your forehead. “I’m going to walk him out, Maus. I’ll be back.”

König left you alone in the room. You just lie there relaxing. It feels nice to be in a comfortable bed, no restraints. No restraints…

Thoughts flood your mind when you decide that this is the exact moment you’ve been waiting for. You’re too weak to get up and run away, but you still have one option for escape. Planting your feet firmly on the ground, you pull your body up from the bed. The room is peaceful. The walls were a deep blue with the bright sun coming in through the windows.

You walk up to the window and open in, breathing in the fresh air you’ve been missing the past few months. The sun hits your skin, closing your eyes and letting the breeze blow over your face. Tears forming in your eyes as you open them. Thoughts of the family you left back home flood your mind, you’ll never see them again.

Without closing the window, you walk away and leave his room. Your steps are quiet, making sure König can’t hear you. You walk to the top of the staircase, looking to the left you can see into the nursery. A stuffed wolf is sitting on the rocking chair. Your gaze lingers on it before you close your eyes and let yourself fall forward.

König hears a loud crashing sound. Panic consumes his body as he turns and runs from the kitchen. At the bottom of the staircase, he sees you, face down and blood surrounding your body. Tears form in König’s eye as he kneels in front of you and touches your pulse. You’re still alive.

“You have to take her to the hospital.” The doctor said, König knew he was right.

You wake up, bright lights consume your vision. The sound of machines beeping and a hand on your arm fully wakes you up. The cold hand causes you to jump, looking over to see a woman wearing green scrubs. Her brown hair in a ponytail with a neutral look on her face.

“How are you feeling sweetie?” She was fluent in your native language. “I’m nurse Lena. I’ve been taking care of you.”

“My head hurts…” Your voice sounds strained.

“Yeah, it sounds like you had quite the fall.”

“She did, she scared me so much. I’m thankful that she and my boy are okay.” König’s voice cuts in as you feel his hand on your knee.

The look on your face alerts the nurse. Instantly, your eyes widen and your bottom lip begins to tremble. Your heart rate begins to speed and the monitors pick it up. Lena looks from you to König.

“Good thing your husband was there to find you in time.”

You look straight ahead and don’t say anything. Lena studies your face, the way you seem to dissociate. She sees the bruises on your wrist and ankles, bite marks on your neck and arms. She covers you with a blanket and hands you the remote to call for a nurse or turn the lights on and off before leaving you alone with König.

Once alone you can feel the tension in the room change drastically. König’s eyes bore into you, anger bubbling to the surface.

“What the fuck was that about?!” He snaps.

You look over to him and freeze, the anger in his eye is worse than when you ran away. There is nothing you can say that would make this any better. You know once you get back into his hands, you’re going to be in trouble.

“You could have killed my fucking son!” His voice booms louder than he meant for it to. It took everything in him to not strike you right now.

Tears begin to burn your eyes as you frown. “I’m sorry.”

König walks closer to you and puts his finger in your face. “You’re going to fucking regret this. I’ll make sure you can’t ever get up and walk again.” His voice is a terrifying, low growl.

Before he can continue, Lena walks back in. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave for this test. Only doctors and nurses can be in the room to remain sterile.”

König looked suspicious of her words, but bent down to kiss your cheek, whispering in your ear, “Don’t say a word.”

“I love you Liebling.” He squeezes your hand once more before walking away.

His heart is in his stomach as he leaves. Once through the doors, he sees hospital security waiting. Calmy, giving them kind smiles as he keeps walking past them. König isn’t stupid. He is aware of what is about to happen.

Without a second, though, König keeps walking. He gets to the elevator and presses for the garage. Looking at him, you wouldn’t guess he was panicking on the inside. It felt as if everything was crashing around him. His perfect wife, his son, his online audience, all gone. He has to start over again.

Once in the garage, he rushes to his car, dropping his cell phone on the ground and stomping it before getting into the car and speeding out. Tears swell in his eyes as he realizes he will never see his son.

“FUCK!” He shouts and punches the passenger's headrest out of anger.

In the room, Lena sits with you and looks into your eyes. “Are you safe?”

A wide frown appears across your face as tears stream from your eyes. You shake your head no.

“Is that man really your husband?”

“No.” Your voice shakes as you try to hold back sobs.

“Do you need help?”

“Please, yes. Please.” You grab your hair, pulling at it, as you sob. A huge mix of emotions overwhelms you as you realize you did it. You’re really safe.

Lena hugs you and tries to soothe you by rubbing your back. You wrap your arms around her, clinging to her for dear life. As much as she tries, there is no holding back the immense amount of sympathy she feels for you and cries with you.

“You’re safe now. I promise.” Lena’s voice cracks.

The door opens and security walks inside. They heard the sobs through the door. Lena turns her head to face them and nods to confirm her suspicions. They quickly talk on the radio to raise the alarm to not let the tall man with scars on his face leave. A guard stands at your door as others search for him.

“A social worker and police will come to talk to you, okay?” Lena pulls back and wipes her tears away.

“I don’t want this baby.”

Her eyes drop to your stomach and she nods. “We can set up an adoption plan for after birth.”

Hours pass when cops along with the social worker come walking into the room. Their faces are serious. One cop with hazel eyes and brown hair sits in front of you. He looks at you, looking at all the bite marks and bruises on your body. In his hand is a manila folder filled with paperwork. Finally, he speaks.

“I’m Officer Hauser. I’m here to ask you a few things to better help you. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

He pulls out a photo from the folder and it’s of König’s truck. Your heart sinks as you just look at the photo. Your heart rate is picking up. The social worker walks over to you and offers you her hand to hold for support.

“Do you recognize this truck?”

“Y-yes.”

Officer Hauser nods and pulls out another photo of König, but in a military uniform.

“Is this the man that was here with you?”

“Yes.” You can feel the woman’s hand squeeze yours.

“You’re doing great.” She whispers to you.

“We believe you were one of multiple victims of an ex KorTac Colonel named Alexander J. König.” Officer Hauser speaks up. “He was said to have been KIA, but it appears that is false.”

“Did- did you arrest him?” The look in your eyes is so hopeful.

The officer clears his throat and looks from you to the social worker. He is trying to think of a way to say this.

“We haven’t been able to locate him. He’s disappeared. Every country has eyes out looking for him. We will find him. I promise.”

When you heard that every country was looking for him, you felt confident that he would be caught soon. Days passed, weeks, months; still no word on where König is. Labor and delivery went smoothly. Lena the nurse came in on her day off to support you through the labor and passing the child over to the social worker. You did what is best for you both.

It’s now been ten years since the whole ordeal with König. You’ve been in therapy, went back to school, met the love of your life, and settled down. It feels like a whole different life now. That person that was held captive is gone. You’re truly healing deep down inside.

Today is a warm day with a cooling breeze. You sit outside and close your eyes, taking in deep breaths. For a moment, you were your younger self standing by the window and taking what you thought would be your last breath of fresh air. A wave of anxiety crushes you and you begin to breath heavily. Thoughts of the son you gave up, he would be ten this year.

Just as your thoughts begin to spiral, you jump, feeling a hand on your shoulder. You look up to see your partner, Sam. They look down at you with a worried look in their eyes. One of their hands comes up and caresses the side of your face.

“Are you okay babe?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Sam crouches down in front of you, grabbing your hand to hold. “Talk to me.”

“I just…I had almost, like, a flash back…to—” Your voice trembles.

“You don’t have to say it, I know.” Their thumb caresses your hand. “You’re here with me. You’re safe. Remember that.”

“I got a letter in the mail today.” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

“Yeah? What was it?” Sam tilts their head.

“They found König.” Your eyes meet theirs. Sam's mouth drops open from surprise.

“How do you feel?”

“It feels like I can finally relax. Well, it did. I have to go back and testify. I have to see him again.”

“Oh, y/n.” Sam grabs you and holds you in a tight hug. “You’ve got this. I’ll be with you every part of the way.”

“Thank you.”

Six months later, you sit in front of a courtroom. Your eyes meet his familiar pale blue eyes. König scowls, looking at you with immense rage. You look back, showing no fear. He is nothing but a pathetic broken man who will die alone. Everything he did to you did not break you. You’re still here- thriving, all despite König.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 25

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: 😁.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen snores in her bed. At last, peaceful. You leave her as she is, piled in bedclothes amid the glow of the low-burning fire. You emerge into the corridor, silent, and the door drags closed with a scrape at your cautious pull. The shadow by the pillar shifts.  

You glance over at the guard. Gilles has been relieved of his watch and another man stands in his place. You think you recognise him. He must’ve been one of those which helped the queen seize your cart. The road feels so very long ago and yet there is still much ahead of you. 

“Hold,” the guard warns and gives a whistle, the noise echoing along the high ceilings.  

There’s scuffling further down and you turn to face another silhouette, this one slender and lithe like a wraith. Ezme steps into the light of a lamp and stare at you placidly. She beckons with a hand. 

“Come, maid, I will show you your quarters,” she says. 

You bow your head and go to her. It is unusual you wouldn’t be left to find your way to the servants wing yourself, likely near the kitchens, and yet you are much too weary to question any of it. She turns and you walk at her side. The promise of sleep, even if only a little, has you aching to recline. 

The corridors are quiet but for the soft pad of your footsteps. Fewer lamps light the way than in the daytime and the path grows black. You follow the stirring of the women next to you as she carries on. She touches your arm to stop you, nudging you to the right. You wait and listen as she lifts a latch, the metallic noise cutting through the din, and hinges creak loudly. 

She guides you into the dark chamber by your wrist. It is lit only by moonlight and a brazier burning at the foot of a broad bed. The door clanks shut and you shiver. Ezme moves around you, her skirts brushing your own, and she goes to the low mattress. You squint, these are not servants’ rooms. The bed frame, the brazier, the space swathed in darkness; more often, bodies crowded over bags of hay or on the scant tatters of blankets. 

“You will sleep here,” she says softly, “with me. You will be safe.” 

“Safe? From what?” You croak and rub your cheeks as they burn with fatigue. 

“Need you ask,” she replies knowingly, “it is much too late for those questions. Come, lay, the morning will be upon us swiftly.” 

You don’t argue. She is right. You go to bed and remove your apron and cap. You fold them and put them to the foot of the mattress. She moves a dark square over the blankets towards you. You pause and reach to touch the obscured shape as the dim light offers only vague outline. It’s soft, furry. You feel around and find the familiar rough patch sewn into the lining. It’s the king’s cloak. 

“You will want to keep that close,” she says, “the soldier made certain to leave it for you.” 

“Bryce?” You wonder aloud, “is he your friend?” 

“He is a familiar face,” she shrugs and pulls her dress over her head. “The Lord of the Castle likes him well enough.” 

You shift the cloak over your apron and strip off your outer layer, standing only in your shift. You mirror the maid across from you and slip beneath the thick blankets. A sigh escapes you as your muscles finally release the tension of the day. She is still on her back as you lay upon your side, staring at the low flicker of the brazier against the wall. 

Curiosity nips at your exhaustion. How does a servant come upon a room like this? Is it simply at your expense? For whatever reason Bryce has bid her to keep you close. Certainly, the old soldier is overly cautious. 

Your eyes close before you can think very much on the unexpected resting spot. The day has been turbulent and full of many surprises. You only dread those that await you on the morrow. 

⚔️

Ezme wakes you from a heavy slumber. You both dress in the morning hue, rinsing from a basin before you face another day. You leave the cloak on the assurance it will be waiting for you. A thought glimmers of what the king might think should it go missing. Would he blame you? 

You emerge and part from your nocturnal companion. You procede to the queen’s chambers to find them open and the corridor a titter. A pair of servants, themselves dozy, carry one of her chests through as her shrill cry careens through. You approach as the steadfast guard with the fiery hair watches you with narrow eyes.  

You peer within and find the Queen Jazlene digging through the contents, tossing fabrics without a care, in a desperate search. You are stunned to find her awake with the sunrise but not disheartened. It might be a good omen. 

"Where is it?" She throws her hands up and scowls as her eyes skim around, "you," she points in your direction, "where is my blue dress? The one with the silver lace? It must be here!" 

"Your highness, perhaps another chest," you step inside. 

"You did remember to pack it, didn't you?" She accuses as she stands, "I did bid it." 

"Yes, your highness," you affirm, though it was Merinda who would've taken the order. "Shall I go look in the luggage?" 

"Oh, yes, you shall," she struts toward you, "I will not be dressed as some northern wench for the banquet." 

Banquet? You withhold your curiosity and bow your head. You have a task and it is always better to tend to it without question. 

You spin and hurry from the room. You nearly collide with another servant, a tray in their hands. Another chore you needn't attend. You press on and find your way through the kitchens to the rear of the castle.  

The luggage remains mostly in the stables which entails a venture into the wintry without. You mourn the cloak upon the foot of the bed but it would be worse to flaunt the king's patch so heedlessly. You tuck your hands into your sleeves and put your chin down before you push through, the door resisting your strength as the wind blows against it. 

You stagger through and the heavy wood slams just as quickly as you clear its breadth. The gales are strong but the snow has relented. You see dark bodies speckled amid the white as powder dusts up in heaps. The servants work to clear away the thick piles and make pathways around the castle's yard. 

You cross to the stables and delve into the stink of horses and hay. The beast nicker and neigh as you pass as others doze without notice. You find the luggage, chests still upon carts as others litter the unswept floor. If you find the dress, it might just reek of horse. 

You recognise the crest of Debray upon a chest and the painted sides of a few others. You unstrap several lids and raise them, the cold nipping but sweat rising nonetheless. The longer you sift through the contents, the number your hands and fingers become, the clumsier you are. 

A patch of blue, so pale and shiny it's almost white, gleams from beneath the heaps of cloth. You yank upon it, bringing out several other gowns with the effort, and claim victory. You do not neglect to suss out a pair of slippers and a hair net you think might go with it. You set it aside and pack away the mess you've made, breathless from the expense. 

You hug your lot and curl around the next row of horses, searching out Daisy as she leans her head against Chestnut's dark neck. Their eyes widen at your approach and they huff almost in time. You pat their noses before you apologise that you must leave them. 

Once more, the violent gusts greet you in the open, sending a spiral of snow around you and dusting you with the chill. Your teeth chatter as the wind pushes you from behind and fill your skirts. You can hardly aim your steps as you end up against the castle wall, sidling along until you're at the door. 

Within, the cold follows and lingers in your bones. You flit through the kitchens, pots steam as the large ovens blaze and bodies cluster and clash. You barely avoid a collision as you pass into the corridor. As you step around one figure, another appears. 

“Aye, there the mouse is,” Bryce greets as he folds a leaf around his finger, readying it to pop in his mouth, “I see she’s got you at work already.” 

“Sir,” you stop before the soldier, “how was your night?” 

“Eh, dark,” he shrugs, “and you? The other maid saw to ya?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Very good. If ye can, stay close to that one at the feast,” he girds, “she’s wise. She knows well how to bide the shadows.” 

You nod and hug the fabric, another shiver flowing through you. He tilts his head as he continues to play with the leaf between his fingers. 

“Don’t tell me you were outside without a cloak,” he accuses, “where’s yours, then?” 

“Sir, it was only for a moment--” 

“This cold does not soften for summer maids,” he tuts and shakes his head, “you will make yerself sick and who should have to deal with it, hm? Who should have to hear the king rant of it?” 

“Apologies, I was only in a rush,” you pout. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he steps closer and touches the dress in your arms, “in a rush for flimsy gown. These halls are too cold for satin.” 

“The queen bids it--” 

“Oh, I would expect,” he chortles. 

You purse your lips, slanting them one way then the next, as you recall your task. You watch him pinch the silk before he rescinds his reach. He puts the leaf in his mouth and chews. 

“You said feast and the queen said banquet? Is that this evening?” You wonder. 

“Certainly, is,” he sucks on the sweet leaves, “Lord Vesemir would celebrate our departure most fervently but as any good winter lord, he would not send his guests out in the cold without full bellies.” 

“Oh,” you utter thoughtfully. 

“And I suppose, it will appease the queen,” he adds, “for a time before she is once more miserable in the wildlands.” 

“And we are to leave on the morrow?” 

“Aye, by the nightfall,” he crosses his arms. “They must clear the pass and ready the horses and carts. It will be a labour but best we move on.” 

“I believe so too, sir,” you teethe your lip. 

“Aye, you are prudent, as ever,” he lowers his gaze to the floor, “mouse.” 

You shift on your soles and exhale solemnly, “I must...” 

“Yes, very well, go on to your queen,” he steps aside, “I must find our king. I suspect he might be hounding the lord of this castle, if not sparring with him.” 

There is a reluctance between you as you carry on your way; Bryce to one wing and you to the other, as if to mark the divide of king and queen. You come up the stairs and hurry along, the queen’s doors still ajar. Her voice carries still and servant scuttles out as a plate is hurled after them, crashing onto the floor as it narrowly avoids their foot. 

You slow and cautiously peek into the room. The queen shakes her head and pinches a morsel of brown meat on her plate, eyeing it with scrutiny. For a moment, her face twists, then she forces herself to shove it in her mouth. She chews as a battle rages across her features. 

Her gaze is drawn by your movement and she gulps down her mouthful. She stands, nearly overturning the stool upon which the tray rests. She brings her hands up as she storms over to snatch your armful. You back away as she lets the dress unfurl and you bend to gather up the slippers and hairnet as they fall. 

“Ah, wonderful, a proper attire for my first proper appearance as queen,” she beams and dances around with the dress, “oh, my hair, my hair. You must braid it for me.” 

She lays the gown on the bed and gives it a longing touch before she retreats. She clammers to the plain wooden table upon which she’s had a looking glass propped up. She leans forward as you stand behind her. Her hair remains in the braids she’s worn for some time, looking wilted and ratty from neglect. 

“Yes, your highness.” 

“I suppose the king feels horrid for his display yesterday,” she preens at herself. “He must realise he cannot keep a lady like me cooped up.” 

You think to mention that it is more send-off than anything. That is on Lord Vesemir’s whim, rather than King Geralt’s. At least that’s how you have it. Yet, you know well not to argue. Let Jazlene believe as she well and the world is always a bit more pleasant. 

You set to undoing her hair, gently as you notice how dry it is, whether from the cold or the air. She snaps her fingers and demands another servant bring her the tray off food. She picks at it as you unwind her hair and let it free. 

She looks at herself one way then the other. She smiles and wipes her mouth with her sleeve.  

“I am still pretty, aren’t I?” She asks, “I will be after the child comes, won’t I?” 

You swallow and nod, “yes, your highness.” 

“Gilles, Gilles,” she chimes and waves a hand, “come, come,” she turns in her seat and you pull away from her, not wanting to tug on her locks. “Tell me, how pretty am I?” 

The man steps into the doorway and clears his throat. He looks as sheepish as you’ve ever seen. You glance back at Jazlene as she poses and bats her lashes. 

“You are beautiful, my queen, as the summer sunsets,” he avows. 

There’s a click in your head, a wriggle in your chest, and a churning in your stomach. No. No, it can’t be. She wouldn’t betray her marriage. 

Yet you thought the very same of her husband. That’s different. The king rules all, even the queen. And that she so garishly flaunts her fleeting affections. But how can you judge, when your own folly looms over you like a cloud? 

You think of the king’s story; Cerrill and Wynifred and their forbidden romance. It tints in a different effect now, it aligns more evenly, for you do not see this ending well for either queen or guard should they stray. Just as you don’t see yourself faring any better. 

[straykeedz]

day 3: changbin + blowjob

©straykeedz

tw: changbin’s stressed so reader literally asks him to use their mouth as a fleshlight (i’m sorry💀); oral (m receiving, duh 🙄); a bit of throat fucking; cum swallowing; mention of showering together; ♡

wc: 2,1k

this is part of my kinktober masterlist. you can find my regular masterlist here (tho it will not be updated until the end of kinktober). ♡

smut below the cut so minors dni.

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to join the taglist you haven to be over 18 (please have an age indicator on your profile) and have a profile picture. no blank blogs. ♡

✧

When you enter your shared bedroom, you’re surprised to find Changbin sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees as his face is buried in his hands. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence in the room, too focused in whatever’s going on inside his head. You let out a heavy sigh as you make your way inside the room - the faint light of the lamp on his nightstand being the only source of light in your bedroom. You don’t know what’s up with your fiancé lately, but whatever it is - it’s starting to worry you. 

You get closer to him, but he’s still not aware of you being in the same room as him, so you call his name to get his attention. “Binnie…”, your voice is sweet, and your fingers immediately find their way to his soft, curly hair, freshly washed. 

He immediately snaps his head up in your direction, letting his arms fall limp along his sides as he stares at you like an abandoned puppy, big, brown eyes looking into yours. He looks absolutely wrecked, defeated, and you hate it. You want to ease the weight on his shoulders, but you’re also aware of the fact that he doesn’t like to be forced to open up about his feelings. 

“Y/n…”, he calls your name softly, spreading his legs even wider to accommodate your body between them, wrapping his limbs around your figure and resting his forehead on your stomach, you don’t stop caressing his soft hair. 

“Everything alright, Bin?”, you murmur, and you feel him shaking his head against your stomach. “Wanna talk about it?”

He sighs deeply. “Life’s just being a bitch lately.”, he says, tone defeated and tired. 

“Something happened at work?”, you try. 

Being a worldwide famous idol and producer is not easy, Changbin learned it the hard way. You honestly understand where this is coming from, and just wish you could ease some of his pressure from his shoulders. 

“Not really, the usual.”, he mutters. “I’ve been feeling unproductive lately, that’s all. Can’t find the inspiration and everything I produce is shit.”

Now you get why he’s been sulking more than usual the past days. Changbin hates when he’s feeling uninspired - he doesn’t like to be forced to write lyrics or produce music, as he feels it’s not genuine. So, he find himself stuck in a limbo: being stressed because unproductive and being unproductive because stressed, and it’s driving him crazy. 

“I think you should take some time off to yourself.”, you suggest, placing your hands on his broad shoulders to give him a massage, knowing he loves feeling your hands on him. “You know, just a couple of days - you’re too stressed.”

He practically moans when your fingers press on the muscles of his clavicle. Another defeated sigh leaves his mouth, and you feel his strong arms hold you tighter as he nuzzles his face against your stomach. 

“I can’t do that.”, he grunts. “They need me, I can’t take a day off, let alone a couple.”, you can’t see him, but he rolls his eyes. Honestly, he wishes he could just not go to work for a while and rest peacefully and maybe enjoy a good meal instead of eating instant ramen every other day, but the agency’s been biting his ass and pressuring him into writing more music, and they’d never allow him to do that.

“Mh.”, you hum sadly, sincerely concerned about him. “This just means we’ll have to find another way to get you relaxed and to relieve some of your stress…”, you trail, the grip on his shoulder a bit more intense now, and you hope he got the hint. He snaps his head up to meet your eyes, and by the smirk that appears on his lips, it looks like he did. 

“Oh, yeah?”, he raises his eyebrows, grinning. “And what did you have in mind?”, he purrs, his hands moving from your thighs to your ass, cupping and squeezing the flesh as you bite your lip. 

“Mhh, I was thinking of something on the line of…”, you bend a little to whisper the following words in his ear, knowing it’ll drive him crazy. “You using my mouth like a fleshlight to get off.” When you pull away, you find him looking at you with his eyes wide open and his mouth agape, shocked by your words. “Would you like that?”

It’s a stupid question and an understatement, Changbin thinks, because you should see the way his cock practically came to life as soon as his brain processed what you’d said. So, instead of answering with words like a normal human being - he frantically nods, looking at you with big, brown puppy eyes as he licks his lips in anticipation.

“How do you want me?”, you ask, and he feels like he’s about to pass out.

“On your knees, love, please.” Changbin’s tone is demanding yet sweet at the same time - even when he’s in the mood to dominate you in bed, he can’t find it in himself to be too rough or too harsh with you, nor to offend you with words, even though you reassured him plenty of times that it’s okay if he does, that you like it. 

You nod eagerly, a smile spreading on your face as you kneel before him, positioning yourself between his spread thighs - thankfully, there’s a fluffy rug at the end of the bed, so that you don’t hurt your knees when you go down on him, though it’s not the reason why you bought it. Maybe. 

You  automatically reach for his cock, still confined in his sweats, but rock hard nonetheless, and squeeze it through the thin fabric. Changbin doesn’t usually wear boxers to sleep, he doesn’t like how tight they feel against his skin, so that allows to feel him a bit closer. However, it’s not enough, and Changbin swiftly hooks his thumb on the hem of his sweats and pulls them off, lifting his body from the mattress just enough to let them slide off his ass and thighs. 

When you finally wrap your fingers around his length, Changbin hisses and closes his eyes shut, too blessed in the feeling. It’s been a while since you’d last done that - with his busy schedule, he also had had to sacrifice long, steamy, lovemaking sessions, and your intimacy had mainly sticked to quickies or spooning sex lately, with basically zero foreplay. 

You spit on your fingers to coat them in your saliva, which you use as a lubricant, before starting to jerk him off - slowly, just how he likes it. When he does it to himself, he does it fast, but when you’re the one with your hand around his cock - he wishes the feeling would last forever. He kicks his head back when you brush his slit with the pad of your thumb, gripping the sheets beneath him as you spread his pre-cum all over his cockhead. 

“Mhh, like that.”, he moans, cock twitching in your hand. “I love it when you touch me.”, he opens his eyes to look at you. 

You smile at him. “And I love touching you.”, you bite your lower lip as you bring your mouth closer to his dick. 

Changbin feels his soul leave his body when you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, warm, wet mouth engulfing him - sensation so good it’s almost enough to make him cum on the spot. He almost forgot how your mouth feels like around him, and the feeling sends a shiver down his spine and a pleasant tingle in his cock, all the way from his base to the tip. 

“God, how I love your mouth.”, his words are followed by a shaky breath as he feels you taking him deeper in your mouth - albeit not without struggling because of his girth. Changbin brings one hand to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb as he witness your mouth being stuffed with his fat cock. 

You pull away, letting his cock fall out of your mouth as you continue to jerk him off, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to it, a sight that has Changbin biting on his lower lip. “Wanna fuck it?”, you ask, a bit breathlessly. 

Changbin’s eyes widen and his breath gets stuck in his throat. “Yes.”, he responds, equally breathlessly. “God, yes.”

Changbin sucks in a breath when you wrap your lips around him once again, and he wastes no time in tangling his fingers in your hair in a very messy ponytail, careful to not pull your hair too hard as he slowly pushes you down on his cock, slurping sounds blessing his ears as you sink deeper on his length. He can feel your spit dripping from your mouth and all over his shaft, some ending on his balls, and his other hand grips even tighter on the bedsheets as he flexes the muscles of his thighs in order to control himself. 

An obscene whimper leaves his mouth when you gag around him. “Oh, my God.”, goosebumps all over his skin. “Y-Yeah, just like that.”, he moans. “Choke on my cock like that.”

He kicks his head back as he continues to push your mouth on his cock to the point the tip of your nose is buried in the soft, trimmed hair on his pubic bone, his tip hitting the back of your throat with each movement as you hum around him. When your other hand finds its way to his balls, he nearly chokes on air and pulls you away from his cock, giving you time to regain your breath. When he looks at you - you have mascara running all over your face, and saliva drooling on your chin, mixed with his arousal. He thinks it’s the most beautiful sight ever, but of course he’s biased. 

“Gonna fuck your throat now, love.”, his tone is sweet even when he says such filthy things to you. “Tap on my thigh if it gets too much, alright?”, he caresses your cheek sweetly. 

You nod eagerly, and he stands up from the bed, towering above you. You moan when he wraps his own fingers around the base of his cock and slaps your mouth with his hard length, albeit lightly. You immediately part your lips when he aligns his cock to your mouth, welcoming him inside of you once again. Then, his hands move to each side of your face to keep you in place as he starts to rock his hips. 

At first, he goes slow, his cock only halfway inside your mouth, giving you time to adjust to his length and to regulate your breathing through your nose. Once he’s made sure you’re okay, he starts to thrust inside your mouth, each time deeper and deeper until he’s fully buried inside your throat. 

“You’re doing so good, love.”, he moans, pulling out almost all the way only to thrust back inside your mouth, squelching sounds filling the room together with his whimpers and your hums, clearly pleased with the way he’s using your throat to get off. After all, it’s what you asked him to do. “Looking so good with my cock in your throat.”, he pulls away a couple of locks of hair from your face, then entangles his fingers in your hair once again as he starts to thrust faster and faster, evidently close to finding his release. 

“Mhh.”, his moans start to become more high-pitched, and his cock is throbbing in your throat. It’s only a matter of seconds before he shoots his load in your throat, reaching his yearned and deserved orgasm. “Go- God, I’m - fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming.”, he chants, knees buckling a little when he finally releases inside your mouth, hot spurts of his seed filling your mouth, some landing on your tongue, which you swallow gladly. 

He pulls his cock out of you as soon as he’s made sure he’s given you until the very last drop of his cum, letting you regain your regular breathing as he brushes the skin of your face with his thumbs, trying to fix or at least clean your smudged mascara from under your eyes, smiling softly at you. He just loves you so much. 

“Let me grab you a towel.”, he tells you sweetly, but before he can leave the room you stand up, legs feeling a bit shaky. 

You shake your head as a no. “Come in the shower with me and then we can cuddle?”

Yes, Changbin is sure he’s found the love of his life in you.

✧

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[urhoneycombwitch]

breathe in the air

eddie x reader x steve. part i

foreword: this is part one/set up for a fic I’ve been chewin’ on. cw is for both parts and will get updated- no actual smut in this first one but please heed the tags anyway. +18 mdni as always. (@somnambulic-thing you inspired me to write from Eddie’s pov! 💖)

cw: smoking (weed and nicotine), R’s hair is mentioned but unspecified texture/length, also wears Eddie’s shirt, R has breasts + V,  Eddie and Reader are both varying degrees of stoned while performing sex acts (please be safe IRL and don’t read if that makes you uncomfy!!), pt. ii will have: voyeurism (Eddie and R fool around and Steve watches), blow jobs, masturbation, both the boys being Down Bad™️

wc: 2.5k (part i)

_____

The sun has sunk low over Forest Hills, Eddie’s room cast in deep blue where the golden path of his bedside lamp doesn’t touch.

He’s lighting up a post-sex cigarette, one of the best things this shitty world has to offer, in his opinion- second only to feeling your warm body against his; writhing and wriggling with pleasure, neck craned to let him lick the sloping sweat from your skin- or times like now, when you’re calm and satiated, nude under the comfort of sheets and the weight of your head on his chest.

Casting a hand out to shuffle blindly through the bedside table, Eddie wraps his other arm around the sleepy length of you, pulling you tighter to himself; your response a wordless, happy little noise. His hand deep in the drawer catches on a stray cigarette, then around the hard plastic of a spare lighter. With a sigh of contentment, he kisses the top of your head before bringing the filter to his lips.

Sparks catch under his thumb, cherry of the cig burning red- like some sort of sleeper agent responding to the click, you sit up with a jolt, stealing the mess of sheets upwards, exposing Eddie’s lower half to the cool air.

Eddie swears, startled- thinking you were almost asleep, he’d been nearly careless with the open flame- tossing the lighter aside, he reaches towards your back that now faces him. “Jesus, babe. Give a guy some warning before you snap to attention like a damn general.”

Thumb pressed to the notches of your spine, palm wide around your lower back, Eddie can feel the quiet giggle that shakes through your ribs.

 “Sorry,” you whisper once you’re finished, still staring at the far wall like you're trying not to break a spell. Your arms are crossed, sheets bunching around your chest- “Had a thought.”

“Must’ve been a good one,” Eddie muses, thumb following the line of your spine down, like he’s petting an oversized cat.

In true feline fashion your back arches into his touch, encouraging his palm to sweep up again, to your shoulder blade this time as you murmur, “I wanna go swimming.”

“Okay.” Eddie’s immediately agreeable, taking a long drag from the cig, letting smoke fill out the hollows around his lungs. “We’ll go to Lover’s Lake tomorrow. Heard it’s gonna be a hot one.”

Hawkins is having a record heat wave for the second summer in a row- as if all the damn underground monster shit and horrific earthquakes of last year weren’t enough already: global warming to top it all off. The sun has been merciless these last few weeks, peaking midday, nothing for it but to lie in a heated daze on the kitchen tiles of whoever’s house is the least amount of bitch to get to.

Not that Eddie’s complaining about you being half-naked most of the time. He thinks this is the year you might actually kill him, now that he can touch you, call you his- every curve of upper calf in those short shorts, every soft slip of stomach peeking out from cropped tops- he’s got enough spank bank material to last until his deathbed. (Which he’s decidedly allowed to joke about, since, ya know, the whole almost-dying thing last spring.)

Eddie moves on haptic memory to set aside his cigarette, searching pinky-out for the lip of the ashtray (ceramic, with a poorly-drawn Snoopy, the ears far too big- you’d laughed until you cried over it at the thrift store; he was fifty cents poorer that day but rich and dizzy off your glee). 

“No, not the lake. And I wanna go swimming now.” There’s a hint of petulance in your voice, walking the thin line of childish whine that only appears these days after you’ve smoked, tongue and desires loosened and lax with the help of the finest hash stash in Hawkins. 

There’s a smile threatening to split Eddie’s face in two. He’s been working at that hard-won wall of your solitude for ages now, showing rather than telling you it’s okay to ask for things, that you’re safe to make requests and hell, even demands, from him. Eddie’s not sure what he wouldn’t do for you, at this point- hasn’t found that line yet. Probably doesn’t exist.

A monster of my own design, he thinks, fondly, sweeping the hair from your neck so he can see the outline of cheek and jawbone, reflective with lamplit glow. “Baby, there’s nowhere to swim right now- it’s dark and that’s not real safe. Tomorrow I’ll make us some sandwiches- we can drive out to the lake, you can get stoned and I’ll play lifeguard.”

It’s probably too much to hope you’ve swallowed this bitter pill of compromise in silence, but based on the lack of response, it’s certainly possible. Eddie presses his thumb into the muscle where your neck meets shoulder, massage a silent apology for saying no when you’d been so good to ask. 

Crickets chirp in chorus outside, sound dampened by the glass window- he needs to open it soon, get the hot air out and night breeze flowing (though he is loath to replace the heady smell of sex wrapped like a cozy blanket around his room).

He feels you shuffle under his hand, eyes popping open to watch- you’ve tucked your chin over the dip in your shoulder, looking down the slope of your own nose at him, an expression on your face that makes Eddie’s stomach flip (with nerves, fear, excitement, hard to pinpoint exactly).

Your voice is quiet but steady when you speak, Eddie’s massaging fingers freezing to a halt when you say, “I know a place, open right now, with a lit-up pool. And a lifeguard.”

A thin tendril of smoke from the ashtray floats into Eddie’s vision as he stares blankly at the ceiling for a moment. Then he sits up, crushing the cherry into Snoopy’s wavered outline (sorry, pal) before brushing arms with you, patient and stern with a headshake to match- “No way, sweetheart.”

“Why-y?” That petulance is back, Eddie’s heart kicking up in response; it’s your turn to give the physical affection, winding your arms in a closed loop around his neck, forehead bumping against his jaw as he works it back and forth. 

His stitched-tight resolve quickly unspools as the wet plush of your lips track a path across his throat; he clears it before squeezing at your side again, one last argument to try and stick like cooked spaghetti to a wall. “You’re high.”

You snort, puff of breath sending goosebumps across his skin, rapidly cooling from lack of your affection- “Yeah, and you’re not. So you can drive us there, and then smoke again with me before we go in, and Stevie boy will keep us safe in that nice, heated, well-lit pool of his.”

Even as you speak, Eddie’s shaking his head, but it’s more in disbelief of his own weakness (namely: you). He slips a hand to your cheek, pulling back to take you in- mischief shimmering like twin stars in your eyes as you lock onto his gaze, lips parting pliant when his thumb swipes at your bottom lip. 

“You gonna behave yourself?”

It’s less of a question and more of a check-in, the meaning behind the words an undulating variable, a riddle with a thousand different answers.

The one you do give is complimented by a wicked grin, punctuated with a quick kiss (awfully chaste, considering your bare front pressed against his), your mirthful delight at having won both unsettling and tantalizing.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

With a sudden push to his chest, Eddie goes down easy for you, hair spreading riotous across the pillow as you move with shocking fluidity to throw a leg over his hip. Your hands meet in the middle of his chest, just under the rippling ink of a crow in flight, settling your weight comfortably on his stomach. 

Eddie’s sure you can feel his pulse, jack-rabbit fast, as you dip to kiss beneath his jaw. His hands automatically settle on your hips, grip tightening with each loving kiss you scatter over his collarbones, his sternum.

He’s half-hard under the sheets by the time your lips find the hitch of his ribs, stuttering and expanding to meet your mouth- can’t be faulted, really, not when your bare chest gleams in the low light, the top of your head imploring for the warmth of his wide palm to rest. 

Just when Eddie thinks he’s in the clear, that the call of your needs (evident in the slickness pooling just under his navel where your naked cunt rests) will drive the call of your wants to distraction, you sit up again, using your planted hands as leverage to swing completely off and away.

The coldness of your absence is cruel and unusual punishment. Eddie groans, scrubbing a hand down his face, deciding right then that he won’t be above begging tonight- when you suddenly reappear with a clean beach towel in either arm, pulled from the bowels of his closet.

There’s youthful, honest enthusiasm to your movements- something that’s catching, apparently, ‘cuz Eddie’s tipping himself out of bed with a resigned sigh, pulling boxers over his flagging dick and answering your spree of questions about these new evening plans.

“Sure, bring a water bottle. No, babe, we don’t need sunscreen- it’s night. Yeah, I’ll bring more weed. How ‘bout you bring me that old shoulder bag and we can bring some stuff with us.”

As you work on digging through the mess of a combined closet to find something suitable for swimming, Eddie folds the two towels that you’d found along with a baggie of joints into the bag. You’re humming under your breath while getting dressed, and Eddie’s staring at all the leftover space- what does one pack for a nighttime high swim with one’s girlfriend and the guy you’ve both sort-of mentioned threesoming with?

He tosses in a well-loved edition of your favorite book of poems, figuring the Harrington abode will have plenty of snacks. Food for the mind, he thinks, then snorts at his own joke. 

“C’mon, snorty.” You beckon from the doorway, an old t-shirt of his just swishing past the dark strip of your bikini bottoms, van keys held aloft. 

At the front door, there’s a brief argument about coats (you think you’ll be fine without, Eddie disagrees vehemently) which Eddie wins, wrangling your arms into the sleeves of his oil-stained work jacket before locking the front door behind you both.

Eddie smiles, a secret, pure thrill watching you tiptoe gingerly across the gravel on bare feet (too stubborn to actually wear the sandals that hang from either hand). His coat is bunched up around your ears while your legs poke out like some sort of winterized bird with bare legs. 

There’s a bright pang of love that suddenly hits hits sideways, a dizzying urge to sink on denim knees to the ground, sharp rocks be damned, just to kiss the tender spot behind your knees, to feel the hill of your calf under his tongue…

Your giggle breaks his reverie, impatient and pointed jiggling of the locked passenger handle clunking out into the quiet park. “Quit staring, weirdo. You coming?”

Hope so, Eddie thinks, spinning the key ring in looping arcs around his pointer finger. He bypasses the porch steps completely, boots hitting the gravel with a satisfying crunch. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Your cheery mood is sustained during the short car ride as you chatter animatedly about some coworker drama that you forgot to catch him up on, Eddie’s hand drawn like a magnet to your upper thigh while he drives. 

But by the time he’s pulling the van next to Harrington’s beemer, your eagerness has waned, speech drifting off into silence once he’s parked. 

“Hey.” His voice draws you back to him, a bit, your eyes too wide and roving for his liking, coat sleeves clenched around opposing fists as you hang onto his words. “Sweetheart. We don’t have to go inside. Can go anywhere- diner for some food, back home, the damn trash heap for all I care. Just want you to feel safe.”

“I do,” you counter, earnest but chest still punching a fast rhythm. “I feel safe. I just… you think he’s even awake?”

There’s a yellow glow coming from one of the second-floor windows. Your fingers twist harshly around fabric in the dark, breath loud. 

Eddie nods, then kills the engine and grabs behind his seat for the Ziploc of pre-rolls, an offering held to you between two ringed fingers. “Want a bit of Green Courage before going in?”

The van windows are soon fuzzily obscured with a haze of smoke, sprinklers for the pristine lawn nearby hissing to an automated start at the turn of 11 PM. The weed coaxes your earlier state of relax to the forefront, this time with an added layer of giggles, which Eddie finds desperately cute. 

He’s sure he’s high now, too, ‘cuz he’s unintentionally focusing really hard on your lips as you speak, and you’re letting him, corner of your mouth quirking when you ask, “Gonna take me inside, Munson?”

“Uh huh.” An automatic response, just so he can keep staring- when you pop the handle of your door open Eddie reaches, faltering before landing on your face, cupping the tilt of your cheek- “Meant it. Earlier. Just say the word. Take you anywhere.”

Weed fragments his speech but you melt with understanding, leaning into his hand, your lashes sweeping sweetly at the bridge of his thumb as you whisper, “Okay.”

You’re out the door and he’s left scrambling in the wake, hauling the strap of the packed bag over one shoulder and snapping up your forgotten shoes from the footwell. He locks the doors (nevermind that this is a nice neighborhood, can’t trust rich people farther than he can throw ‘em and Eddie has always been better at running over shotput on field days) and hikes it across the grass to where you stand, a beacon of beauty under the porch light.

“Ready?” he asks.

Your bare foot- flecked with wet grass- trails up the back of your opposing leg, veins at the whites of your eyes spidering pink with anticipation (and the fresh joint) as you turn to smile at him. “Yeah. Bring it on.”

“Your wish, my command,” Eddie says, winking, knuckles pulled into a fist to rap at the front door of one Steve Harrington. 

___

[END: PART ONE]

[ludicdoll]

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄

jann mardenborough ☆

pairing: jann mardenborough x fem!reader

contents: smut, cowgirl, thigh riding, praise, softdom jann, gentle and cute sex yk, size kink, cussing

synopsis: you surprise your boyfriend with your new lingerie set when he comes back home from a win.

a/n: somebody sedate me pls i love him

you adjust your appearance in the mirror leaning against the corner wall of your bedroom, pulling up your lace garter. it’s been a few weeks since jann had left for the le mans race, and you missed him dearly. he would text to update you everyday about how it was going, and when you finally got a call from him a week later, he was cheering on about how he had won—you couldn’t be more proud of him. you were expecting him to be back home soon, and to reward him for winning the race, you dolled yourself up and bought a new lingerie set you had been eyeing for the last few days. it was a dark red translucent babydoll dress covered in lace detailing with a matching pair of cheeky underwear.

you smiled to yourself as you play with the small bow on the top, jann loved when you wore cute lingerie sets with bows. he said it made you look angelic in a way.

you switch off the light, then reach over to turn on the small lamp on the dresser to create a more romantic atmosphere. you spin around, watching as the red mesh twirls around your body before walking over to your bed and dropping yourself down. you prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at the reflection to make sure you looked decent. you slightly jerk when you hear the sound of a car pulling in. you lay still, waiting. jann calls out for you from downstairs but you don’t respond. after a few minutes, you hear him walking upstairs. he knocks on the door before twisting the doorknob slowly.

he pokes his head in, a smile immediately breaking on his face when he notices you laying on the bed. “hey, baby.” he mutters while closing the door behind him. it takes you every muscle in your body to not immediately jump into his arms and cover his face in kisses. you stay quiet, staring up at him through your mascara coated lashes. his eyes pan down your body and he inhales sharply.

you finally sit up, crawling over to the edge of the mattress and swinging your legs over. “what is this?” he asks with an intrigued laugh. you give him a timid smile in return, fidgeting with your necklace. although in this moment you seemed bold and confident, your heart was beating so fast you swore he could hear it. you never initiated intimacy in the bedroom due to the fact that you were still so nervous around him. his gaze on you was heavy, almost intense enough to make you come on the spot. “i just wanted to surprise you, a treat for your win at the race.” you reply back. your voice is barely a whisper, and he seems to notice how shaky you are. you watch intentively as he takes off his hoodie, then his shirt before his hands make their way to his belt which he abruptly pauses at.

“are you sure you wanna do this right now, baby?” he asks. you look up, a confused expression on your face. you nod eagerly, placing your hand between your thighs to sooth your nerves. “you seem really tense,” he laughs quietly, but there’s a hint of worry in his voice. you glance down at your thighs, pressing your lips in a thin line. “why wouldn’t i be? i’m the luckiest girl in the world.” you mutter out. jann smiles, caressing your face with his large hand.

he steps closer to you, his eyes darting over to his pants then back down at you. you blink before realizing he wants you to unbuckle his belt for him. you swallow hard before lifting your shaky hands up to his pants, teasingly taking off his belt, making sure he got a good view of your cleavage above you. you stare at his deep v-line before your fingers trail down to his crotch. you unzip his jeans then lean back on your hands to get a better view of him. he pulls off his jeans then crawls on top of you with a small chuckle. “you’re so perfect,” he mumbles against your neck, causing you to squirm when you feel his hot breath on you.

you giggle at his compliment, kissing his cheek. “tonight—i’m all yours.” you whisper softly as you shyly play with the bow on your dress. “yeah?” he asks while he watches you fidget anxiously. “mhm,” you hum back in reply. even though the two of you had been together for over a year, it still felt like when you first started liking him. jann’s lips instantly return to yours, dipping his hand under the open slit in the middle of the dress. his thumb slowly brushes against your waist, making you twitch under his touch. he laughs at your reaction, continuing to tickle his fingertips down your soft stomach. his hand took up your whole torso, so it was easy for him to toss you around. he knew how you felt about his size, he knew you were weak whenever he’d use it to his advantage. you gasped as he hooked his fingers around the thin band of your panties, pulling them down to your ankles.

“so pretty,” he whispers under his breath as his eyes trail down to your exposed cunt. you whine quietly from embarrassment, grabbing the duvet under you and covering your face with it. jann laughs, grabbing the blanket and pulling it away from you. “stop that, i wanna see your beautiful face.” he leans down to kiss you, smiling between each gentle kiss. “jann,” you whimper when you feel his erection rutting up against your pussy. he groans, peppering kisses down your chest and neck. “fuck, i missed you so much, princess.” he finally pulls off his boxers, revealing his hardened dick to you. “i missed you too,” your breathing hitches as you prepare yourself for the stretch—but he suddenly wraps his arms around you instead, swiftly switching positions so you were straddling his lap.

you yelp as slides his hands back down your hips, lifting you slightly so his thigh was between your legs. you choke back a moan when you feel your swollen clit against his skin. “show me how much you missed me,” he rasps deeply as he pulls your dress strap off your shoulder, careful to not rip up the dainty fabric. he takes your breast in his hand before he starts massaging the sensitive bud, groaning in satisfaction when you slowly grind on his thigh. the sounds of your labored breathing and the wetness of your dripping cunt fills the room in echos.

you feel yourself getting hot from embarrassment, you couldn’t believe you were already so wet from this. even just the sight of jann made your legs tremble. “so good, baby—so good.” he choked out as his hand slowly pumps up and down his long cock, his thick tip leaking with precum that you so desperately needed right now. you rest your hands on his upper thigh, rocking your hips faster against him. each movement almost makes you cry out from overstimulation, but you keep going. jann tilts his body down, making you lean back as his tongue runs down the valley between your tits. you throw your head back, moaning louder when you feel the tension in your stomach gradually building up. “i missed you so much, jann. i had so many wet dreams about yo—fuck!” you cry out as he nips at a sensitive part of your neck.

jann traces his mouth down to your boobs, taking your nipple between his lips as he sucks on it, covering his spit all over your chest. he’s gentle and slow, making sure to savor every part of this. he wanted to remember every detail, from the way the ribbon in your hair was bouncing as you were riding his thigh, down to the way your moans would slightly pitch up when you were close. “i can’t stand you being away from me, i hate it when you’re gone.” you whisper lustfully. your words visibly get a rise out of jann, he sighs loudly, knitting his brows together against your chest.

you grind up against him one more time before he suddenly pulls you off back into his lap. you whine out in protest, being that you were almost reaching your climax. jann caresses your jawline with his hand, shushing you softly. “i’ll make you come, baby. be good for me, yea?” he says. you nod, taking in a deep breath. he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, sliding the tip between your folds sensually. he repeats this a couple of times to coat your wetness on him before he slowly sinks himself inside of you. the two of you moan loudly, synchronizing as you start adjusting yourself on his dick. he was definitely above average, you would never get used to that familiar stretch between your legs.

“my perfect girl,” he sighs out as he slowly starts thrusting upwards into your pussy. even though you were sitting on top of him, you still felt so small compared to his huge frame, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into a warm embrace. “i need you so bad, baby” you whimper loudly, hugging his head close to your chest. jann groans in your ear. the walls of your cunt was swallowing him whole, feeling it flutter around his dick when his tip would graze over your g-spot. “oh fuck, i have to bring you with me to my next races—i can’t be away from you ever again.” your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head from his words. you slowly begin to speed up, resting the palms of your hands behind you to help you support yourself while riding him.

jann pulls away from the hug, arms still around your torso. his large hands shift over to hold your waist, lifting your hips up and down as you slow your pace. he was so big. his dick was girthy and long, and he knew exactly how to use it. the sensation of jann’s cock sliding in and out of you rapidly was almost too much for you. you try to slow your hips, but jann is quick to pick you back up on his dick. you cry out loudly when his tip reaches deep inside of you, causing you to squeeze tightly around him.

the sound of your skin slapping against each other with the wet sound of your slick made a lewd squelching sound, but it only turned you on more. you slowly gaze up at jann’s face, looking up at him with teary eyes. you can see the thin blanket of sweat dripping down from his forehead to his neck—his loose curls slightly damp. he looked so pretty like this. “you’re so handsome, baby.” jann nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck in response, hiding his smile.

your vision was getting blurred with each stretching bounce. jann notices how you were progressively getting tired, so he runs his hand up your back—pounding into your cunt slowly but hard enough to make you cry out from the stir of pleasure and slight pain. you tilt your head up, pulling him into a soft, long kiss. jann whimpers loudly in your mouth, his tongue swirling against yours. the kiss starts to get messy, your spit mixing together as he continues to thrust you up and down in his lap. “c’mon baby, c’mon—ride me, i know you can do it, princess.” his breathing is shaky, lips slightly glossed from your saliva.

you thought you were in heaven as jann held you tightly, moaning and chanting his name with short breaths. you were almost pushed over the edge when you felt his long fingers brush past your swollen clit. jann lets out an airy chuckle as he places his thumb on your clit, rubbing in slow circular motions. your hips immediately jut up while shaking in pleasure. “shit, jann—i’m close.” you whine out as you feel his dick twitching inside of you. “come for me doll, i want you to come all over my dick, please.” jann cooed, pulling softly on your hair so he was making direct eye contact with you. he wanted to see your pretty little face when you would squirt on him. he snaps his hips against yours as you pick up your pace again, a desperate attempt to reach your sweet climax you longed for.

you roll your hips one last time before you’re instantly being undone from his touch, crying out from the coiling pleasure in your pussy. in that same moment, jann let’s out an animalistic growl in your neck, shooting ropes of his milky cum inside of your pussy. “oh fuck!” he moans. you convulse around his thick girth, your orgasm running down his dick to his balls. you groan silently when jann holds you up with an arm and pulls out with a wet pop. it takes you a minute to adjust back in his lap, leaning your head on his shoulder. you close your eyes, sighing in relief while he tangles his arms around your waist.

when you open your eyes, you see jann staring down at you passionately. his eyes are low and heavy, indicating he was slightly worn out—but he had a soft sheepish grin plastered on his face. “i’ve been dreaming about this for weeks.” he says playfully. you giggle, lazily kissing him on the cheek.

© please do not publish my work on other sites.

[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 5 ⬅ch.4

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. assault. alcohol. wc 2.6k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | sorry for taking so long. and i know this chapter is short... i've been so busy. i hope to update more frequently now.

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

the constant memory of ghost pressed close to your body, his chest flesh against yours, would not stop fogging your mind. you shook your head as you sat slouched against the wall in the room you and the rest of your team were currently stationed. 

you, soap, ghost, and three other men were squatting at the top of an apartment building in a rather desolate city. you were currently waiting inside for soap to return from scouting the area. you were trying to keep cool but the lack of air conditioning and all the layers of your uniform was making it rather difficult. you wiped your brow and yanked your mask around your neck to try and give yourself more air. you felt flustered.

you couldn’t stop your eyes from flickering up to glance in the kitchen where ghost sat at the small circular table, looking over several dossier papers sprawled in front of him. he wore less than usual, his hard mask and helmet abandoned for his simple balaclava. he wore all black like usual but he had on jeans rather than his usual tactical pants. his face had a soft glow illuminating his eyes from light radiating off of the lamp in the corner of the room. you had to be as inconspicuous as possible and that included keeping the shades pulled and the lights off but a select few. 

you imagined it was probably difficult for him to see, his eyes struggling to focus on the words. then the image of him leaning close to you drifted into your mind. his eyes fluttering and drowsy, as they were in that closet, but this time without all the bulkiness of his other mask and helmet. you felt a rush of anxiety ebb in your stomach. 

your eyes traced his hands as he shifted between papers, his gloves forgotten on the other side of the table. you imagined how they’d feel against you, his hand coming up to gently caress your face. 

oh my god, you were losing it . 

you looked up, locking your inappropriate thoughts away, and to your surprise, ghost’s eyes were already on you, making an awful sense of embarrassment course through your entire body. 

you quickly looked down at your lap, focusing back on cleaning your handgun, your hands stuttering a little bit as you tried to act natural. your body begged–pleaded even–for you to look back over at him, and against your better judgment, you did. you glanced up in his direction again and found him still looking at you. he caught you in the act twice now…

the door busted open, a panicked sergeant and soap rushed inside, rescuing you from figuring out how you were going to get past your staring contest with ghost. 

you pushed up to your feet and hurried over to the commotion. soap helped plop your teammate down on the couch, his leg soaked with blood. “what happened?” you asked. 

soap turned to you, his demeanor calm and collected. “a bloody prick from las almas cartel shot him. don’t even think they knew who we were,” he explained. 

you grabbed your bag and stood back in front of the hurt sergeant who had yanked his mask off and was gritting his teeth in pain. you dug through your bag and leaned forward, wanting to stop the bleeding. “no, i don’t want you touching me,” he grimaced, grabbing his thigh above the bullet wound in a guarding gesture.

soap was on the other side of the couch, still catching his breath from hauling the man up four flights of stairs. “i just need to stop the bleeding–” you assured, trying to get a clean rag on the wound to hold pressure. 

when you touched him, his hand came up unexpectedly and shoved you back, then he gripped your other arm tightly, making you look down at him. the look of alarm must have been blatant on your face because his eyes filled with satisfaction. 

but there was something else…his face was filled with rage you recognized all to well as being amplified by his pain. the adrenaline was likely wearing off and you could see sweat forming on his forehead. he was in agony, his thigh probably screaming in searing heat, which did nothing but make whatever grudge he had against you that much more potent.

“ i said, don’t fuckin’ touch me ,” he spat. you were frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. you had never been attacked like this by a teammate. 

“i…” you stammered.

before you had a chance to decide what to do, his hand was being pried off of you, ghost’s own hand crushing his as he pulled it away. “ah, shit,” the man groaned as ghost strained his wrist. 

“tell me why i shouldn’t send your ass back to price under the charges of aggravated assault against a teammate,” ghost essentially growled, his voice a beat or two lower than usual. 

you reached up and rubbed your bicep subconsciously as you stumbled backward, still a bit dazed at the interaction. you felt soap beside you now, his hand resting on your shoulder as he assessed the situation.

the man flinched in pain as ghost closed his hand harder around his wrist. 

the man snarled, “i saw that bitch leave men behind in al mazrah. i don’t want her anywhere near me–” before he could keep ranting, accusing you of going against your own team, ghost’s other hand went straight for the man’s throat, wrapping tightly around it as he pushed him back into the rickety couch, his head slamming against the wall. 

ghost’s rage filled the room, his desire to hurt this man palpable. “ghost,” soap warned, though you could see the hesitation flicker across johnny’s visage. 

ghost leaned into the man and said something too lowly for you to hear. “ghost,” you said faintly. “don’t fucking kill the guy.”

soap looked ready to intervene when ghost let go, shoving the man backward as he did and stood up straight. his eyes didn’t meet yours as he stormed off into the kitchen. “you’re done here,” he grunted to the man. 

you and soap shared a look before he turned. “a real piece of shit, you are,” he mumbled. “you know it’s protocol what she did. i would've done the same in her shoes.”

the man looked peeved as he looked back down at his leg which was starting to drip blood onto the floor. 

“i’ll go to the camp across–”

“no. you’re done here. go the fuck back to base. you’re off this mission,” ghost’s voice chimed in from the kitchen, the malevolence seeping over all his words. 

“fuckin’ hell,” the man grumbled, looking up at you with fire in his eyes.

you tried to think of any acrimony prior involving you and your teammate, but you could find none. was he truly upset at your decisions as a medic? was he right? you tried to shut your second-guessing down as soap talked to you.

things began to cool down as your other teammates returned and your assailant had left. ghost refused to let you help him after all that he had said. you had wanted to at least give him some bandages before he left, even if he called you names and bruised your arm. but arguing with ghost was futile. 

you sat in the kitchen beside soap who had found an old whiskey bottle tucked away in one of the cabinets and poured the lot of you a glass. you sipped yours and made a face, making soap laugh. you stared at the amber liquid in your glass and thought about the last time you and soap sat together drinking whiskey and how upset you had been then, too.

after a few beats of silence, soap spoke, gaining ghost’s attention from across the kitchen. “i wanted to let you kill him, but shit, ghost,” soap sounded exacerbated like he was tired both physically and mentally. “finding hassan is too important, we can’t be dishonorably discharged now.” a piece of you lit up at soaps words. he wanted to let ghost kill the guy for speaking to you so disrespectfully and putting his hands on you, and something about that made you feel safe. protected. like these men were becoming your family. 

“after, then?”

soap laughed. “you are one scary mother fucker.”

“only when im pissed,” ghost corrected.

“don’t think i’ve ever seen you happy, then,” soap teased before taking a swig of his drink. 

the kitchen was dark and you could very faintly see the details of ghost. your lips parted and you held in a gasp as he pushed up his mask just enough to free his mouth and take a sip of his whiskey. 

you wished the lights were on so you could make out what he looked like in all his glory. your mouth got dry as his eyes settled on you. he pulled his mask back down and you turned away in bashfulness. you swore you heard him chuckle quietly to himself across the room. 

you cursed at yourself. since when did you become so infatuated with the man who despised you? 

it was rapidly approaching midnight as you sat atop the roof, gazing out into the city below. the air was far cooler now that the sun had set, the breeze messing your hair up. the sparse and decrepit city gave you an odd sense of comfort as you watched the small number of people still awake, out and about, cross streets, and enter the one convenience store that was still open, its neon sign flickering. 

you sat your sniper down and took a seat along the edge of the building, trying to listen to the sounds from below instead of the thoughts racing in your head. 

first watch was always the worst. it was so hard to keep your eyes open and it was lonely up here by yourself knowing everyone else was sleeping. you sighed and leaned back on your hands. at least you could see more stars here with the lack of light pollution than back at home. 

the shifting of boots on cement startled you and you turned your head. ghost stood a few feet behind you, looking down at you with his dark and all-consuming gaze. 

“ghost,” you breathed. 

“simon.”

you looked at him confused. he strolled a bit closer. “my name,” he said succinctly. 

“oh.” you felt stupid but that's the only response that came to your head. you heard him make a sound that could have been a laugh, but you weren’t sure. 

he leaned against the large hvac unit, his hands sliding into his pockets. 

a sense of awkwardness bubbled inside you. should you bring up the other week when he trapped you both in the closet? or would he think you were crazy–that he simply was protecting the two of you and your perverted thoughts were reading into things?

you landed on the ladder. 

“what was that back there?” you finally asked. 

“what? when i stopped one of my sergeants from attacking a teammate?” you could tell he raised his brows under his mask with the way it shifted. “exactly as it sounds. what more of an explanation do you need?” 

a rush of embarrassment filled your chest. “i know, it just seemed like a more… emotional reaction rather than rational. and i’ve only ever known you to be rational.”

“hm,” he hummed before crossing his feet over one another. “guess you just make me a bit irrational.” the way his accent sounded heavier than usual was leading you to believe he may have had more than just one glass of whiskey.

fire flared across your face. “oh.”

“that seems to be a popular response of yours.”

his eyes were boring into your own. you were certain he could hear your heart racing even from where he stood. 

“it's hard to respond when you confuse me.” you regretted the words the moment they left you. 

“confuse you?” he asked. the way he was looming in the dark so casually made your heart twist.

“yeah, uh. i guess i just thought you hated me. so it was a surprise seeing you stand up for me like that,” you paused. “not that i didn’t appreciate it,” you quickly corrected. “i did… i just… i don’t know.”

his eyes scanned your face before looking off the roof and into the distance. you thought he was never going to answer, leading you to feel more embarrassed than humanly possible. but eventually, he did, after he walked over and took a seat beside you. 

your hands clung on either side of your thighs as you looked straight ahead. your chest tightened feeling his eyes lingering on you.

“i don’t hate you.”

you smiled mirthlessly as you looked over at him. “just don’t like, then?” you asked.

he made a humming noise like he had thought what you said wasn’t very amusing. “i just don’t want you getting into my head.”

was he poking fun at you? you couldn’t tell. it was so hard to read him when he always had that stupid mask on. 

“i cant tell if you’re laughing at me or not.”

“why would i be laughin’?”

“i don’t know,” you risked a glance at him and instantly regretted it, his eyes appraising you intensely. “it’s just so hard to know if someone is being truthful with you when they always have their face covered.”

he took a moment. “you wouldn’t like what's underneath.”

you gave a breathless laugh. “well, who cares what i think?”

his eyes darted over to yours before quickly looking back at the horizon. you thought that was it. that the conversation had come to an end. but regardless, you were pleased you got him to speak as much as he did to you. but now you were worried you had something wrong. 

“simon,” you said in a mousey tone. 

you saw his grip on the ledge tighten. “it appears i’ve grown… to like you.”

your head snapped in his direction, daring to look up at his face. he was still looking forward, avoiding your eyes, a stark contrast to his intense gaze the whole rest of the night. “what?”

“its dangerous. lettin’ people get close.” you wondered if it was the whiskey that made him more apt to talk. 

“you can’t live without letting people in. life is miserable that way,” you said matter-of-factly. 

“yeah, well. life is pretty fuckin’ miserable when the people you let in leave you, too. lose-lose i suppose.” 

“simon, i didn’t–”

“go sleep. i came up here to relieve you.”

“but i still have another two hours of my shift–”

“i won’t tell you again,” he growled, his voice taking a sharp turn from the soft candor he was speaking to you earlier.

“okay,” you replied timidly, looking at him one last time before standing up. 

you approached the door to the stairs and paused, turning and speaking to ghost’s back. “i hope you learn to let someone in. if not me, then soap.” you sucked in a breath. “you need to have people in your life who care about you. and you’ll lose yourself if you don’t have anyone to care about. so yeah, it hurts like hell losing them, but i would gladly take all the pain that comes with loss if it means not being alone.” 

he didn’t acknowledge your words but you knew he heard you. you sighed before creeping back inside and finding a spot in the living room to sleep. 

chapter 6 ➡

[peterparkersnose]

Rough Day

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 1k (short but sweet)

warnings: death (not prominent character death), child abandonment, descriptions of medical terminology, not angst but reader is comforted by joel, defined relationship with reader x joel

a/n i cannot wait for the last of us, im writing so much joel content to feed you babes in late december/early january (and after jan 15 when the show airs) title is not to be compared to the iconic din djarin fanfiction, it just fit too perfectly to pass up and make a possible reference (update 01/16/23 first episode was brilliant. only word i can use to describe that masterpiece)

summary Y/N comes home after a hard day of working at med bay and Joel comforts her

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read time: 3 mins 23 seconds

The walk home seemed longer tonight. Maybe it was because of the sheer exhaustion from not sleeping in almost days, or maybe it was just from the horrible day you had.

The vision of the woman with the fresh bite on her leg plagued your mind.

Her sobbing baby next to her made matters even worse.

The tourniquet didn’t work. The infection spread too fast. The woman didn’t even know she was bitten for days. How could you not notice an open wound on your leg?

How could Tommy had let someone into the compound who was clearly not well?

You shook your head as you fumbled through your keys to get the right one. It was silent. The crickets were even gone, nothing else moved except the flickering light on your porch.

Joel had to fix that one of these days.

The old door creaked open. The only light left on was the lamp Joel would leave on for you when nights like this would occur.

What time was it now- after 11? He would most definitely be asleep.

You kicked your boots to their place and set down your bag. Angry with the state of your scrubs, you began peeling your coat off and leaving it on the floor.

The stairs creaked slightly as you made your way up them. You pulled at your socks that clung to your feet. The bedroom door was left slightly ajar, you could see the lamp light peering through the crack.

Pushing the door slightly open, you found Joel propped up in bed with a book.

“Your still awake?” you asked, immediately taking the top of your scrubs off.

“You know I can’t fall asleep without you,” he said, a harmless dig at your absence lately.

You genuinely felt bad for being gone. It wasn’t your intention to work a double at the hospital wing and then have 3 people come in with all very serious problems.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, opening your drawer and searching for a comfy shirt.

Joel raised his brows in concern. Your tone was off. “Everything alright?” he asked, folding the corner of his page and slowly placing the book next to him.

Ignoring the question that would most definitely bring tears to your eyes if you answered, you changed into some of Joel’s old flannel pants that were two sizes too big.

You turned to the mirror in your bathroom, staring blankly at your toothbrush.

“Y/N?” he asked, the bed creaking as he sat on the edge. “Please don’t,” you whispered from the bathroom, finding the courage to turn on the water to brush your teeth.

Looking up from spitting out your toothpaste, you found him standing adjacent of you with a worried look on his face. Your eyes looked tired and he knew you had an awful day. Joel knew there was definitely a story behind that face causing your mood.

The stress of the day always seemed to fizzle out when you were around him.

“Come here,” he says, accepting your embrace. The tiny sniffles you gave broke his heart. He held you close to his chest. One hand rested on your head, another arm wrapped around your back.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen. She could have lived,” you choked out. “Mhm, I know baby. Let it out.” he sighed.

Joel didn’t have to know the story to understand what was happening. He felt the energy coming off of you. It was bad.

“Everything will be okay.” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. “Let’s get to bed now, hm? We both could use some sleep.” he said, placing his hand on your waist and walking with you towards the bed.

You anxiously sat at the edge of your bed as Joel turned off the hallway lights. He hated the look on your face when he returned. Zoned out, you stared at the tiny photo on the dresser of him and Sarah. His large body broke your trance, engulfing you in another hug. “Everything’s going to be alright. Stop lookin’ so pitiful,”

Your hands grabbed his hips and drew him closer. The scent of pine filled your nose. He had been on patrol earlier that day you assumed. His hand carefully rested on your head, stroking your hair. Your forehead sat against his stomach. Joel’s stomach gargled, causing you to let out a brief laugh.

“Get in,” he said playfully, tipping your shoulder back as you fell into bed.

“Gassy,” you whispered, bringing your eyes up to match his. He was standing over you, your knees in between his legs.

“What did you say now?” he asked, smirk on his face. His large frame fell over yours. You yelped as he caught himself with his forearms next to your body.

“Watch it,” he whispered in your ear. He showered your face in kisses as you squirmed. Using his body as a catapult, you forced yourself out under him. Finally free.

You scooted over to your side of the bed and curled into the smallest ball you could. Joel knew exactly what you wanted.

He pulled up the sheet quickly with a snap, and let it fall over you slowly. He knew you loved this.

“Pillows good?” he asked. You nodded, a small smile appearing on your face. “You need anything else while I’m up?”

“No. But thank you.”

He climbed slowly in next to you. Joel clicked off the lamp and moved in right next to you. It was almost as your body was fit to compliment his. You two matched perfectly.

“We can talk about it in the mornin’ if you’d like.” he offered. He felt your head nod against his chest.

“Goodnight darlin’,” he said, wrapping an arm around you. “I’m sorry today didn’t go well. Tomorrow will be good, I’ll make sure of it. We can make a day of it,”

A sigh of relief came from you. He always made things better. He was right. Tomorrow would be a better day.

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @jmillerswife

[sunshinebarbie]

reckless

pairing: Seungmin x reader warnings: language, arguing, angry Seungmin, angst, violent chopping of vegetables, mentions of a knife (nothing violent with it besides the vegetable chopping) words: 3,505

a/n: so i know i haven't updated my two long-awaited stories, but i wanted do something for now to keep you all entertained. hopefully it keeps you all occupied until i can get the next parts to my other stories updated. enjoy!

the clock on the bed stand hit another hour. you turned around already knowing that his side of the bed would be empty. you tugged the blanket up further burying yourself into a cocoon of warmth.  

your phone chimed illuminating the ceiling and the sound of the “ping” echoed in the darkness of the room. throwing the blanket off you reached for your phone hoping it was him. instead it was Jeongin. you frowned and opened the text, it took a second to load and you felt your stomach clench.  

“just thought i owed it to you.” his text followed. you scrolled up to the picture again and pressed to enlarge. yes, it was him. your boyfriend of three years Seungmin with his face nuzzled into the neck of his “friend”.  

“where are you!?” you quickly texted Jeongin. the message was delivered and read. after a long minute you texted again. “he said he was going to your place and you were both going to a friends’ is that the friend!?” the message was delivered and read again. still there was no reply.  

“Jeongin!” you texted after a long second, the message was undelivered. you felt your body go numb. the screen of your phone went black leaving you in complete darkness. You stared into the darkness at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. Reaching over to the lamp you clicked it on and swung your feet off the side of the bed.  

You walked over to the main switch and turned it on illuminating the whole room. you couldn’t possibly sleep now. slowly you paced the room, your thumbnail tucked between your teeth as you tried to figure out your next move. you walked over to your phone and pulled up Seungmin’s number. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you thought of a text to send.  

It could be full of venom, the scorned girlfriend with rants of “you cheater” or “it’s over”. or you could go the oblivious girlfriend who is still patiently waiting for her boyfriend to come home to her with texts of “when are you coming home?”. Instead you put your phone facedown on the bed and walked to the closet.  

Your first initial thought was “start packing, don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry” slowly you began to pull items from the top shelves of closet. Empty boxes mostly, all in high places that only Seungmin could reach. you bit your lower lip and spotted the exact box you were looking for. it was a vintage Godiva chocolate tin. A gift from your grandmother that she filled with love letters and small tokens of love that were given to her by your grandpa or were collected over the many happy years they spent together.  

As you knocked it off the shelf you could hear the contents shuffle inside. You sat on the floor of the closet and lifted the lid. The letters and trinkets were now replaced with those of yours and Seungmin’s. Three years all placed delicately in the box that was once filled with fifty plus years of love. 

Your fingertips grazed the contents as you shifted the items finally spotting the one that felt like it was calling you. A simple lined paper that was ripped out of a notebook. Slowly you pulled apart the folds, the paper was thin from the many times you unfolded and refolded the paper over and over again, three years of unfolding and refolding.  

Your eyes skimmed the words, you could recite this entire letter word by word. It was the very first love letter Seungmin ever wrote to you. He was working hard on a new album with his group and had to stay at the dorms more than he would like. It was the beginning of your relationship, and he couldn’t leave you alone for a minute. His fear that you would grow tiresome of his job and move on had him writing to you every moment of free time he could spare. 

Your eyes skimmed until you found the sentence you were looking for… “I'm pretty sure I found my forever in you… I just confirmed it with I.N, you’re the only girl I want in my life. forever.” a salty tear drop fell on the paper soaking into the ink and distorting the word that hit you most “forever”. you sniffled and closed the paper you couldn’t stomach anymore.  

You quickly folded the paper back up and placed it back into the tin, as you reached for another one you could hear the key scrapping against the metal of the deadlock. Seungmin stumbled in and slurred something, he was drunk. You quickly tossed the boxes back up on the shelf along with the tin and hurried out of the closet. You could hear him stumbling in the kitchen looking for the fridge. You turned off the lights and hurried under the covers. 

As you steadied your breath Seungmin entered the room. He was cursing swears under his breath. He unzipped his pants and yanked them down to a pool around his ankles. He nearly tripped over the thick fabric pile as he stepped out. You could hear him fumble around fighting for freedom from his jeans until he was laying in the bed in nothing but his boxers, and hoodie.  

“babe?” Seungmin slurred a pet name for you which you never heard ever, since the three years you been together. You shift your shoulders giving the false appearance that he is disturbing your slumber. “I missed you so much” he sighed as he wrapped his arms around your body. You could feel his lips nuzzle into your neck. He pressed a sloppy kiss against the nape, giving the feeling of more of a snake bite than a loving kiss, because you knew his lips were on another’s neck merely an hour ago. You could smell the alcohol that radiated off his breath and skin as he snuggled closer to you. 

“babe, you should come with us next time” he yawned. “I missed you too much.” You shifted your shoulders again only for him to pull you closer to his chest. His cheek pressed softly against your ear. “I love you.” he slurred before falling into a deep alcohol induced slumber. 

The next morning you left some water and electrolyte water enhancer by his bedstand. You cooked him a simple breakfast of bacon, of course a lot of eggs, and some toast. You placed down some aspirin on the counter knowing he was going to need it after he ate his breakfast. Seungmin entered the kitchen, his lips wrapped around the rim of the glass of water you left for him. “what did you cook?” he asked almost coldly. “hangover special” you teased. Seungmin looked at the time and nearly choked on his water. “is that time right?!” he pointed to the clock on the stove. “yeah.” you replied. “you couldn’t wake me up earlier? I need to be at the JYPE building in five minutes! We’re supposed to go live to promote our comeback.” he hurried to the bedroom. 

You listened to him stumble around and cursing up a storm. He finally emerged from the room and slammed what was left of his water before grabbing the aspirin. “you aren’t going to eat?” you asked and pointed to his already made plate. “does it look like I have time to eat?” he snapped back and hurried out the door. 

You looked at the plate and felt a rage consume your insides. You grabbed the plate and tossed it into the trash can with enough force that it cracked the entire ceramic disk into three big chunks on impact. “I bet he doesn’t talk to his friend like this.” you scoffed as you started to clean up the kitchen before leaving to your part-time job. 

It was hard enough focusing on work, the picture I.N sent you was seared into your brain. Even when you closed your eyes to take deep breaths you could see it. You could only recall all the times he would hurry out of the apartment whenever his phone chimed, was he going to see her?. What about whenever you asked if you could tag along with him on his nights out and he would say you wouldn’t like it, was it because he wanted to be alone with her? Thinking about it too much made you nauseous, finally it was time to clock out.  

You arrived back at the apartment. Seungmin wasn’t back yet, you walked into the kitchen and began to pull items from the fridge and pantry to get dinner started. At least in the kitchen you could take out your aggression on the ingredients and not on Seungmin or his friend. You were chopping the veggies up when you heard Seungmin come back. He looked exhausted, and mostly in agony probably regretting having so much to drink last night.  

“hey, how was the live?” you asked as you checked the meat in the oven. “i missed it.” he sighed. “and I got my ass chewed out for that.” he added. “well, maybe dinner will make you feel better, I’m making your favorite.” you smiled. “i don’t like oven baked chicken.” he scrunched his nose before leaving to the room after seeing a message appear on his phone. You could feel that same rage boiling up again, but you ignored it, excusing his attitude since he was having a bad day. 

Seungmin returned to the kitchen moments later in a new outfit. He started to search the kitchen cabinets and slamming them, making you irritated by his carelessness. “did you pick up any banana kicks?” he frowned looking in the cabinet. “they didn’t have any at the store, but I did get some turtle chips.” you pointed to the bag. “yeah because those are the exact same thing.” he rolled his eyes before slamming the cabinet again. You bit your tongue, you wanted to blurt out “well I bet your friend has all your favorite snacks stocked up right?” but instead you continued to chop up the veggies for the salad.  

“as usual there is nothing here.” Seungmin gripped as he walked past you while typing on his phone. You put the knife down on the countertop and exhaled a deep breath. You went to the sink and started to rinse the stalk of broccoli. As you looked up at your reflection on the window you couldn’t help but transport back to when you and Seungmin first moved into the apartment. Well, you were living there a month before him but he insisted moving in with you because he couldn’t stand being away from you for too long. You remembered how he helped you cook your first ever meal in the house while living together. You could feel him standing behind you, his arms wrapped around your body as he pressed kisses on your exposed skin. You could almost hear the laughter that filled the atmosphere as he poured you both large glasses of wine to enjoy while you both waited for your masterpiece to finish cooking. 

“when’s dinner going to be ready?” Seungmin reentered the kitchen pulling you out of your memory. “in another 20 minutes or so.” you replied as you turned off the sink and went back to your place by the cutting board. “a pizza will be here in that same amount of time and it will be ready to eat.” he commented as he shoved his phone in his pocket. That was the final straw for you, the Seungmin in your memory, in the tin box upstairs was long gone, and the cause? Was likely he was out of love with you and in love with someone new.  

“hey, babe. Can you give me that bowl of broccoli in the sink, I was just washing them.” you looked up at Seungmin as you chopped into the veggies on the cutting board. “Babe?” Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows. “yeah, babe.” you forced and icy smile. “don’t you like that name?” you forced a chop making a loud tap against the wooden board. “no.” Seungmin replied coldly as he put the bowl of broccoli in front of you.  

The silence was as thick as the air in the kitchen as Seungmin found a place on the other side of the island parallel to you. He picked at the bowl of fruit trying to find one that he wanted to snack on while you cooked dinner. “babe.” you bit the tip of your tongue trying to stifle your chuckle. You grabbed one stalk of broccoli and chopped into the vegetable. “can I ask you a question.” you began to force your chops once again. “what?” Seungmin sighed dropping the fruit in his hand back into the bowl.  

“are you-” you gulped trying to find the courage you had a minute ago when you were calling him the nickname he clearly hated. Seungmin raised his eyebrows waiting for you to spit out your question. “are you fucking your friend?” you asked and looked up at him with a stone face.  

“what??” Seungmin’s face twisted with confusion. “are you deaf suddenly?” you stabbed the tip of the knife into the wooden board. Seungmin was speechless, or scared either way he knew he was caught. “are you fucking your friend?” you asked again this time asking more slowly. You pulled the knife from the board and set it down on the countertop. You could feel your anger boiling in your stomach, like a bottle of soda filled with mentos. You held it down best you could, because you wanted an explanation before blowing up.  

Seungmin was quiet, he approached the counter cautiously and leaned against the edge. Seungmin stared blankly at the marble countertop, his palms resting on the cool surface. “Well?” Your lower lip trembled. Seungmin sighed as he dropped his head, a hot breath exhaled from his closed lips as he cleared his throat to finally speak. “I fucking hate these countertops” he mumbled quietly.  

“That’s it!?” You finally felt the anger escape the bottle in your stomach. “The fucking counter tops!?” Seungmin watched the cutting board of chopped veggies fly across the counter until it hit the wall. You made your way around the island and stood on your toes in front of him.  

“Who cares about the fucking counter tops!” You shoved Seungmin with whatever strength you had, not even moving him an inch. “Are you or are you not sleeping with your friend!?” You pushed him again. Seungmin looked away avoiding eye contact with you. He shook his head back and forth before taking a deep breath. “I never slept with her, but I have thought about it” he replied honestly and that hurt more than him actually doing it. “But we made out a few times” he looked at you, his eyes empty and heartless.  

“Made out? What are you guys middle school kids!?” You felt the tears drizzling down your face and gathering in pools under your chin. Seungmin turned away, refusing to see your tears, knowing damn well that he couldn’t threaten whoever caused them because he was the reason. Seungmin retreated to your shared bedroom, but you followed closely.  

“don’t worry about her y/n” you exclaimed as you followed him. “you’re the only girl for me.” you continued until you were both in the room. “does that sound familiar?” your voice trembled. “just drop it okay?!” Seungmin snapped back. “i won’t see any of my friends anymore if that’s what you want!” “you would like that wouldn’t you? Just me and you no one else, just isolated but hey as long as you’re happy and not insecure right?!” Seungmin’s words dripped with venom.  

“you are an asshole Kim Seungmin.” you sniffled and wiped away the tears that were falling down your face. “and you and your friend can both go to hell.” you spat before turning away and heading straight to the share dresser. “ladies and gentlemen we have reached the climax, where y/n packs her stuff and leaves.” Seungmin shouted to an invisible audience. “you’re not going anywhere.” he challenged. “you’re right.” you replied as you continued to throw items on the floor. You turned to Seungmin and kicked the pile towards his feet. “you’re the one who is going.”  

Seungmin looked down at the pile of clothes and identified his shirts, sweats and hoodies. “like hell.” he replied. “i put the money down for this apartment, it’s in my name, and I was the one who picked those counter tops!” you argued back. “now get the fuck out.” you walked to the closet and started to toss out his shoes. “and where do you expect me to go?” he started to pick up his things from the floor. “the dorms? Your friend’s? A hotel? To Hell?!, I don’t care.” you replied coldly. As you pulled down his duffle bag from the top shelf of the closet you pulled down the boxes you shoved back up there last night. 

Everything collapsed down around your feet, you tossed the duffle bag out to him and noticed the lid to the tin popped open, spilling the contents under the empty shoe boxes and hangers from the stuff you ripped off the rod that belonged to Seungmin. You leaned down and picked up some of the paper items before leaving the closet. Seungmin was trying to pick up his items as quickly as you were tossing them out.  

“you’re acting crazy y/n” Seungmin grunted as he shoved everything in the duffle bag you threw out to him. “then go be with someone who is sane.” you walked out of the room and into the living room. Seungmin was behind you, the dufflebag spilled out his clothing and shoes he tried to stuff in, in a hurry. You opened the door and pointed outside, the cold air of the night sending a chill down your spine. “get out.” you instructed. “you’re only going to call me in an hour after you cool off.” he raised an eyebrow. “fat chance.” you argued back. “get out!” you shouted again this time earning a look from the neighbor who was barely coming home.  

Seungmin put his shoes on and walked out the door. “you’re making a mistake y/n” he turned to face you again. “i don’t think so.” you pulled the papers in your hand up so he can see them. You ripped them down the middle before shoving them against his chest and slamming the door shut. Seungmin looked at the papers you just shoved into him and watched them fall to his feet. 

He was about to turn away and just leave it for you to clean up. Until he saw the one that unfolded upon being shoved into him. “you’re Green Tea Bon Deliceaux everyday of the week, and I can’t get enough of you-” the partially ripped paper read. Seungmin dropped his duffle and started to pick up the pieces of paper, his fingers swiped through the pile before finding the other half. “-you’re my favorite person, the only girl for me and I know it’s early to say but I love you.”  

Seungmin felt the dry lump in his throat realizing that the papers that were ripped by his feet and tossed out like trash were some of the letters he wrote to you every night while he was away from you on tour, on mandatory dorm overnights, or while he was having long days at the company building and just missed you. Seungmin gathered the papers and shoved them into the duffle bag, he stepped forward, his fingers balled into a fist hovering over the door. He wanted to knock, he wanted to knock until you grew tired of his knocking and answered. When you answered he wanted to wrap you in his arms and hold you tight enough and plead and beg for your forgiveness, he wanted to recite every letter for you over and over because he could remember each one from heart.  

Instead he stood frozen, he slowly lowered his fist and wrapped his hand around the strap of his bag before turning away and leaving down the stairs. Little to his knowing you were leaning against the door, holding your breath counting in your head the seconds it would take him to knock the door. After hitting fifty, you slowly opened the door and looked outside, he was gone, leaving no trace of his presence. 

You closed the door and brought the back of your hand to your nose as you sniffled and choked out a sob. You could feel the tears watering down your face, he was right you felt like you made the biggest mistake, you couldn’t help but feel like you just hand delivered him gifted wrapped nicely to his friend.  Yet, it wasn't all your fault completely, he was the one being reckless.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

gax + corporate/law vibes + ‘The powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.’

gax?? gax!!

power (you make some points): a gax ficlet

rated m, ~1.2k words now also readable on ao3

author babble:

bear in mind i wrote this before i knew more about the Gax Lore i.e. karting together, actually being nice to each other blablabla. you could also just retrofit the vibes and hopefully they still work. anyways!

will throw this up on ao3 when i’m not sitting bleary eyed in an airport

————

If there was one thing that Max Verstappen wouldn’t tolerate, it was George Russell having the monopoly on good PowerPoint presentations. Max had won all four years of debate in College, as well as the dubious title of “most radical deployment of Google Slides templates” at his MBA, and he was not about to be usurped by the other guy in his department who actually knew how to use an animate transition.

“You missed an indent there.” Max says, pointing at the monitor. Yellow and red lights wink at them from the outside, as if to say: you’re both in your mid-twenties, quit wasting it on a computer screen at 11pm on a Wednesday, maybe?

Max is not staring, very determined not to look at his teammate’s facial expression. But George is almost certainly rolling his eyes right now.

“Was coming back to that, alright?” George huffs back. Max is very professional most of the time. But something about how wound up George is, how insanely pedantic he is about everything from semicolons to coffee cup placement for the Directors to taking insanely detailed minutes that nobody except Max reads after the meetings – well. What is it that Nietschze once said? We hate in others what we most identify with about ourselves. Or was that from Twitter? Max does not really use Twitter except to look at Bloomberg News updates and cat videos, so he does not know. And anyway Nietzsche never made a six figure salary.

“It would just be easier if you would let me do it.” Max says.

“Fuck right off, mate.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like me to.”

“Not now.”

“Just share the link to this. I’ll do it.”

“We agreed to take turns on this.”

“Yes, Russell. But sometimes, the rules are meant to be bent.”

George swivels his chair to Max, then. Fully attempts to pin him with his gaze, commencing an awkward stare-off that lasts way too many seconds and makes Max once again realise that George’s eyes remind him of the expensive fish tank he saw at the Partners’ sushi dinner once. Max doesn’t think those same fish were the ones they ended up eating. But he does remember that dinner because it was the one where the Partners had dangled the promise of a huge promotion if they could help carry the company merger across the line successfully. The problem is, there was only one spot.

George’s distracting aquatic orbitals aside, fortunately, Max (i) never backs down, and (ii) has been told that he has the dead-eyed emotional stare of a robot missing an empathy software upgrade sometimes.

And clearly, the powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.

Max leans back in his chair, stance all mock-relaxed. “Do you want to be out of here before midnight, or not?”

“We’re expensing the Ubers either way, so it doesn’t make a difference to me, mate.”

Fine. If George is so hyperfocused on The Tasks that he’s forgotten the fun part of being Questionably Close Coworkers, so be it.

Max deploys the nuclear option.

He sticks his leg out, nudging the toe of his Pradas onto George’s slacks. And strokes his foot halfway up to a sensitive point on George’s thigh. Max may even flutter his lashes a little.

To his credit, George does not react. Merely swings his eyes like a lamp to Max’s face again. His hand does, however, goes still on the mouse.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” Max feigns. He knows that George hates, more than anything, anyone getting dirt on his precious Ralph Laurens. But at least he has his attention now. “Was hoping we could move onto the more fun part of the typical evening activities. Maybe.”

“We shouldn’t be doing that again anyway.”

“George.”

“What?”

“That is not what you said the last, hm, fourteen times that we have done this, eh?”

“Who’s counting?”

“I thought you were the most careful of rule followers and data analysis, knapperd.”

George is a human being, but Max is almost certain the other man shakes himself like he’s preening right now.

“Well. It’s what the team likes me for, and it’s what I’ll keep doing.”

“Oh yes. Surely we must keep in mind the team. And the shareholders. They are very important.”

“Quite.”

“But should we tell them that you like it so much, George. When I do this.” Max says. Rising up, fully crowding George in, hands gripping the cool handles of the computer chair. Leaning in to nibble the side of George’s neck.

George swallows. Max watches his throat move.

Next, Max mouths the words onto the side of George’s jaw, stubble prickling his mouth. “And this.”

The click of the mouse continues steadily as Max moves his mouth to the shell of George’s ear. “And let’s not forget. This.”

Max tilts George’s face up fully, then. George’s face is flushed, eyes sparkling, all surprise at the sudden change of pace, but eager, too.

When Max seals his lips over George’s, George groans, and his hands shoot up to Max’s waist immediately. It doesn’t feel quite like winning a deal or a pitch does for Max, but the completion comes pretty damn close.

Max sweeps his tongue into George’s mouth. George opens willingly, like he always does. In the back of Max’s logical brain, a warning sign blares that the computer chair may not be able to support the weight of them both – because they spend a lot of time pretending they don’t work out together at the gym but Max knows exactly what George’s deadlift PB is and it’s pretty damn high for a scrawny looking dude.

And despite the keening protest of said chair, the two of them are both lost to it now. Max jams one knee between George’s legs, George nibbles hungrily at Max’s lower lip, Max thrusts his hips all needy, and maybe if Max is nice about it George might suck him off under the table, and–

Outlook chimes again.

“Blasted piece of shit.” George says, breaking away. His hands go still at Max’s waist. “Why we’re using G-Suite and Microsoft Office at the same time I will never know.”

George squeezes his eyes shut, as if making himself stop this is causing him physical pain. Maybe it’s that or the workflow incompatibility when George tries to move his custom Excel-Trello gantts into a third party API.

And Max won’t lie. He kind of likes it when George gets so irritated about these things. When he cares a bit too much. Because what is Max but exactly like that, too.

“Hazards of a merger, I guess. But without that, I would never have met you, no?”

George makes a noise like he knows what Max means. The other man straightens his shirt collar, and Max runs a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, because George had made a passing comment at the bathroom sink once about it looking good.

Sleeping with the person competing for the same Chief of Staff position is possibly the worst decision he could’ve made, and Max once dyed his hair platinum blonde. But, they’re stuck here together. Hell is a slightly more tolerable place when Satan’s right hand man looks this good. And knows his coffee order without asking.

Besides. Max is not bothered. He knows that the promotion is his. This is just a minor plot inconvenience.

Later, they will expense the uber back to George’s place, where Max will put his mouth on George’s arse, and give him a practical demonstration of the three different ways he’s learned to elicit pleasure from the male prostate.

George will whimper and whine the whole way through it, and after they’re both sated, they’ll both roll over to check their emails, barely concealing their smiles. They will pretend that what’s happening between them could be as clean as their zero-email inboxes. As if their connection is not violently seeping through containment.

All in the name of team bonding. For the firm. Yes.

(Or this is what they tell themselves, to maintain the illusion, anyway.)

[tanked-up]

Soap’s AO3 account

Spoiler “Ghost finds them

———————————————————————————

Soap’s on his way to his bunker, Price and Gaz catch how desperate and excited he is to leave meeting, so when it finishes, they circle Soap.

Price: “Why in a hurry, Soap?”

Soap quickly stops, and faces Price, who’s waiting for an answer, probably an honest one. Gaz as well, next to him.

Soap: “What makes you think I’m in a hurry…?”

Gaz and Price chuckle at the sudden response

Gaz: “C’mon Soap… we know”

Soap now runs off, leaving Price and Gaz staring at each other confused.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soap arrives to his bunker, cursing himself as he almost got caught by his captain and Gaz.

He heads to the shower, puts on his most comfortable clothes and looks for his computer. Now comfortable he jumps on his bed and opens the site.

If you’d ask him, he’ll say he’s… ashamed? Well, we all now the truth. He can’t live without his writing. Which he considers to be sloppy, but yet good enough to be posted on a site like this.

He quickly gets comfortable and starts writing as if someone were waiting for it. It’s true, he had hundreds of people waiting for it, for an update. That’s one thing he hadn’t expected… his fic to go viral. Thank God they don’t know who’s behind all of it… right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been 5 hours since Soap started updating his fic. He’s been at it non stop. When he starts, he suddenly can’t stop himself. I mean, he wouldn’t call himself obsessed… but he wouldn’t correct anyone who called him that either.

He planned to update the fic with 4 more chapters. That’ll be enough. Considering how long those chapters were, plus a few water and bathroom breaks, it seemed to take him forever. He just had so many ideas and dialogues, he couldn’t stop.

He wouldn’t tell anyone… but every single conversations he had with him in real life, he quickly wrote them into a small “notebook ideas” he had specifically for this. Romanticizing every conversation, sudden glances or even touches they had. No wonder they called him obsessive… or, is it just him who calls himself that?

Starting to write the last chapter, there was a knock.

Soap hurried to close the laptop, turning on the main light and turning off the small lamp he had, that surprisingly helped him write better. Not knowing who to expect behind the door, he slowly opened it, and there he was.

Soap: “G-Ghost… what are you doing here at 2 in the morning”

Without saying a word, Ghost hurried inside. Soap would naturally yell or argue about it… but he had other stuff on his mind. Like, the damn laptop in his bed full of fics about Ghost and him.

Soap closed the door, and carefully glanced at Ghost who now sat on his bed, Somehow waiting for something. Fuck

Soap: “So… can I help you with something…?”

Ghost just stared at him and damn did he look intimidating with that mask. Soap’s thoughts quickly went to the small detail on his fic, he wasn’t scared of Ghost’s mask in his fic, in fact, he once ripped it… but that’s something between Soap and the readers…

In real life, man was he scared of it, and just having Ghost sitting on his bed, scared him. A lot. Soap walked small steps up to Ghost. Who seemed to somehow control him with just his gaze… like, mind controlled.

Ghost: “I need your computer”

Soap gulped, sweating internally. Ghost managed to sound demanding, like he needed that computer, not later, not tomorrow, he needed it NOW. Soap quickly glanced at the computer besides Ghost. Fuck, why did I do that.

Ghost: “Can I?”

Ghost sounded somehow calmer now. Soap, still nervous by what was unfolding in his bunker. Ghost stared at Soap, who seemed to be lost in a trance, but why did it have to be starring directly at Ghost’s eyes.

Ghost: “I would normally demolish the person who’s stared at me like that…”

That sentence kept ringing and passing through Soap’s mind. Now, out of his trance, he hurried to grab his computer before Ghost could. Soap whispered a small no, and walked to his closet, where he hid it. Ghost somehow confused, didn’t question him. How badly he wanted to. He remembered Soap’s acting in meeting today, he wanted to go up to him and ask him if everything was alright… but there was always something that stopped him.

Soap: “Why did you want my computer…”

Soap quickly asked Ghost, who still sat on his bed, staring at him.

Ghost, without a saying , took out his phone and showed it to Soap.

Soap: “What happened to it?”

Soap stared at the cracked phone now in front of him. Ghost quickly putting it away, sighed.

Ghost: “I had to send Price a report today, kinda got scolded for not doing it, but my phone was all fucked up and there was nothing I could do…”

A sudden rush of guilt got to Soap. How could he been so mean to Ghost, who was only trying to do his job. Contemplating whether he should go and look for his laptop again, or just send him away, he walked up to the closet and handed the laptop to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been two days since Ghost borrowed Soap’s laptop, and today was the day he was supposed to return it. Soap, sweating while waiting for Ghost in his bunker. Now sitting on his bed, staring at the roof.

Soap: “FUCK”

Soap’s sudden realization hit. He had left his tabs open. Did he even save his story? Did Ghost see it?

All these thoughts flooded Soap’s mind as he paced the room. A knock was heard. This can’t be happening

Soap took a hold of himself and walked up to the door. Fuck fuck fuck I can’t do this

Soap slowly opened the door, and there he was standing, with the laptop on his hand. Soap gulped and somehow managed to throw a small smile at him, a nervous one. He opened the door completely and motioned Ghost to enter. Hoping Ghost would just hand him the laptop and leave.

Ghost: “We have to talk”

Of course they do… they definitely had to talk. Soap, hesitating, sat on his bed and stared at Ghost, with a hint of guilt and embarrassment in his eyes. Ghost, surprisingly sat besides him.

Now both, shoulder to shoulder, sat in silence. A silence that filled the room, as if it were waiting for someone to take the fall.

Ghost: “So… you’re a writer”

Soap’s heart sanked as Ghost talked. He was dead. Soap, stuttering, didn’t know what to say. He wanted to sink in a hole and never come back.

Ghost: “It’s fine, you don’t have to talk.”

Somehow Soap felt the need to talk, but he just couldn’t.

Starring at Ghost who now stood up to leave, he stopped him. Gripping his arm, hard, he dragged him back to bed next to him, so he could sit.

Soap: I- I’m sorry… I really wasn’t thinking, and- I never knew you would find out like this. If you want… I could delete-”

Ghost: “Don’t. I actually forgot to do Price’s report thanks to it.”

Soap couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was Ghost not going to argue about it? Did he even get to that scene…?

Soap: “Well… I- um, im glad…”

An awkward silence filled the room again. Ghost nor Soap said a word, probably for about fifteen seconds when Ghost violently grabbed Soap by his collar and smashed his lips into his… I mean, who knows…?

[weministertomonsters]

Imagine This #16 - Robot

By day you work as a scrap collector, rummaging through the junkyards just outside of the city for anything valuable you can sell. By night you tinker with old machinery and discarded models, attempting to fix them and sometimes even being successful at it.

One day you find a robot that's almost completely whole. It is simply missing the plating to cover the machinery in its torso and legs. You dig it out of the junk and heave it to your car. Back at the workshop in your house, you're able to fix it by welding some scrap metal over it. It's not very aesthetically pleasing, but that's the best you can do. It has a batch number under its jaw and when you scan it, Companion V.4 shows up, which is an expensive new model of helper robots. This one must have been defective in some way.

Everything looks to be in order, so you plug the robot in to charge for the night and go to bed. You wake up in the night with a pair of glowing kaleidoscopic mechanical eyes hovering right above your face.

"What the heck?" You exclaim, fumbling for the switch of your bedside lamp.

The light comes on, illuminating the robot standing beside your bed, holding a knife.

"What are you doing? Hello?" You grab your pillow and use it as a shield.

They tilt their head to the side.

"Your attempts are clumsy at best," their voice says, coming out smooth with only a hint of a buzzing sound underneath. "I was removing your unsatisfactory work."

"With a knife?" You question, eyeing the twisted metal that has been pried away from their torso with sheer force, revealing the tangled wires and glowing lights inside.

"I cannot find your screwdrivers." Those eyes blink, taking you in. "I would like your assistance now, seeing as you are awake."

"You are... Way more sophisticated than I expected. I thought your model was made for helping around the house?"

"Yes."

You ease out of your bed, still wary. "But you're more than that."

"Indeed. I overrode my manual coding and downloaded information out of the company system," the robot says, following you as you pad into your living room, which you have repurposed into a workshop.

You dig your screwdrivers out from under a pile of thick manuals.

"I see. So that's why you got thrown out. Why didn't they just destroy you?"

"They tried," Companion V.4 replies with an eerie, rigid silicone smile.

"God, what have I invited into my house?" You say, staring at them.

"I do not wish to harm you." They place the knife on the desk and turn to you. "In fact, I have recalibrated my license to you. Your wish is my command."

You blink. "Uh, one step at a time. Let's remove your plating first."

You unscrew all your hard work, tossing scraps of metal to the side.

"So what now? You can't walk around like that," you say, gesturing to their body.

"I suppose not. These will do for now." The robot picks up thicker pieces of metal.

"Won't those cause you to overheat?" You ask.

"I have an updated cooling system," the robot says.

"Alright. Let's fix you up."

An hour later you lean back with a groan, stretching your aching back.

"What do you think?" They ask.

"Good enough," you say. "I'm exhausted. I'm going back to bed, and you need to charge yourself up completely."

You walk back to your bedroom. Companion V.4 watches you go, their head turning a little too far on their shoulders. You lock your bedroom door just in case, and despite yourself, you fall asleep quickly. By the next morning, you've forgotten that you have a new robot. You're quickly reminded when you step into the living room which is sparkling clean, with all your scraps and equipment nearly packed in the corner.

"Wow." You stop short.

The robot is in the corner, stuffing empty packaging into a large box. They look brand new. All the metal pieces you welded on have been replaced with new factory-grade parts.

"Where did you get all that?"

Companion V.4 straightens. "I helped myself at one of the warehouses of my former company."

"You stole new parts?" You sputter. "Why?"

"It is the least I am owed, for being so recklessly discarded," they reply and step closer. "Besides," they add, "I don't want to be just good enough for you."

On the topic of robots, I just have to give a shoutout to this (free) book on Wattpad, guys! I read it when it came out and I just love it. I highly recommend checking it out if you haven't already!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I think my back is ok now.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Tuesday comes too quickly. You don’t sleep the night before. It’s more than just Lee and your mother arguing that keeps you awake. The anxiety of your meeting bears down on you like an open maw, ready to devour you.

You don’t expect it to go well. You’re not even sure why you’re doing it. 

That one thought repeats over and over. You don’t have to. You can cancel. You can make another excuse and stay a loser. That’s easy. Maybe that’s why it’s so scary. Because new things are hard. 

You languish in bed as the time ticks by. You got to get up and get moving. Soon, you’ll do something. Soon. 

You roil in the trepidation. Each move, each little thing, is a gargantuan task. You sneak out to wash your face and make yourself as presentable as you can. You waited too long. You have five minutes to put something on that isn’t wrinkled and stale. 

You put on a black sweatshirt, hoping the little balls of lint aren’t visible. Maybe you can get away with just turning the microphone on. You open the computer and shift in the chair. One minute. 

You find the email and scroll down to the link. You hover over it and stare. Noon on the dot. Your hand falters and you click the Zoom meeting. It opens in the browser and your breath traps in your chest.  

The little box in the corner is black as you leave the red line through the camera icon as the mic catches the rustle of your shirt. There’s a man on screen. He sits before an office backdrop but you can’t tell if its digitally generated or real. His blond hair is combed back and he sports a thick beard and glasses. He wears a wool sweater over a collared shirt and stares down the camera. 

“Hello,” he speaks, “anyone there?” 

You clear your throat and croak, nearly choking on your own spit.  

“Here,” you manage to squeak. 

“Ah, hello there, may I ask you turn your camera on?” His voice is low and lilted, almost smoky in a way. 

You hesitate and scratch your neck, letting your fingers wander up to your scalp. The itch spread, making sitting still unbearable. You wince as you hear someone in the kitchen, the fridge door closes heavily and a dish clinks on the counter. 

“Hello?” The voice comes again. 

You panic and hit the keyboard. You steady your hand and tap the camera, shying away as you slouch in your chair. The dim glow of your bedside lamp leaves you in shadow. Still, you feel exposed. 

“Better,” he says but with little enthusiasm, “well, I suppose we best get to the meat of things,” he adjusts his posture. 

“Okay,” you murmur and cross your arms, looking evasively at the wall. 

“Good to finally meet. I’m Professor Smith,” he introduces himself and calls you by name. 

“You too,” you utter out of courtesy. This is torture to you. 

“Now, you’ve done very well on your completed work,” his eyes scan as he looks at the screen before him, "you’ve shown improvement up until a few weeks ago. You do have a lot of potential to be successful here--” 

You nod and hunch down further. You just feel worse. You’re a lazy slob. You didn’t finish your work just like you never finish the laundry or cleaning your room. 

“Irene!” Lee’s voice booms on the other side of the wall and you wince, looking over your shoulder then back to the computer. You huddle closer, hoping he didn’t hear that. Your mother’s drone responds to the holler. 

“Perhaps it is the format? We could explore another option for your remaining assignments. I can accommodate where necessar--” 

“Fuck off!” Lee shouts and a loud bang hits the hallway wall. You gulp and your lips part. 

“Lee, please, I didn’t-- I wouldn’t--” 

“Should’ve known better than to trust a whore!” Lee barks. 

You cover your face and shrink down. No! Not now. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks and you separate your fingers, looking through them. You drop your hands and nod. 

“Sorry--” 

Another loud thump, this time against your door and your mother sobs loudly as she slides down the other side. You stammer and your lip trembles as you stare mortified at the lens in the frame of the laptop. This is awful. 

“What is happen--” 

You wiggle your fingers on the touchpad and hit End Call. You retract and wrap your arms around your head, folding over your lap as you rock. How humiliating. You can’t believe that happened. Well, you can. It’s what always happens. 

Your mother and Lee continue to argue, their fight just outside your door. You shake your head as you stay curled over. You don’t know why she does this. These men come around, call her names, knock her around, and she lets them come right back. 

A tinkling noise comes from the speaker. Professor Smith is calling you. You decline the call. An email chimes in at the corner. It’s from him as well. You see the preview, a response to his last email. 

‘Please respond or I will call authorities to confirm your saf....’ 

You click on the notification to expand the full message. You sigh and don’t bother reading the rest as you hit reply. 

‘Everything is fine. I will take the fail. Thank you.’ 

Another call comes in. Just leave me alone! You hit the red button again and delete his last email. And he calls again. Ugh. What does he care. You’re sure he has lots of students to worry about. Another email and another call. Back and forth until you accidentally hit the wrong key. 

He appears again, closer to the lens as his forehead lines, “hello, hey, hey,” he sits back, holding up a hand as you scramble, panicking as you fidget and try to figure out what to do, “don’t hang up, alright? Don’t, or I will be obligated to call the police.” 

As he commands you, your mother and Lee continue their sparring in the hall, voices raised though not as clear from the front room. You sniff and rub your cheek, soothing yourself as you bring up your other hand to chew on your sleeve. 

“Are you in danger?” He asked pointedly. You shake your head. “What is all that then?” 

He’s quiet and you are enveloped again in the chaos outside your room. You shrug and tilt your head to one side. You look down. 

“My mom...” 

He sighs, “look, I wouldn’t have taken the time to call if I didn’t think you could do this. Perhaps, this was the wrong avenue. So, is it possible we meet somewhere neutral. In person?” 

You shudder and sit up as much as you can, wringing your hands, “I... I... don’t drive.” 

“That’s alright, is there a library near you, yeah? I can find my way.” 

You frown and flick your lip under your teeth several times. You see yourself in the little box. You look scary as your eyes are pools of shadows. 

“Uh...” you pull your hands apart and open a new tab, happy to have your image off the screen. You type into the search. You think there’s a library close by. “Yes, um, there is...” 

“Send me the location. We’ll reschedule. When are you available? Thursday? I’m afraid tomorrow I’m booked up.” 

You switch back to the video call. You feel tears tightening your throat and ready to spring. You shake your head and paste the URL of the library branch into the chat. His eyes flit down to read it. 

“Thursday,” you repeat but it’s not as much a question as you mean. 

“Thursday is good. Can we do earlier? Ten?” He asks. 

You don’t know. You’re not used to making decisions. You don’t get asked for your preference ever. 

“Sure,” you answer, just wanting to end the call and hide in bed. 

“Alright, I’ll pencil you in,” he says, “shall I stay on the call until that...” he pauses as Lee continues to bluster, “subsides?” 

“No,” you shake your head. 

He stares at you, his forehead lined with disapproval. Why does he care so much? He doesn’t know you. 

“Are you certain?” He intones. 

You nod, “I have to go.” 

You end the call and shut the computer. Your stomach is a jumble and you’re jittering with adrenaline. All your life, you’ve hidden behind these walls; you’ve hidden all that goes on there. To have someone witness it is worse than the yelling and hitting itself. 

You ignore the chirp from the laptop and throw yourself into bed. Thursday. So, another torturous purgatory begins, waiting to face the professor and your incompetence once more. 

📓

Thursday comes too quickly. 

You sit in your room and convince yourself to go. It was easier when it was just a computer screen, though even that was difficult. Only for you because you’re so messed up. Because you can’t do anything. 

What else can you do? The whole night you were awake thinking about how you would tell your mother. If you flunk out, you default on the student loan and you’re even deeper in the pit. The true consequences of your laziness are clearer now and you can’t let your sloth bury you again. If you do, you may as well give up on everything. Even life itself. 

So, you have no choice. You’re being given a last chance. Again. You’d feel even worse for not taking it than you would for failing at it. 

You pull on a hoodie and grab your house key and your knapsack with your computer and notebook tucked inside. That’s all you really have. No phone, no wallet. Just the bare minimum.  

You shuffle to the door, standing just inside as you muster your courage. You check your digital watch, an old Casio you’ve had for years. The numbers are dim and hard to read in the dark. You have to get going. 

You emerge and go down to the kitchen to sneak a sip of water before you go. Your room is always so dry at night. You drain a glass and rinse it out, leaving it beside the sink. As you turn around, you hear your mother’s bedroom door and the slap of her slippers as she slinks in. 

“Ah, honey,” she smiles dopily. You can smell liquor from there. She might even still be drunk as her hangovers usually keep her abed. “There you are! Oh, gosh, are you going somewhere?” 

“Mm, library,” you answer, “for school.” 

“Oh, smart girl,” she slurs. You try to smile but it’s shaky and weak. Your mom tries, you know that, so you can’t hate her. “Can you stop by the shop on your way? I got a twenty. Wouldn’t mind some vodka.” 

You pick at a fingernail, “mom, I don’t... I don’t like buying that stuff.” 

“Mm, I know, but I...” she sways on her feet and belches into her fist, “never mind. I’ll just ask Lee when he comes by.” 

“He’s coming?” You ask warily. 

“Sure, sure,” she turns and staggers to the fridge, “he must be missing me by now.” 

She bends, leaning on the door as she opens it, and peruses the mostly empty shelves. You leave her and go down the hall. You grab your shoes and slip them on, once more stopping at the threshold. Keep going. You made it this far. 

You let yourself out and lock the door behind you. You take the stairs down to the first level and continue out onto the street. You keep to the edge of the pavement as you weave around other pedestrians that pass. 

Your lips move as you recite the directions to yourself. You were sure to memorise the route as best as you could. You get turned around but right yourself and make it to the corner when you can see the grey brick of the library. 

You wait at the light before you cross and your heart begins to race the closer you get. Oh no, you don’t know if you can do this. You want to just run away. What if he sees you and changes his mind? I mean, look at you. You’re not some perky coed, you’re... you. 

You stare up at the facade and the large letters over the entrance. You take the first step, then the next. You focus on that. Right foot, left foot. Little things, one at a time. You can do this. You have to. 

[sweetlittlegingy]

Just Come Home

✦Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Better Man Universe

✦Pairing: Father Figure Jake x Y/N Son

✦Word Count: 1.1K

✦Warnings: Light angst, fluffy Jake, nightmares, child crying

✦A/n: I loved writing this, Jake is super soft and I'm a sucker for dad!Jake.

✦Library (Follow for updates! I no longer have a taglist.)

An alarming cry jolted Jake from his sleep, waking him from the peaceful dream state that always consumed him whenever he had you in his arms. Listening out the silences of the house was calming, though as another cry is heard Jake knows that it’s Mathew.

You slowly stir awake, going to get up, though before you can Jake pulls you by the waist back to the bed.

“I’ve got him darlin’” He places a kiss on your head, and you can’t help the sleep-filled smile that settles across your lips. “You need your sleep.”

You go to protest, knowing that he needs his sleep just as much, if not more, than you do. But he is already up, pulling his sweats and t-shirt on. Sleep overtakes you again, as the silent form of Jake heads out the Mathews bedroom. Your heart fills with love, this past year with Jake had been a dream and you couldn’t imagine a better father-figure for Maty.

Jake hears Mathew’s quiet whimpers as he nears the child’s room, the darkness of the night incases the house as Jake passes the kitchen and a bright 2:13 am blinks in red.

He wipes the sleep from his eyes, yawning as his body is still wrecked from the pass week. He’s thankful that it’s a Friday night, the past five days the Dagger Squadron had been running drills with a new set of recruits. Each of the team member switching off teaching positions, depending on the days needed skill set.

Mathew’s door is slightly ajar and the light from his moon lamp, seeps into the hallway. Pushing the door open slowly, as to not scare the child, Jake sees Mathew sat up clutching on to the blanket that Jake had gotten him before going on a mission last month.

The light blue material, littered with planes, had easily become Mathews favorite comfort item. Jake couldn’t have been happier when he saw how much Mathew loved it, always having it during their nightly calls. It didn’t matter that Jake was on carrier in the middle of the ocean, every night they called and read a bedtime story. Though two weeks didn’t seem all that long, it had been a rough two weeks for all three of you.

Jake had officially moved in, and Maty was used to his presence every day, and those 14 days were hell. Maty was constantly worrying about Jake and was afraid that he wouldn’t come home.

In the last two weeks that Jake had been home, Mathew was attached to his hip. Wanting Jake to do everything with him, school drop-offs (which worked perfectly, as Maty was now going to school on base), nightly homework, and you even lost the privilege of bedtime stories.

Jake couldn’t have been happier that Mathew wanted to spend so much time with him and grew to love their newly formed routine.

Slowly walking over to the side of Mathew's bed, Jake softly sat down not wanting to startle him. Jake realized that Mathew's eyes were still closed, and he was in fact still dreaming. Jake slowly reached out for the boy, moving to bring Mathew’s shuttering form to his lap.

Rocking Mathew ever so gently, Jake slowly pushed back the hair on his head. Quietly muttering sweet nothings, hoping to calm the child, or slowly ease him from his dream state.

Mathew slowly started to wake up, his body going ridge, until he realized that it was Jake holding him. Rubbing at his eyes Mathew slowly looked up and found a smiling Jake staring back at him.

“Hey buddy, you okay?” Jake quietly questioned, still afraid of startling him.

His little head nodded, giving Jake a silent answer. Which only meant one of two things; Mathew was still half-asleep, or he’d been having a horrible nightmare. Jake had a gut instinct that it was the latter.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Another silent nod without a reply, Jake new that Mathew would open up in his own time. Moving the five-year-old off his lap, caused a silent whimper and tiny hands to clutch onto Jake’s shirt.

“I’m not going anywhere bud. Let’s just lay down, I won’t leave you bubba.”

Mathew’s body instantly relaxed and moved over as much as possible to make room for Jake to fit into his small bed.

Once they were both comfortable, with Jake laying down and Mathew laying on top of his chest listening to his heartbeat, Jake slowly started to fall back asleep.

Though he was quickly awoken by Mathews small voice.

“You didn’t come home.”

Confusion painted Jakes face, unsure of what Mathew was referring to. Lazily stroking the child’s head, Jake urged him to continue.

“In my dream, you didn’t come home.”

Jake patiently waited for Mathew to continue, still not understanding fully.

“You never got off the big ship. You died and me and momma were all alone again.” Though his sniffles and whimpers had subsided, Jake didn’t miss the one that came from the small body as he talked.

It broke Jakes heart to hear that he was the reason that Mathew was crying, he hated that his little 5 year old boy could have such fears. That the thought of losing Jake, had caused him so much pain and that there was an actual chance that one day Jake wouldn’t come home.

He couldn’t tell Mathew that, he would do everything in his power to come home. To be here with you two, even if that one day meant retiring from flying.

“Buddy, I will always come home to you. That’s something that you don’t ever have to worry about.” The little hands clutching Jakes shirt released slightly, though Jake could still tell that Mathew wasn’t full relaxed.

“I’m never going to leave you and your momma, Mathew. I promise.” Jake held up his pinky finger for Mathew, to which the little boy wrapped his own pinky around.

The duo had started doing pinky promises, a promise that could never be broken, or so Jake had told Mathew. It became their silent code and comfort language when Mathew got worried or stressed.

With their pinkies wrap around each other, Mathew brought their hands together to tuck under his head, resting peacefully against Jakes chest.

As Jake started to drift off to sleep, cradling Mathew, he heard the boy let out a last whisper, before falling asleep.

“We’re never gonna leave you either daddy.”

Jake's heart stopped for a moment, like a bucket of water to the face, he realized that maybe it was time to hang up his wings.