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strangermarvelss · 1 year

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all of the girls you loved before- e.m

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: the one where eddie runs into his first love, leaving you to question your relationship in the aftermath. loosely based on the taylor swift song with the same title.

Warnings: angst, crying, jealousy, insecurity, eddie being rude unintentionally, cursing, pda (gross), eddie and reader are a few years out of high school, fluff, happy ending

Word Count: 4.8k

Request?: No

A/N: hello again everyone, its been a minute! since i’ve been gone, i’ve entered my swiftie era (not like crazy obsessed but def a fan of the music) and this gem of a song dropped and plucked some inspiration from me, so here is a new one shot for you all! enjoy! -sava

The haze within the hot open room of the Hideout was starting to dissipate, the crowd exiting the venue one by one as the band you’ve been cheering on from your spot at the bar begins clearing the stage of their equipment. The ringing in your ears has yet to go away, getting so lost in the metal music that you didn’t care if it would bite you in the ass at work tomorrow, you’d find a way to take customers orders at the diner, even if they had to scream in order for you to understand.

You found yourself sitting at the same spot at the Hideout every Tuesday night to cheer your boyfriend and his band members on. Within the years since graduating high school, the town you called home started coming around to the type of music your boyfriend played, despite ridiculing him for years prior to their own revelations. With the new popularity, Tuesday nights at the Hideout have gone from 5 drunks sitting in the back to almost a packed house every week, begging for encores and autographs at the end of each show. It made you happy seeing your boyfriend celebrated in such a way, having been there for him in his lowest points when the tables were turned. Now you bask in his glory like never before, cheering him on alongside the rest of the town.

Paying your tab, you begin walking towards the back stage area when you see a tall lanky man with long luscious curls make his way over to you, his smile wide as his signature dimples poked into the sides of his cheeks. He extends his arms wide, not caring if he gets in anyones way as he greets you. Taking off in a run, you launch yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he catches you, hands making contact with your ass in a not-so-subtle way. You pull away and look at him momentarily before pressing your lips to his.

You take in his scent as your mouths move together as one, the sweaty smell that was no match for masking with his cheap cologne filling your nostrils, but you didn’t mind one bit. You part away from his lips, looking at the deep chocolate irises that you love seeing on a daily basis before running a hand through his sweaty mop of curls. He sets you down and plays with his bangs, moving them to the side as they desperately try to cling to his damp forehead.

“You guys killed it tonight,” you tell him, pulling him in for another hug. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side and twisting his upper body and leaning down to press a kiss to your hair before flashing a closed mouth smile at you.

“Couldn’t have done it without my number one fan,” he says, cupping your cheek with his large calloused hand and placing yet another kiss to your body, this time directed at your forehead.

“So I was thinking that maybe tonight we go back to my apartment and watch some movies? I know we usually go bother my coworkers at the diner after your show but I kind of just want some you and me time,” you tell him with a smile.

“That sounds even better than going to the diner. I bet you’ve already picked out a selection of movies.” “You know me so well. I rented Halloween, Nightmare on Elm St-“

“Eddie? Eddie Munson?” a feminine voice calls out from behind you. You and Eddie turn around, watching a slim figure approach you with a bashful look plastered on her face. As she got closer, you noticed she was wearing a short black leather skirt and a bright pink top, barely leaving anything to the imagination with the amount of cleavage she was showing. Her hair was long and straight, looking silky to the touch as her skin glowed under the colorful stage lights that were still on. Who the hell is this, and how did she know Eddie?

Eddie squints his eyes as she approaches the two of you, his face relaxing and the smile growing wider than you’ve ever seen it when he finally makes out her features. You won’t deny the twinge you feel in your chest as you watch him drop your hand and give the mysterious woman a big embrace, bigger than the one he gave you moments ago.

“Holy shit! How are you? I haven’t seen you in forever,” Eddie exclaims, breaking away and tucking his hands under his armpits.

“M’good! Just finished up college not too long ago so I came back to Hawkins while I search for something a little more permanent,” she tells him, her timid demeanor going out the window as you watch the two grow comfortable with one another. “I see things at the Hideout have changed since we went to high school not too long ago.”

“Yeah, they sure have,” Eddie chuckles, kicking one of his feet out as he looks down. “Looks like the people in this shit town have finally come around when it comes to listening to good music.”

As you watch the interactions from person to person unfold in front of you, you feel the familiar tickle in your nose begin, hoping and praying that you won’t be noticeable if you aren’t able to get rid of the impending sneeze.

“Achoo!” You exclaim, bending down and hiding your nose in the crook of your elbow, silently yelling at yourself when you watch both pairs of eyes land on you.

“Bless you,” the mystery woman says with a smile. You nod, taking a step forward to try and join in on the conversation.

“Thank you,” you tell her, extending your hand. “I’m Y/N by the way, Eddie’s girlfriend.”

You watch Eddie nod as she takes your hand, shaking it firmly. “I’m Heather.”

Suddenly you feel your brain catching up with the rest of the world, clicking into place once the name leaves her mouth. This was the Heather you’d heard so much about from Eddie’s friends. The same Heather that just so happened to be his first love, capturing his heart in ways you wish you could’ve done yourself. If only you’d moved to Hawkins earlier in your high school career compared to your senior year, a.k.a Eddie’s second attempt at being a senior.

The members of the Hellfire Club gave you all the details that you needed to know about Heather: that she was Eddie’s first everything. First date, first love, first time, and eventually, his first heartbreak. The two were smitten with one another when no one else wanted to look Eddie’s way, with all the judgy classmates questioning why they were together in the first place. They didn’t see Eddie for who he truly was, they only ever judged him based on his outer appearance. The same goes for Heather: everyone always questioned why someone as hot as her would settle for someone like Eddie, which always made you upset to hear.

“It’s really nice to meet you Heather. I’ve heard a lot about you,” you tell her, trying your best to sound as sincere as possible. Eddie shoots you a look, silently telling you to stop, which makes your heart drop a bit. Adverting your eyes from him, you look back at Heather, who didn’t miss the interaction.

“All good things I hope,” she jokes.

“Are you kidding? Of course all good things. I can only hope you extended the same courtesy for me, if you did tell your college friends about me,” he says, rushing the last part out. Was he getting nervous?

“I can assure you that I did. Even after the way things ended…” she says, looking down to the ground as her sentence trails off. You can sense the tension in the air, feeling as if you’re causing the vibe of the conversation to shift a bit. Masking your feelings with a smile, you turn to them and excuse yourself, lying about needing to use the restroom before heading out for the night. Holding the curtain to the side, you enter the backstage area and round a counter towards an empty hallway you know nobody ever comes down after the shows, as you and Eddie have had your share of moments in this very spot, both PG and R rated moments.

As the secluded feeling sinks in, you feel the confidence and happiness that filled your body just moments ago begin to evaporate, vanishing into thin air as you replay the last few minutes in your head. His big smile when he saw her, the big and warm embrace, the look he gave you when you nudged your way into the conversation. It made you want to shrink into yourself. Jealousy was never something you were known for having, usually being more focused on the moment at hand and knowing the security you had with the relationships you had with the people around you.

But the history between Eddie and Heather changed that.

When you first heard about Heather, you didn’t pay much attention to it because you knew that was his past. He told you numerous times that he loves you and loves being with you, and it made you confident in the strength of your relationship. But knowing how strong those feelings he had for Heather and seeing her interact with him in real time, it changed things. He was a different man from the one he was in high school, having graduated and making a name for himself with the music he loves performing. And now that Heather is back in Hawkins for a while, it makes you wonder what could happen between the two of them.

Would they be able to reconcile? It didn’t look like there were any harsh feelings anymore, so maybe making up was still an option for them. What if Eddie wanted to revisit his past and be with the girl he loved before you came into his life? Was the love he had for her stronger than the love he has for you?

You could feel yourself being to spiral, your arms wrapping around your body and hugging on tight. Your breathing was starting to become jagged and unsteady, trying your best to take deep breaths slowly to get yourself to calm down. Thinking the worst was always such an easy solution for you, because preparing for the worst and not being shocked by the disappointment that lies ahead was better than being blind to the impending doom.

Once you feel yourself becoming calmer, you exit the hallway and walk towards the curtain once again, hesitating and stopping in your tracks. Peeking your head out, you can see the two of them still talking, Eddie throwing his head back in laughter as the two share a funny moment with one another, making your heartache grow. Retreating back behind the curtain, you turn and see Gareth walking your way, a smug look on his face before contorting into a welcoming smile.

“Hey Y/N! Glad to see you made it out tonight, even though I know you’re in the audience every Tuesday,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. You give him a quick hug, pulling away and failing to mask the hurt as you see his demeanor change. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, everything is fine…it’s just, Heather is here tonight. She came up to Eddie and I and started talking with him and catching up-“

“Wait, Heather Heather?” Gareth asks before poking his head out of the curtain. “Holy shit! I had no idea she was back in town. Still looks as hot as ever.”

Pretending to ignore that, you let out a sigh and tap him on the shoulder. Gareth turns to you, lifting a brow.

“Can you make out what her and Eddie are talking about? I think I sort of killed their vibe earlier and now it looks like things are picking up now that I’m not there.”

“Yeah, hang on one second,” he tells you before disappearing behind the curtain. As much as you appreciate Gareth helping, you were more scared to know how the conversation is going. With all the possibilities that were swirling around in your head, it was just getting fogged up with negativity that you were not expecting this evening and you hated going to such a low place.

A moment later, Gareth pops back from the other side of the curtain with a neutral expression, which worries you more than it should. You raise your eyebrows at him, bracing yourself for whatever news that he was about to deliver.

“So I used the gig as an excuse to talk with them and told Eddie that we were almost done loading the equipment up, which is true, and he said he’d be back here in a minute. But as I was walking away, I heard Heather mention how they should catch up another time over coffee and when I looked back, she was writing her number down on a napkin for him,” he explains.

Somehow the news hurts you more than you imagined it would. With their plans on the horizon sometime soon, it made the insecurities rise once again. You knew how special someone’s first love could be because Eddie was that for you. Before moving to Hawkins, you had your fair share of dating but none that meant much to you compared to the feelings your harbor for Eddie. Knowing that he already experienced that with someone else didn’t bother you until that person had to show up right there in front of you. A majority of these worries and doubts reside in your head, you’re aware of that, but it almost feels as if there is going to be a choice he is going to make, and it isn’t looking good for your side.

You can feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, unable to hide the frown that resides on your lips as you process what Gareth told you. Looking at him, you flash him a sad smile before wiping away at your bottom lash line, a half-baked attempt to get rid of the tears. He rests a hand on your shoulder, ducking his head down to try and make eye contact with you.

“Hey, don’t get sad, okay? Heather is just Eddie’s past, but you’re his present and his future. You don’t have anything to worry about,” he tries to reassure you.

“Yeah, you might be right,” you tell him before meeting his gaze and making eye contact. “But you didn’t see the way he looked at her. The way he smiled at her, the way he held her. On top of that, the way he looked at me when I talked to her. I’m worried that I actually do have something to worry about,” you explain.

Now it was Gareth’s turn to frown, breaking the eye contact and staring at the floor below. He should know better than anyone how Eddie felt about Heather all those years ago and it doesn’t just go away overnight.

“I think I should go. I’m going to sneak around the other way…will-will you tell Eddie I wasn’t feeling good or something? If you can think of a good excuse, just use it, because my brain is fogged up right now and I can’t think of any,” you ask. Gareth nods, sending a sad smile your way before you disappear behind more curtains as you make your way around the stage to exit through the front doors unnoticed.

—————————————————————————————————————

It’s been three days since you’ve last seen Eddie.

Clocking out of your shift at the diner, you sigh as you realize its your usual date night with Eddie, yet haven’t heard a word from him since the awkward encounter with his ex at the Hideout. To say the silence has hurt you would be an understatement, as you wait by the phone any chance you’re home hoping he will call. He always makes it a point to call you at the end of each day when he knows you both are already off work, catching up on each others days and talking for hours before falling asleep.

Now you’re going home alone for the fourth night in a row, wasting away as you prepare yourself for when Eddie does eventually call you to break things off, telling you he wants to try things with Heather again while she is in town and rekindle the blissful and naive love they once held in their hearts for one another.

Tossing your jacket on the back of one of the chairs at your kitchen table, you let out a sigh as you begin making your way to your bedroom and undressing your uniform. Quickly, you change into a comfortable band t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, tossing your dirty uniform in your laundry basket before going back to the kitchen. Opening your fridge, you spot the bottle of wine you have been eyeing every day after work this week. The delicious red teasing you and wanting you to indulge in the sweet liquid to cope with the impending end of your relationship.

“Fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, before grasping the bottle and twisting the cap open. Opening the cabinet above, you grab the first wine glass you see and take it out, pouring the wine in until it gets close the the rim. You take hold of the glass and make your way over to your couch, bringing the glass to your lips and letting the wine travel down your throat with ease.

Before you’re able to bask in the taste, you hear your doorbell ring throughout your apartment. With a puzzled expression, you set the glass of wine down on your coffee table and make your way back to the front door, sliding the peep hold cover to the side to get a look at just who could be outside. Rolling your eyes, you take a deep breath before opening the door, standing face to face with the man who owns your heart. At least, for the next few minutes.

“Hey sweetheart,” he says with a smile.

“What are you doing here?” You ask straight out of the gate.

“Good to see you too,” he says, raising his eyebrows and looking down at the pizza box resting in his hands for a moment. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do for date night tonight, so I just took it as an opportunity to plan an evening of pizza, movies, and indulging in the new weed I got from Rick yesterday.”

“I just thought we weren’t going to do date night this week since I hadn’t heard from you,” you say.

“Sorry sweetheart, that is my bad.” He tells you as he makes his way inside your apartment. He sets the pizza on the kitchen table and opens the fridge and pulls a beer out. “I’ve been extremely busy this week with work, band practice, and…uh, well…”

“Heather?” You question, closing the door and resting your back against it as you bring your arms to cross in front of your chest. He stills for a moment, frozen in place as silence falls over the apartment unit. Turning to you, he raises his eyebrows while biting his lip, his physical look of guilt showing front and center. Trying your best to remain stoic, you quirk a brow at him, keeping your position at the door as you wait for an explanation.

“How, uh…how’d you know about that?” He finally asks after several minutes of silence.

“Gareth told me before I left on Tuesday. Said he overheard her giving you her number,” you answer plainly.

Another beat of silence falls throughout the room. Eddie’s attention is on the floor below him, kicking his feet as he digs his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and forgetting about the beer he was excited about enjoying. You find your eyes diverting to the ground as well, finding it hard to look over at your favorite metalhead. Mentally preparing yourself for the ache to grow, you finally let out a deep sigh, your hand coming up to rub at your forehead before you work up the courage to look at him again.

“Look, if you came all this way to let me down gently with pizza and weed, you can just save yourself the trouble. I’ve already spent the past few days preparing for this, so lets just call it what it is and go on about our lives, okay?” You muster out, feeling your throat close up and voice waver towards the end. You shut your mouth, turning your head as you feel your bottom lip begin to quiver. Opening the door, you step to the side and remain silent, not trusting yourself to speak anymore. You can’t breakdown in front of him, not when he’s choosing another girl over you.

You hear his heavy footsteps grow closer to you, stopping right before your figure. Your eyes are planted to the floor, seeing his stark white Reeboks enter your vision before leaving once again. Suddenly, you feel his hand lay on top of the one holding the handle to the front door, guiding it to a close and stepping to the side.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” he reveals.

You whip your neck in the direction he moved to, seeing the sad expression on his face as his big brown cow eyes look into yours. Part of you was hesitant to question him about it, not wanting his mind to change in a matter of seconds and leave you in a puddle of sadness afterall. But the more logical part of your brain wanted answers. Why did he not bother calling you for days but thought it was okay to hang out with his ex? Why didn’t he confess earlier about seeing her around? Why was he acting so strange at the Hideout, and why didn’t he want you talking to her?

“What?”

“I said I’m not breaking up with you, sweetheart. Why was that even a thought that popped into your head?” He asks, his voice level and sweet. He takes a step closer to you, filling the small gap that had separated you moments ago before slowly extending an arm out to you, cupping your cheek in his hand and rubbing the pad of his thumb across the soft skin.

“I don’t know…” you finally answer, the lack of confidence in your voice giving you away as your sentence trails off.

“C’mon, I know you had to think that somehow. I won’t be mad or anything, I promise. Just want my sweet girl to talk to me.” You take the beat of silence to think about to how explain it to him without coming across as a jealous and needy girlfriend. You can do this, you think to yourself.

“It’s just-I know how you felt during that relationship and how deep the feelings were thanks to Gareth and Jeff, a-and the way you were talking to her and looking at her at the Hideout on Tuesday made it look like no time had passed and that the feelings were still there. I mean, she gave you her number Eds! A-and you just said you hung out with her!” You exclaim, breaking out of his grasp and retreating towards the living room. You run a hand down your face, sighing as you try to level your heavy breathing.

“Okay, when you put it like that…yeah it sounds bad,” you hear him say from the kitchen. You sit on the couch, taking a large sip of the wine you abandoned earlier. Eddie turns around and stalks over to you, sitting on the chair opposite of you, not wanting to get too close again after the failed attempt. “But baby, I promise nothing happened with Heather and I, okay? We went over to Rick’s last night after grabbing coffee and smoked. Nothing more.”

“I just wish you told me about it,” you let out, feeling deflated from the way you were reacting.

“I know baby, and I’m sorry I didn’t. Work had been busy and when I was going to call you after I woke up yesterday, Heather called and asked to hang out at the coffee shop. I should’ve used the payphone outside the place or hell, called you before I left my place. If I could go back and do so I would.”

You flash him a half-hearted smile, looking back towards your wine glass before picking it up once again. Bringing it to your lips, you take another big sip, beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol move throughout your limbs and send a tingling feeling in them. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Eddie slide over onto the couch, still leaving room between the two of you as he leans his arms on his knees, hanging his head down a bit and letting his long mane of curls move forward with him.

“You want to know what we talked about yesterday? Over coffee?” He asks, quirking a brow your way as he shifts a bit from his position.

“Hmm?”

“We caught up, I asked her about college, she told me all kinds of stories. Even told me the story of how she met her fiancé, who moved in with her when she came back to Hawkins. They’re getting married in November, a few weeks before Thanksgiving which I thought was nice. Then I talked to her about you, and how we’ve been dating since the winter of ’84 and been inseparable since then. I must’ve been smiling really hard or something because she pointed out how happy I looked when I talk about you, which is true,” he chuckles out, a silly grin creeping onto his features.

Now it was your turn to smile, unable to hide the warm and fuzzy feeling that made its way into your chest at hearing the words. You set the wine glass back down, shifting on the couch so you were facing his direction, legs crossed as you leaned over to take his hand in yours. “Really?”

“Oh of course baby. Look, what I had with Heather all those years ago was great, and I appreciate the time I had with her then. But loving her taught me how to be better and show the person I was really meant for all the more love and affection that they deserve. You,” he boops your nose, making a giggle escape past your lips. “-you are the one I love now and will love until I take my last breath okay? All the shit I’ve been through was worth it because it brought you to me when you moved here, and I am so fucking happy about that. Wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

You can’t help but feel the burning sensation behind your eyes at Eddie’s sweet words. Sure, you still felt like a bit of a fool for acting like a jealous girlfriend, but hearing Eddie shut down all your worries and reassure you about his feelings for you in the nicest way you could’ve imagined warmed your heart. You move your hand to the back of his neck, pulling him towards you and closing the distance between you as your lips meet his. His hand instinctively goes to your hip, holding you closer as his mouth moves against yours in fever.

Eventually pulling away, you lean your forehead against his, giggling to yourself as you feel his bangs tickle the sensitive skin of your cheeks. You look at his big brown eyes, seeing the soft look he was giving you and melting all over again.

“Sorry for acting like a jealous girlfriend babe. Not the prettiest look for me if I’m being honest,” you joke.

“Hey, if the roles were reversed, I would totally act the way you did, so I get it. But now you know that you don’t ever have to worry about anyone else, because like I said, you’re it for me baby. I love you.”

“I love you more,” you say, pressing your lips to his cheek. He shoots you a grin, breaking contact with your forehead and rubbing slow circles into the fabric of your leggings.

“How about I warm up that pizza I brought over and we pop in one of those movies I rented? You probably need some food after all that wine you drank,” he says, making you laugh. Nodding, you agree.

“That sounds like the best idea you’ve had.”

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mollymooo · 4 months

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Dinners Served

Spencer Reid x Reader

summary: Even after living alone for almost a year, you still can’t help but make way too much food. Not that Spencer’s complaining, he sure can use the company

an: i’m so hungry bro i saw this girl make a lasagna on ig reels and it looked buss

The sound of bubbling water and the low hum of some random song I had heard earlier today bounced off the walls of my rather empty apartment. The smell of fresh tomato sauce made my mouth water and I smiled warmly while I picked up my phone

foods almost done :)

Be over soon.

I smile slightly at the text and giggle to myself as I play some random song on my phone and dance in place. I didn’t even hear the door open nor did I see Spencer leaning against the wall, watching me sing and dance

“You know, it has been proven that dancing allows a persons mind to be free” He sits down at the island and places his head in his hands while he cheekily smirks

“Really? Did YOU know it’s rude to sneak up on people like that?” I lean against the counter top and fold my arms.

This has been our routine for the past year. It all started back when I first moved in.

———

Setting the final box on the floor, I stand and place my hands on my hips. God, how’d it get so late?

I flop down on the couch and call the number on the ad for cheap Chinese food, cuz lord knows i’m not about to whip up a whole meal. I tap around on my phone and practically squeal when I hear my doorbell ring.

I spread out all the food I ordered on the counter almost bursting with excitement

“Oh shit.. This is way too much food.” I groan slightly, it’s way too late to call any friends to come help, so I nervously peak out into the hall and glance at the door next to me. Eh, worth a shot

I knock on the door timidly and hear something, or someone fall over a few seconds later

“Coming!” A man yells out amidst the struggle behind the door and after a moment, the door swings open.

His hair is long and curly, with a pair of glasses on top of his head and a dark black shirt with a pair of loose sleep pants.

“Yes?” He takes his glasses from his mess of hair and places them on his face as he scans me

“Sorry for disturbing you so late, and you can totally say no since you don’t know me and I may very well be a murderer, but I accidentally ordered way too much food, and my fridge doesn’t work.” I mumbled slightly but mainly got the point across. I didn’t expect my neighbor too look like THAT. Much less expect him to be awake.

“Im Spencer, and you must be an angel because I haven’t eaten all day.” He steps out of his apartment and closes the door behind him, following me to my door while I giggle slightly

��No angel here. I’m Y/N”

———

“Hey, I can leave if you think i’m a creep” He starts to stand from his place at the island

“No! I was kidding” He snickers as I rush to grab him and sit him back down “I like your company..” I awkwardly add at the end

“I’m sure I would’ve starved by now if it weren’t for you.” His large hand lands on top of mine still wrapped around his forearm as he sits back down

We lock eyes, just for a moment. But I would’ve sworn that those large eyes glanced down at my lips, just slightly.

“Plus, foods ready!” I awkwardly add, pretty much ruining the moment

Way to go me.

I start to add a hefty amount of pasta to each plate and watch as Spencer adds an absurd amount of sauce and cheese to his own portion. I take my place next to him and practically cry while shoving a bite into my mouth

“Thank you, by the way..” He avoids eye contact while I tilt my head slightly

“For the food? Cuz that’s a thanks LONG overdue-“

“No…For all of this. For just being you, I guess. I’m glad I got to know you”

I smile slightly and wrap one arm around him, pulling him into a tight hug. His lanky arms find solace around my waist while he sighs comfortably

“This means a lot to me” His face nuzzles into my neck, his slight stubble tickling me

“I’m glad you like me, Dr Reid.”

He chuckles slightly and sighs

“You have no idea.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #IM SO HUNGRY #criminal minds #spencer reid is a loser #early seasons spencer reid is anyway #later seasons reid is so…..

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deathbymas0chist · 1 year

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`୭̥*ೃ 𝐽𝑎𝑑𝑒𝐿𝑒𝑒𝑐ℎ..!! +༉‧₊˚𝐹𝑙𝑜𝑦𝑑 𝐿𝑒𝑒𝑐ℎ..!!

༒ A/N : this is a continuation of this post here ft. Azul! I would recommend reading it first since it does give context about this, and it is mentioned a lot abt what happened previously! I have also felt really burnt out these past few months so I apologize for the long unannounced hiatus I took, but I feel more motivated now and I’ll try to get some more requests done!

༒Word count: 4.7k

༒ Summary: After getting a offer for working at Monstro Lounge’s VIP section by Jade, you agreed, thinking you were just going to be working as a regular waiter, but you were mistaken.

༒Content warning: afab! Reader , mean dom! Jade and Floyd , heavy dubcon , porn with plot , monsterfucking (Jade and Floyd’s mer form) , throat fucking , slight (?) asphyxiation , begging , overstimulation , edging , primal play , cum play , cunninglingus , exhibitionism , degradation , objectification , biting , double penetration , name calling (slut, whore, ext. ) , power play , size kink , dumbification , hair pulling , mind breaking , being threatened , people paying to watch you get fucked , reader being extra broke , this warning list is longer then my will to live.

Taglist : @otaku-explosion @stygianoir

Money has gotten especially right now since the last time you visited the Monstro Lounge. Grim had been complaining about the lack of quality from the cheap tuna you could manage to buy with the little money you had left, and you were getting sick of hearing his whines. You didn’t want to go back to work there when you had to entertain people by putting your body on display and losing your dignity in the process, but you were left with no choice but to go back. It took a toll on you the first time when you had just gone through what Azul did, all with the fake promise of gaining something to help you with your life, only for it all to be a lie from the very beginning. But after reading through his contract many times, and studying it over and over again, searching for any loopholes or inconsistencies, you found it to be airtight, with everything stated clearly and no false promises. It was with a heavy heart that you signed away your spirit, mind, and body over to them.

Coming back to the Monstro Lounge exactly one week later was the most nerve-racking decision you have ever made in your entire life. You contemplated just turning around and running back many times on your way to the place, but your legs just kept going as if you were on autopilot, bringing you in front of the watery gates of hell with every step closer. Taking a deep breath as you tried to calm your racing heart and prepare yourself for what was behind the door, you mustered up all your courage and what very little dignity you had left, you brought your shaky hands up to the door and opened them.

Your knees felt like jelly as you walked into the establishment. The lounge was filled with people, with servers rushing to take orders and the loud chattering of guests’ was making your senses more heightened as you felt overwhelmed by the number of people. All the doubts immediately rushed to your head, and you were already just about done being here only after about thirty seconds of entering. Turning back around, fully ready to run out the doors and never show your face around campus, you felt the weight of someone's hand on your shoulder, stopping you. You held your breath as the person spoke from behind you.

“Leaving so soon? That’s not a very good way of starting your first day on the job.” The sound of Jade’s smooth voice sent a shiver down your spine as you turned back, to meet his piercing heterochrome eyes. Your eyes immediately shot down, unable to meet his as you chose to focus on one of the buttons of his uniform instead. Exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding and swallowing the lump in your throat before trying to muster up a response to give to him.

“I-I’m sorry… It’s just– I’m just–” You were already fumbling over your words in front of him. You felt vulnerable in front of him. It was like you were already completely bare even though you were in your normal attire.

“No need for excuses. I’m sure Azul wouldn’t mind If the star of the show tonight just didn’t show up and made him lose thousands of thaumarks.” He interrupted with a slight tease to his tone and a sly smirk on his lips. Jade could read you like an open book. He knew how hesitant you were to come here. He was reveling in the fact he could feel the fear and uneasiness coming from you. Both he and Floyd always loved the feeling of a chase, the adrenaline rush, the blood pumping, the excitement, and he was feeling it all. He wanted to completely devour you right now, but he knew he had to wait just a little bit longer, as much as he didn’t like to play with his food. “But, if you don’t mind, I think we should get going, we wouldn’t want you to be late to your actual first day on the job now, wouldn’t we?”

You could only nod in response, not wanting to stumble on your words further. But as you trailed behind him, through the long hallways, to the back of the lounge, and up a flight of stairs, you remembered his words as the bitter taste in your mouth came back “late to your actual first day on the job” rang throughout your mind. The thought of selling your body, only to get cheated came back and suddenly it was like there was an anchor on your ankle slowly weighing you down. Before you could open your mouth to say something, anything to have one last chance of leaving, Jade stopped in front of a door.

“We’ve arrived.” He said, before turning the handle to the door and holding it open for you to enter. Your heart was pounding through your chest when you walked in and saw that Azul was already there.

Azul greeted you with a smug smile “Welcome to your first official day on the job, now that you’re finally here, I do hope you won’t be backing out now especially since our clients are eagerly awaiting you.” He said, handing you the same bottle of liquid he gave you last time. You hesitantly took the vial from his hands and downed it without question. He watched you with satisfaction as you finished it all, before continuing to speak. “I think you already know what to expect from last time, thanks to your employee training session, but before we start, any questions?”

You shook your head no, every question you had was already cleared up in the contract and you knew Azul wouldn’t possibly try and cheat you for a second time… at least, you hoped he wouldn’t. But you soon realized the absence of Jade, who had seemed to disappear the second you started to talk to Azul.

“Never mind I do have a question, where’s Jade?” His disappearance was off-putting, he had been quiet and reserved to himself the whole time as usual, but the whole time you couldn’t shake the vibe of something more menacing coming from him. Jade was always the one to terrify you more, because of the fact he kept all of his thoughts to himself you never knew what he was planning. Floyd was always the wild one, and you’d expect him to do something crazy, but Jade… He would plan everything down to the last detail.

“Oh he’s getting prepaid along with Floyd, they're both gonna be with you tonight.” He replied casually.

“Wait… what are they going to do to me?” The contract never said what they were going to do tonight explicitly, it just said a list of things they could do to your body.

“That's not for me or them to decide. It's what the audience wants, and that’s what they’ll get.”

“Oh… well, I guess those are the only questions I have..” You trailed off, still nervous, and slightly confused as to what he meant by the audience getting to pick what they want, but you decided to not question it, hoping it’ll be normal.

“Good, now let's get this show started, shall we?” He then turned around, motioning for you to follow him as he led you up another short set of stairs. You finally arrived where you were before as you stared down at the clear water down near your feet. Taking off your shoes, you tried to take deep breaths in to calm your nerves down one more time. On your third final breath out, you felt two strong hands on your back, pushing you into the water once again.

As you sank deep into the water you saw Azul through the crystalline waters waving at you, with a malicious smile before walking away. God, you felt as if you were fresh blood in shark-infested waters- well in this case eel infested waters. Trying to calm your hammering heart from your senses being in overdrive due to the surprise Azul had just given you, you closed your eyes and tried to get used to the cold water surrounding you. You didn’t want to open your eyes, too ashamed of yourself for putting yourself in this situation again. The cheers from the audience’s excitement from seeing you were loud. The blood pumping to your ears and the sound of them in the back was making you a bit light-headed.

Your moment of being alone didn’t last long though, as you felt something slippery start to trail up from your ankles to further up your legs, prying them apart. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when you opened your eyes to see Jade’s piercing gaze looking back up at you through your thighs. He only smirked at you before pulling down your skirt and panties in one swift motion. Embarrassed, you yelped and kicked, as you desperately tried to cover your pussy from the prying eyes of the people in the audience, and Jade as well. But before your arms could shield anything from the people, another pair of strong slippery hands grabbed your forearms from behind you, pulling your arms behind your back. You knew exactly who it was when a dark laugh came from behind you. You felt a shiver of fear shoot up your spine, as your blood almost went cold.

“Ahh, shrimpy~! You're finally here! Did you miss me? It was sooo boring here all alone without you!” Floyd said, leaning over your shoulder to whisper in your ear. He sounded excited to see you, but you let out a scream of terror. He let go of your forearms, letting his hands wander up into your shirt, feeling your body up and down while groping at your breasts. After getting tired of your restricting clothes, he decided to rip the uniform that you had been wearing off you. You yelped from the sudden aggressive act, making him let out a hum of satisfaction.

But while they were having their way with your body, you saw Azul walk out and stand in front of the tank, and with a loud voice, he announced “The voting will now begin! With two different rounds, please take out your phones and choose what you want to see happen to her, and remember, the one with the most money wins!” It didn’t take long for the votes to tally up, almost less than a minute later Azul announced what won the poll. “And now, with six thousand four hundred dollars on seeing the prefect getting face fucked while being devoured from the inside out! Please enjoy the show and wait for the next round to commence soon!” And with that, he walked off again, leaving the audience to await eagerly.

Whilst you had been distracted by what Azul had been saying, Floyd took the chance to move to where he had to be, quickly shifting himself in front of you and grabbing hold of a fistful of your hair to line your face up with the tip of his dick. The unexpected quickness of his movements caught you off guard, making you open your mouth to let out a gasp of surprise, allowing Floyd to shove his cock in your mouth. With a soft growl he gave you a warning, “If you bite, I'll bite back, hard.” And with that, he immediately started a fast rhythm of thrusts into your mouth. You didn’t have a choice but to go along with Floyd’s erratic movements. The feeling of his sharp claws holding on tight to the back of your head, bobbing it up and down as he continued to thrust was so dizzying. He was using your mouth as his fleshlight, and it was…exhilarating in a way?

It was a struggle to breathe, but you tried as hard as you could to inhale through your nose. Floyd’s loud grunts were heard above you as he kept thrusting in and out of you, His head was thrown back and his mouth was open wide enough to see his sharp teeth. You remembered his threat from before, you knew he wouldn’t be nice enough to spare you, so you tried as delicately as you could to hide your teeth through his vigorous movements. You almost forgot about the twin that was underneath you, due to the way you'd even breathe properly, and much less think.

Jade decided to make his presence known, as you felt a sharp bite on your inner thighs, dangerously close to your aching core. His teeth were sharp, sharp enough to break your skin and let out your blood, but he chose to spare you, for now at least. You had almost forgotten about how sharp his teeth were, due to the fact he always managed to keep them hidden. You let out a muffled cry of pain while Jade had a faux innocent smile on his face. “My, you’re not hurt already, are you? Humans are such delicate creatures…I wonder what it takes to fully break them..” His words dripped with condescension. You almost didn’t catch that last line, but he had muttered loud enough for you to hear. You almost wish you didn’t hear it though, knowing he’d do whatever it takes to find out the answer to that question.

And just like that, it was like something changed in Jade as he mercilessly plunged three of his long, thick fingers inside you like it was nothing. His pupils started to dilate once you started to scream, and when he saw how well your tight cunt was taking your fingers so well? He lost his composure. The feeling of your tight walls stretching around his fingers was making him lose his mind. His slick, webbed fingers started to plunge deep inside you, as he brought his mouth closer to your aching clit. His tongue swirled around your clit, experimentally flicking it on occasion to see if it would get a reaction out of you, and to his surprise, it did. You started to pant for breath, letting out little whines as you started to squirm for more. He was intrigued, to say the least. Could such a small bundle of nerves reduce you to this? You were rutting your core into him, desperate to get more of the feeling of pleasure. But, he wanted to find out another thing, if you were so sensitive to his light touches, what would happen if he were more..rough?

He experimentally grazed the edge of his sharp teeth against your clit, looking up at you through lidded eyes, carefully watching your expressions. Your face flashed with discomfort and anxiousness, as your thighs started to tremble around him. He wondered if such a small graze of his teeth could make you quiver with fear, how would you react to a more… merciless approach? He pulled his hand and mouth away from you abruptly, causing you to let out more whines at the loss of contact. He watched, amused, before bringing up his hands to your clit, only to roughly pinch it, not choosing to let go until you were writhing under his touch.

You cried out around Floyd from Jade’s grip, The Audience was split between looking at what Jade was doing to your lower half and looking at how utterly fucked out your face had looked from what Floyd was doing to you. His thrusts were so deep into your throat, they could see the outline of his cock. It was evident that he was close to finishing due to how your moans from around him were sending vibrations throughout his body. He quickened his pace, finally stopping abruptly and gripping your hair even tighter. You felt his surprisingly hot load shoot into your mouth, as he looked down at you with a happy look on his face. “Swallow it all, don’t let a single drop go to waste, ‘kay?” It was salty, but it had a surprising sweetness to it in a way, your throat burned when you swallowed, too sore to take anything else. He brought his hands to your jaw and gripped it tightly, forcing you to open your mouth to show him that you took it all. His smile brightened even more, “Now… what do you say after getting a nice meal?” He looked at you expectantly, awaiting your answer. It took you a second to recover, before barely managing to muster a weak “T..Thank you…” Your voice was shot, and your throat had burned even more from even talking, but it made Floyd satisfied.

After Floyd had finished inside of your mouth, jade had pulled away abruptly, causing you to let out a needy whine that you managed to surprise yourself with. His long fingers leaving your hole made you feel empty, so empty. You also missed the feeling of his soft lips suckling on your clit, leaving you throbbing and wanting more of what he was giving you. Before you could even beg for more, Azul came striding back in front of the tank once more.

“And that concludes the first round of the show! Now, may I please begin the next round of voting?” And with that you saw the people pull out their phones once more, choosing whatever sick thing they want to see happen to you next as if you were some sort of object and not an actual person. A minute had passed when Azul finally spoke up again after checking what had gotten the most money on the poll. “Now for the second round, with ten thousand five hundred! you get to see our dear perfect getting double penetrated!” Azul had sounded surprised when he read off how much he had gotten from the votes, but he quickly played it off before wishing the audience a good show before getting away from the tank.

After Azul had left, you turned to look at Jade and Floyd, and from the looks on their faces, they were not happy about having to share. Floyd scowled from next to you, pulling you in front of him by your forearm and away from Jade. “You know how much I don’t like sharing the same prey.” He growled out, baring his teeth at his brother. His hold on your arm was getting tighter by the second, you knew he wasn’t playing around when it came to sharing things.

Jade didn’t look so amused by his brother’s antics, letting out a scoff and rolling his eyes, “It’s not like we have a choice, both you and I had agreed to share just this once, so stop acting like a child throwing a tantrum and stop hogging her to yourself.” Jade said as he went to grab your other arm, moving in front of you. Floyd was about to say something else but Jade cut him off once more “Why don’t we make things interesting? Instead of just hogging them all to yourself, why don't we make this a little competition and see who gets them to scream their name loudest?”

Floyd seemed to like the idea of that, as his grip on your arm had loosened with a cocky smirk appearing on his face. “Fine. Just don’t get upset when I win.” And just like that, it was like another switch was flipped inside their minds as they both manhandled your body. Both their hands were groping everywhere, you didn’t know which hand belonged to who, and to be honest, you couldn’t care less, your mind was already unfocused and hazy, still recovering from what Floyd did.

As they both were groping your body, you felt their thick cocks prodding your entrance. You didn’t know how you could take both of them– or how it would even be possible. Floyd’s dick was much thicker than you thought it would be, you knew that from how your jaw was feeling close to dislocating to accommodate for how thick he was. You haven’t seen Jade’s cock yet, but you knew it would be similar to his brother, I mean, after all, they are twins. That thought made you even more nervous, you prayed to whatever gods were listening that Azul had put something else in that potion to make the pain more bearable because you knew they were going to completely break you.

You felt Jade slowly enter you first, you quickly noticed that he wasn’t as thick as his brother, but he was longer, a lot longer. The stretch wasn’t as painful as you thought it would be with Jade, and you were thankful for that until it was Floyd’s turn to enter you. He was bullying you with how mercilessly he shoved himself inside of you. Once they were both insides of you, they both let out a groan of satisfaction. Jade let out a hiss, while Floyd threw his head back once more, the feeling of your tight walls along with how they both were feeling each other inside you was too much for them, it was something that made them feel a way they had never felt before. You, Horsley, cried out Floyd’s name loudly once he managed to fit himself inside you.

From behind you, Floyd’s smirk grew, causing jade to become more irritated, making his scowl increase as he pulled out his cock, leaving only his tip, before slamming back into you without mercy. This caused you to immediately moan out Jade’s name louder causing the competition to finally begin. Both of their movements were in sync, as soon as one pulled out, the other would slam back in. You felt your mind quickly go blank, after a few thrusts from both of them, you felt your legs start to tremble uncontrollably, causing the only noises to come out of you to be barely comprehensible slurs of their names and a mixture of whines and babbles. You felt your senses being in hyperdrive as you clenched hard around their cocks, coating them with your cum. Your mind was completely gone and they had only just started their game.

The feeling of you cumming around them was addicting. The way you gripped them like a vice as your warm cream flooded them. They both could have come just from you cumming around them, but with their strength and stamina, they chose to hold themselves back, waiting to fill you up at the perfect moment. You were still riding out the feeling of your first orgasm when you felt a sharp pain shoot through your neck, the feeling of sharp teeth sinking into your skin once more made you let out a shriek of pain and surprise. You Felt Floyd’s smile against your skin as you hissed out of pain. You felt a little bit of your warm blood flowing out and into his mouth as he started sucking on the spot making you let out soft moans of his name. He then started to slide his hands down your body. One of his hands found one of your nipples, taking it as he started pinching and pulling. His other hand had trailed down further, this time finding your clit, drawing fast tight little circles on it, only adding to the painful pleasure you were feeling. Overwhelmed by the feeling, your arm had reached behind you, grabbing his hair and pulling it, trying to get him off you, or to make him gentler, but your attempts were futile as he started to moan against your skin from how you were making him feel from the pain.

Whilst Floyd had been sucking on your neck and busing himself with pinching and rubbing you, Jade had also started to play with your body too. He started to lightly graze his hands over your sensitive thighs, causing a trail of goosebumps to appear on your skin as you felt hyper-aware of his hands. He brought one hand up your thigh, then slowly started to reach behind you, grabbing a handful of your plush ass, and starting to grope it. As he did that, he brought his mouth closer to the soft, plush skin of your breasts, taking the other nipple his brother wasn’t playing with into his mouth. He started to lick and suck meanly, occasionally grazing his teeth over your nipple, like how he did with your clit. The feeling of Jade sucking on your sensitive nipples, along with Floyd’s fingers toying with your sensitive clit, was enough to feel like there were shocks spreading all through your nerves.

The view of you like this was worth every penny the people in the crowd had spent to see you like this. Even Azul watching the show in the back was feeling a little bit upset at the fact he’s not the one having his way with you like how the twins were using you. Everyone in that audience was seething in some sort of jealousy in some way deep down, wishing they were the ones making you feel the way you were feeling now, but no one could ever rival the feeling of having both Jade and Floyd Leech stretch and stuff you full with both their thick cocks.

Their thrusts had gotten more erratic, and the extra added stimulation on the other parts of your body was bringing you close to another orgasm, and you could tell that both of them were going to reach their peaks soon too. Your mind was gone once again, you were left with no thoughts, only left with the numb dull between your shaking legs and the nerves in your body going haywire. But you had been brought back out of your haze-induced mind by Floyd who had ceased playing with your nipple to grab you by your jaw once more, turning your face to look him dead in the eyes. “How about we settle this little competition now prefect, tell me, who fucks you better?” He demanded your answer

You didn’t have an answer for him. How could you? You were being fucked dumb with nothing on your mind, and they both were giving you an equal amount of attention to your body and they were fucking you at a steady rhythm. It also didn't help when you were on the brink of an orgasm and they weren’t letting up their thrusts to even give you a millisecond to breathe, much less think. You struggled to answer, only letting out broken moans and cries for them to keep going, and to let you release again, only to be cut off by a particularly rough thrust from both of them. They both thrust into you at the same time, reaching deep inside of you, flooding your hole with their cum. You came along with them, clenching around them even more and milking them for all they were worth.

You hadn’t fully recovered from the aftershocks of your orgasm when Jade had grabbed you by your jaw, now forcing you to look at him instead of Floyd. “I think we both deserve an answer to this, do tell, who fucked you better? You have to choose. If you ‘Don’t know’ then I can assure you, all of the extra tips you received will be going to Floyd and I instead.” You didn’t have any chances of escape, you were stuck in between both of them and you were pretty sure if you choose one over the other, it would be a bloodbath, either between you or themselves, or both.

“I choose…” And just like that, you felt the exhaustion take over you. You didn’t realize the adrenaline had worn off, making you more tired than you thought you were. You were unable to do anything but succumb to the feeling of drowsiness taking over you, letting your heavy eyes close and feeling your stiff body become more laxed. Maybe after another round of fucking you could decide, but for now, you’ll rest, feeling tired and content nestled between them.

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phyrestartr · 7 months

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Your Godly Path Leads Back To Him | Miguel O'hara x Male!Reader

#NSFW, Male Reader, Western/Cowboys, Miguel O'hara is a sheriff, complicated emotions, reunion trope, mentions of abuse, mentions of drinking, mentions of past trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, religious themes, men working through their shit, sad old men being sad, one-shot(?)

Notes: Dude this is so long lol I'm EXHAUSTED after powering through this, but it had to be done!! Had this one in the drafts for a while after listening to Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain and SHEESH. I wanted to write about some cowboys okay that's all tysm

--Your Godly Path Leads Back To Him--

"I love ya, pretty boy," you murmured into the soft dip of his cheek, leaving behind the scorch of your lips: an invisible scar, one that'd ruin his perfect smile next time the sun rose.

Miguel's gaze traced lines into you to make you bleed. Across the expanse of bite-tainted shoulders, grazing the vital veins and tendons of your neck, up to the thoughtfully chiseled features God hand-picked for you, His favourite, the man he poured silvered moonlight onto, filling in your crystalline eyes that very moment Miguel finally caught them gazing his way after you dared to maim him.

The thin, scratchy blanket shifted, and let prickly hay nip at Miguel's bare skin when you held the side of his face with a warm, calloused hand. You burned away his nerves, eased away anything that could distract him from you, from that moment.

What was Miguel supposed to say?

"Hey," you whispered. Your fingers grazed against his forehead as you brushed dark locks away from blurred eyes and creased brows. "Come on now, don't make that face. My love such a bad thing?"

Miguel laughed, like the sun braving a rainy day. "Maybe, with a track record like yours." A deflection. A cheap, easy thing Miguel tried to fit behind. But you knew him too damn well.

"Pretty boy and a funny guy, huh?" You hummed and picked yourself off your side, slotting back into the spot you'd carved between Miguel's legs, flush up to his hips–the place you'd been all night. Goosebumps on tawny skin rose to meet your phantom touches. Not even the warmth of the summer night's breeze could help him.

"Glad not even your daddy could beat the life out of you." Your words licked across his neck before your lips seared those in, too.

"Well, I--I, uh…" Clay brown eyes fluttered shut when you touched him. "I really–" He tried again. Miguel's head dug back into the hay, gifting a speckle of splintering hay crackles to the ambience of mooning crickets. The littlest sighs, the gentlest of moans, so spent and eager, slipped from between his tired, wanting lips, bolstering the symphony of the night.

Your lips found his again. Your tongue tasted him, finding the familiar smoke of fine whiskey and the sweet icing of flaked pastries. One of your hands threaded into his hair and held the back of his neck, keeping him close, stopping him from seeing the swirling haze in your own eyes.

"It's alright, honey," you whispered against his cheek before you pushed into him, "you ain't gotta say it back." His hands flew to your back, clawing into your skin and pulling your body flush against his. Miguel's stuttered gasps found a home in the warmth of your shoulder, and you etched quiet moans over the mark you'd already left. Such a greedy, evil man you were.

And that’s why you couldn’t love him.

But you did, and you kept telling him while you held him, even though it made your heart ache, even though it made your heart break. Because it was so horribly, painfully, undeniably true–you loved him. You loved the bastard son of the sheriff. You loved the man who was to be wed to a beautiful woman with wide hips and the gift of giving him the family he always dreamed of for himself.

And you? You were trouble. A dog on the road, scrounging for scraps, looking for any woman or sorry soul to take you in for the night–and then you found yourself neither, and didn't know how to walk away from what you’d found.

But trouble was always gonna find you, whether it be your man’s father or his wife’s, the corrupt deputies and counties paid to find you, the do-gooder bounty hunters looking for their payday. You'd be damned if you let trouble find him: Miguel O'hara, a cocky prick, a ladies man, a man who gave you love and patience when you needed it most.

This was the last night you were gonna love him.

–

Ten hours later, you were gone.

–

Ten years later, you were back.

–

The market was busy. Customers and vendors alike bustled through cramped cobbled streets, but Miguel heard one voice clear as day like lightning striking through the darkest storm.

"You lookin' for your momma, sweetheart?"

Then, he heard his Gabi.

His boots thumped against the ground hard on his dash towards his little one. Folks in the crowd hurried out of his way or got pushed past until Miguel spied his baby girl talking to a fellow crouched down to her level. It was you, wearing that same damn hat, toting that same damn bag over your shoulder, wearing those same damn boots, all in the town where you'd met.

"Papá's gone," Gabi sniffed, clutching onto the fabric of her dress with trembling little hands. "I-I dunno where he went!"

"Hey, hey, you're okay, baby. We'll find him." You pat her head and smoothed some of the flyaways that escaped her braids. "We'll find that old sheriff and–"

"Well, you found him," Miguel cut in, sauntering in on the conversation with his thumbs hooked into the worn leather of his belt. He did his best to gaze at you with a stranger's stare, but he was already losing the game he decided to play.

Especially when your eyes flicked to him, looking less than surprised and more than happy to see him, if that crooked smile was anything to go off of.

Gabriella threw herself at Miguel and buried her little face into his shirt, staining the worn cotton with drops of tears. Miguel pat her head before kneeling down and holding her hands in his.

"You alright, mija?" He cooed, concern softening his voice and taking the fight out of him. Gabi nodded dramatically and Miguel wiped her eyes. "You can't run off like that, kid, you had me scared half to death."

"I-I know, ‘m sorry.” And she really did look it, but Miguel knew her wanderlusting, bored little self would get lost in the crowds again, thinking she’d always make it back to her daddy. It could never happen to me was a jinx thought too many times. Everything could happen to them. Anything. Just like you leaving.

Right. The sheriff’s eyes glanced up to find yours again, but he found an empty space instead. Gone. Again. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised by that.

–

But when night fell, he had an inkling of where to find you.

Miguel found Lyla’s bar, that place where men drank ill of the divine’s blood, where you would drink yourself, the cannibal you were.

Upon first glance around the room, through the cheers of his title and welcoming smiles, he didn’t find you. But Lyla nodded at the backdoor, and Miguel had his answer.

He grabbed a drink on the way out, maybe to settle his nerves or to drown you with, he wasn’t sure. The song of a guitar called to him the second he cracked that back door open. Like a fisherman drawn to the siren’s voice, he followed it earnestly, the hand holding his bottle tightening while earthen brown eyes searched for you–

And there you were, sat on a log bench, thick cigar hanging from your lips, drink at your side, plucking away at tired strings for a crowd of ghosts around a dark phantom fire. Worshippers, no doubt. Specters of lovers passed, maybe.

Moonlight draped across your shoulders like the thick blankets of snow weighing on the surrounding cedars. They, too, listened to the hymn, bowing how they could to show their fealty to you. But you didn’t mind it, not acting how godly things were said to act, instead welcoming them as real brothers and sisters and others, all equal on the same ground. Miguel didn’t know how you could still not have a care in the world when the world cared so much for you.

Miguel’s boots crunched in the snow, and you turned your gaze to him. Now that he had the time to spare, he took in the lines and wear on your fine face, the age added under mischievous eyes and the new, silvered scars glowing against your complexion. Older, and handsomer. How was it possible? How was that fair?

Then that horrible smile appeared, the one he’d felt sear into his skin all those years ago. He felt it now, burning on his neck, on his lips, and somehow he knew you felt it, too. Under a moonlit night, in the old barn of his daddy’s estate, you’d taught him your gospel from sunset to sunrise, showed him how mercy felt, how a kind god’s hand could heal. Those lips whispered to him things prophets wish they knew, things they’d give everything to hear first before any other man–but no, it was just for Miguel.

You stood and walked to him, guitar in-hand, and Miguel lost all sense of mind.

–

He slammed you up against his front door once the damn thing closed and blocked out the cold, leaving you victim to his gnashing teeth and clawing hands. His knee found its place snug up against your crotch as he devoured your voice with a scorned kiss, filled with the clash of fangs and demanding bites. You moaned into him, too weak to deny him his wants, or to deny yourself.

"Your daughter–" you gasped once his mouth left yours. You muffled a moan into his shoulder as he ground his knee against your crotch harder. "Miguel–"

"She's with Peter for the night," he breathed into your neck inbetween hot, open-mouthed kisses left on your scarred skin. "Figured something'd be happenin' tonight."

"Hmm." You smiled into the leather of his jacket and left a soft kiss there before leaning back to spy his handsome face. "Glad we can pick up where we left off, Sheriff."

"Hardly." His hand found your neck, and you offered your throat, your blood, for communion. For union. "You've got some fucking gall showing up around here again, let me tell you. Gotta say I have questions about where you've been, why you left, why you're back now." The pressure around your throat tightened and you coughed just the slightest bit to prove your mortality. Miguel's eyes, deep and dark like wine, drank you in now that he had you where he wanted you.

"You think you got some answers for me, trouble?" The sheriff asked.

You grinned. Not even that damn cuff around your throat could scare you off, truth be told.

"I just might."

Miguel's lips followed the path of your whisper back to your sinful mouth once again, and he kissed you. You clung to him, a god yearning to taste the sweetness that humanity had cultivated, and let him take the reins–the human would know humanity best, after all.

His knee left the spot between your legs, but his hips closed the gap in its stead and ground hard against you. Sparks ignited from between your bodies, and you moaned. Miguel's soft, breathy sigh melted into your voice as his lips lingered against your very own. It felt too much like the past.

"Shh, Christ–don't you know how to shut up?" Miguel asked with the wickedest grin stretched across those fine features of his, like he wasn't the bastard at the root of your noise.

"Oh, you're really asking for an ass-kicking, shit head," you scoffed, but couldn't help the laugh that sank into his cheek. "Want me to make no noise, huh? Make you think you're doing a shit job getting me off?" Miguel's hand tightened around your length, then. Maybe he liked being a lil degraded.

"Câllate. I know I'm doing a good job." His face twisted into a pouty frown. "Now hurry up and touch me, too." Miguel's face couldn't get more red with the demand.

But you grinned and complied. Tucked away in the barn where all dark deeds were done, you pulled loose his belt and unzipped those old jeans before palming him up and showing him what it meant to worship.

Miguel moaned and leaned into your touch, pushing you deeper into the thick wooden support beam keeping everything standing. Your first hands worked each other to find Eden while the second hands wandered and touched, trying to find where they were supposed to land next on their quest into the great unknown. The bible had been so, so wrong, so now what was their guide?

Each other, the answer would be.

Oil-slicked fingers pistoned into your tight hole with frenzied purpose, stretching you open and wide for all Miguel had waiting on offer. Your fingernails caught into every hitch and grain of the wooden dining table beneath you, somewhere you'd find no purchase but decided you didn't deserve any; this was, after all, divine punishment, was it not?

Though it was unceremonious the way he yanked those fingers out and slammed his cock in, filling you to the brim in one fatal flourish, tearing a choked gasp from your smoke-addled throat. Your forehead dug into the wood as your hips jolted back to find more of him. Miguel's hands, broad and calloused, held fast to your hips and stroked the taught muscle there, the stretched skin over bone, with his thumbs. He smoothed your skin and soothed any aches you felt in the aftermath of man's brutality.

Just when you thought to snap at him to move, he rocked his hips against yours slowly, pulsing into you with shallow, merciful thrusts. But even just that was enough to snatch the air out of your lungs.

Miguel blanketed your body with his own, bending over you and breathing softly against the shell of your ear as his weight pinned you to the table. You had to admit the man was giving you whiplash with every flip of your punishment.

"Go a little harder, baby," you whispered sweetly, nearing on begging as you pushed your hips back against his.

Miguel's rhythm stuttered. His hands tightened around your waist, blunt nails digging into soft sides as the teeth by your ear snicked together with the hiss of a breath, of words unspoken.

"You want harder?" Miguel mumbled. He buried his face into your neck and inhaled deep, filling his lungs with that scent you brought with you when you escaped whatever holy shrine man had imprisoned you in.

"Fine." His chest left your back as he stood up straight. You felt the shift in the room before he slammed into you over and over again like you owed him this.

And you did. You'd left. You'd run away after showing your heart to him. You could've left without a word. You should've. But where else would you find someone to drag you down to Earth the way he did?

His hand slipped under your neck then and tightened fiercely as he used you, and your mind snapped back to the present, to how this communion threatened to rot into sacrifice. You didn't seek the unholy. You didn't want faith like this.

"Stop," you rasped. Your hands clawed at the noose around your neck when words didn't work. Turns out it scared you just a bit more than you thought."Miguel."

"I thought you wanted it hard," his voice growled into your ear, too distant from that charisma and snark you knew and fell for. He was cold. Angry. Not saying what he wanted to say.

"I–" but you coughed and saw the abyss for a second when you thought your neck might give, and instincts stepped in for you.

You managed to shove Miguel off, so hard in fact he crashed back into the counter where dishes sat drying in a rack. They clattered to the dismal tune of your dying heart while you caught your breath and tried to steady your legs underneath yourself as you stared hard at the man who'd never hurt you.

You'd had your fair share of flirty women and shameful men, whether it was a job to make a quick buck, a ploy to rob them in the night, or an attempt at finding something real.

The women were always kindly, confessing of the snakes in the garden out front and the woes they felt in the house in the times their husbands lurked. Always so intimate, always so willing to open their hearts and their bodies to you. You'd give them the same respect in kind, murmuring about a boy you still loved, hinting at the skeletons laid hidden in a hundred different pieces in your closet. Two wanting beings seeking a kind One's touch.

But the men made you less than human. Filled to the brim with callous denial and self-loathing, blaming you for what they'd done and what they'd do. You hated them for what they'd do to you. You hated them for proving man was beyond saving. You hated them because they were just like the one that came before you.

And maybe you hated them for reminding you what your mortal man could do to you, too.

But Miguel looked shell-shocked. A little too human, a little too unlike those others with the way his wide eyes scanned you over as his own chest heaved and his own two hands struggled with what to do. He almost took a step forward, but took it back.

Miguel's voice broke through, real soft and quiet. "(Name), I–"

"Don't," you snapped, hating the way your voice shook. You wondered if you'd ever yelled at your daddy this way.

"You don't get to–no, not you. You don’t get to do that to me. Anyone but you." Because he was your prophet. Someone you could hide with and share the darkest of the dark with in safety, away from the rest of the hated world. What would you be if you lost him, too?

You didn't know what you expected, maybe to be kicked out or yelled at again if history repeated itself, but Miguel braving those steps towards you and holding you close was nothing short of a needed surprise. You were both something of a mess, pants all awry and brows creased with sweat and emotion, but with the mess came comfort. And to you, comfort smelled like licorice, sun, and leather.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. And your heart swelled; men didn't say that to you. No one ever said that to you.

Your arms, tentative and maybe a little afraid, found their way around his waist, and you pulled him in closer. Miguel's shoulders relaxed with every soothing sweep of your palm against his back, and you let his weight fall into you a little bit more. Because as much as he was your happy place, you were his, too.

Miguel laughed bitterly before he said, "I guess I'm more like my father than I wanna admit."

Wife beater.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. "You know that ain't true." His eyes looked away from you then, and you caught his cheek with your hand to stop the rest of his head from following. "It's been a long time. There's…quite a bit left unsaid."

Miguel huffed something of a laugh as he leaned into your touch. "Huh, that was almost poetic. You been reading up since you were gone?"

"Might've stolen a few pretty books from some fanciful folks here 'n there." You smiled.

"Yeah? Guess it was worth it, if you're talking like that now."

"Wasn't worth leavin' you."

Earthen eyes found you again, looking wide and innocent like those fauns you saw on your travels. You liked that look on him, the look of a pretty boy being awed by a roadbound hooligan. You thought maybe you could get him to blush, too.

Your other hand found the empty side of his face and cupped it, mirroring the other, before you leaned in and closed your eyes. This time, cinders sparked against your lips when they met, proving that man, indeed, created flame without heavenly guidance. That burgeoning blaze bloomed and blossomed when you kissed Miguel O'hara to remind him of the words you spoke that night ten years ago:

I love ya, pretty boy. You ain't gotta say it back.

Because the fire in you had enough heat to keep two warm at night.

"I never should've left you," you murmured against his lips. "I thought–I figured it'd be for the best, but–" your voice died in your throat when Miguel's lips caught your chatty mouth and dove into another hot kiss. You sighed, happy to abandon that solemn train of thought in favour of slipping your arms around his neck and enjoying him like you were 21 all over again.

"I know," Miguel mumbled when he parted and let you breathe. "You wouldn't leave for nothin', selfless bastard." He smiled a little. "But I'm still cross with you."

Your hands moved to curl into his worn shirt as you nodded. "I know."

"And we're gonna sort everything out."

"Good."

"But right now," he started before catching your chin between his fingers and tilting your head up the slightest bit, "I think I'd like another shot at fucking you silly, mi amor."

Your stomach dipped into sticky, gooey desire. Mi amor. The words radiated through every nerve and cell of your design.

You nodded. "Go right ahead."

This time, Miguel swept you up into his arms and carried you up the stairs like a bride on her wedding day while you laughed and dotted him with kisses all over. He all but threw you onto the bed before you both tore each other's clothes away in a fit of love and lust, too eager to see one another at your most vulnerable.

Miguel's broad hands smoothed down your chest and thighs as he settled between them, and the look in his half-lidded eyes had your stomach coiling with impatience. But he took his time, dipping his fingers into the lines and creases of scars and muscle, pressing against each errant beauty mark he found hidden on your warm skin. But, thankfully, his impatience won out, and he rushed to pick up where you’d both left off.

You were glad to hold onto him this time as he filled you again. Your hands grabbed at his shoulders and clawed at his back as he kissed your neck and rolled against you slowly, gradually convincing your tight heat to relax and let him back in. And Miguel was quite the persuasive one, rocking his hips in a delicious tempo of short, shallow half-notes, whispering fluttering words of praise when he charted forgotten ground. A worthy worshiper, truly.

Your hips jolted when his pressed to yours. "Shit," you rasped into his shoulder when he bottomed out, but only after teasing your soft spot for a few agonizing minutes.

Miguel chuckled lightly. He licked a long stripe up your neck before biting into your flesh and earning himself a hearty moan. You bit him back, if only to be a brat; gods could do whatever they wanted.

"You feel good?" He asked, like he didn't already know the answer.

You nodded against him before you allowed him to pull you back to get a look at your brows twisted together, at the love-drunk blush smeared across your face, at the half-lidded heaviness of dilated eyes. He kissed you like that once, twice, and then his forehead pressed against yours when he showed you what he was really meant for.

Long forgotten were the seconds spent downstairs on the dining table. Now is all that remained: the heat rippling through your thighs, the fire in your core, lava in your veins that moved when he did, spreading an impossible bliss through every inch of your being.

"Honey," you gasped between the soft pants and choked moans. Your fingers threaded through his hair and held his neck as Miguel fucked the air out of your lungs and spoiled himself with your rare little noises.

Miguel smirked. "Oh? Already?" He lifted his forehead from yours to kiss and mark your neck the way you so selfishly did in the past. "Don't, ah, tell me you're losing your touch."

"Shut–shut up," you grumbled. "Still got an annoying fucking mouth for such a–oh."

Miguel's hips angled slightly differently in that second, brushing up against a spot that had you seeing stars and your body tightening up and demanding more. A shaky, loud moan slipped past Miguel's defenses, too, and he made damn sure to focus his attention on that spot.

"Fuck, you feel good, viejo," Miguel moaned over the creaking of the bed.

“Hah. You’re welcome,” you cooed, ego stretched and lazing, and then you gasped louder as Miguel cranked it up a notch and slammed against your sweet spot with more fervor than before. You bit his shoulder again in defiance.

Miguel laughed, breathless and shaky as his control slipped and he delved into your body with primal instinct. Your thighs tightened around his waist, eager to feel that grand finale you’d been craving since you laid your eyes on him.

“Miggs?”

“Mh?”

“Kiss me.”

And he obliged, igniting the trail of gunpowder from the tip of your tongue and letting it burn all the way to the dynamite bundled up tight in your stomach. You exploded, burning bright with too many colours as your back arched and your arms seized your lover tightly. Beautiful nonsense left your mouth and filled the air with the mess of bed creaks and Miguel’s voice rose and rose before stopping altogether as he spilled his warmth inside your molten centre.

He kissed you lazily. Little, shaky moans rattled against your teeth as Miguel rocked against you through the aftershocks and pulled every last drop of pleasure from himself. It made you smug; his wife, dead or alive, clearly didn’t fuck him the way you could.

It took some time to come down, but when you both did, he was settled up against you, his back against your chest as you leaned against the headrest and played with his hair. One of your hands was confiscated so the sheriff may look over the silvered scars and healing wounds–a few of the many trophies you’d earned on your travels.

“So?” Miguel murmured.

“Hm?”

“Why’d you leave?”

You took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Too many thoughts plagued your mind, too many reasons, too many excuses all piling up on each other like bodies in a war. But you had to find that truth and show it to him. It’s what he expected. It’s what you actually owed him.

“Well, your old man wanted me dead.” Miguel tensed against you for a moment, and you were quick to calm him with the scratch of your nails against his scalp. He melted into you, and you smiled. “You know how Delgato loves to talk. Never shuts the fuck up, actually. Was a good thing this time, though, otherwise I’d be killed three times over.”

Miguel huffed a soft laugh. “Guess so. But why you?”

“Because I wanted you. I guess I had you, too, and that wasn’t the plan, right? You had to marry Dana.” You sighed softly and shook your head. “If she weren’t so wicked fine, I’d be more bent out of shape about it.”

You sensed Miguel roll his eyes. “Santa Muerte. Do you ever think with your head instead of your cock?”

“Seems like a waste of time,” you jabbed back with a cheeky grin. You leaned in and kissed his shoulder while he grumbled and mumbled to himself.

“So that’s it? You left because that low-life wanted you dead?”

“Hold on, hold on. Let me keep talkin’.” You adjusted your arms around him before you continued. “My daddy was a crook, a real good one, too. Momma wasn’t much better. Guess you could call her a murderer, but she was a smart one. She brought back the magic that was Aqua Tofana back in the 60s. Poisoned him. Killed him." Your fingers traced around errant freckles splashing across the nape of his neck as you thought back. "Tyler Stone found out about it."

Miguel cursed under his breath. He leaned more of his weight back into your chest. Your arms tightened around him, too.

"Came after that old woman who threw the blame on me, and then they came after me." A bitter smile drained your light. "Traveled all over the place, ran even more. 'N then…somehow ended up falling for the bastard son of the man I was running from." You sighed and nuzzled against Miguel's shoulder. "The cruel irony of it all, hey?"

"You don't have to run anymore," Miguel said, voice oozing with the power of a sheriff. He turned in your hold, and sat facing you with his strong hands holding your shoulder and your cheek. "You're done running."

You huffed a breath through your nose before you hung your head the slightest bit. "Says who?"

"Says me.” Both hands held your face now, bringing your attention back to Miguel’s divinely cut features as he tried to speak some sense into you. “The man you said you loved. The bastard son of the man you were runnin' from." His thumbs rubbed soothing paths along your cheekbones. “You know you’re done runnin’, too. Why else would you come back here?”

And maybe there was some truth to those words. Why did you come back here? Were you tired of the road? Tired of the gun fights, the robbing, the lying? Is that why you trekked your horse down these familiar roads without even realizing it until you saw that old church stretching above the rising sun? Or maybe you were following threads of your fate, wandering to the tune of your South-flying heart when your chest finally got too cold after ten years without light.

Yeah, maybe you were done running.

Your nose brushed his when you leaned into him. “You want me to stay, pretty boy?”

“I’ll make you stay. Sheriff’s promise. Besides,” Miguel murmured. His forehead pressed to yours and his eyes fell closed before the next whisper changed everything: “Te amo.”

Your eyes watered, so you let them fall closed, too. The barest of laughs broke through your quivering breaths. It was relief that flooded you, and those two little words were the ark that raised you up out of your misery and confusion of the world. You felt like you could breathe. Like you meant something for once. Like maybe the hymns and verses might have been based on truth.

“Well,” you started, leaning into the summer touch wiping away your autumn tears, “why didn’t you say so sooner?”

“I should’ve. I really should’ve.” Miguel laughed something warm and loud when you yanked him in for a hug and peppered him with salty kisses all over his face. “H-Hey, hey, you didn’t give me an answer!”

“Forgot the question, Sheriff,” you mumbled as you squeezed him. “Ask again?”

Miguel scoffed fondly before kissing your earlobe and murmuring into your ear. “You feel like kickin’ up your feet and giving up on running, trouble?”

You grinned to yourself and returned the kiss.

“I do.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n

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tenelkadjowrites · 2 years

Text

Blue Hawaii - Seonghwa x Reader (NSFW)

⛈️ Summary: A bad summer storm changes how you see Seonghwa, a bothersome patron of the bar you work at.

⛈️ Word count: 9k

⛈️ Genre warnings: one shot smut. fem pronouns for reader. very light enemies to lovers. smoking and drinking. hair pulling (hwa receiving). biting (reader receiving). oral sex. unprotected sex. creampie.

⛈️ Tags: @thewonderofkpop - @obligatoryidolblog - @iusrene - @yunhofingers - @foggyinternetchaos - @multihoe-net - @spiderlilyfics - @whatudowhennooneseesyou - @jess-1404 - @lilhwahwa - @btsreader12 - @talkbykhalid - @rdiamond2727 - @dreamtof0rget - @xirenex

this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa in any way, shape or form.

The bar is incredibly crowded, overly loud, smells unmistakably like salt water and you are pretty sure another one of those silly drink umbrellas has just crunched under your shoe. You are in your element.

Saturday night, middle of summer, height of tourist season. The beachside bar you work at is a stopping point for many looking to get drunk before wobbling back to their hotels and you love to take advantage of it. There is easy money to be had charming tourists who have come here to soak in the sun and then to soak in the booze underneath the moonlight. Of course, pretending to be kind, patient and charming to get their money is utterly exhausting.

A breeze kicks up, cutting through the open windows and through the small bar. The wind chimes above the bar top move although it is impossible to hear over the din of the music and conversation. Your brain automatically fills the noise in as you slide a drink over to a drunken divorcee who has spent the past ten minutes telling you how much she hates her ex-husband. You nod in a sympathetic manner, hoping this will pay off and result in a large tip. A big storm is supposed to roll in tomorrow night and the bar will most likely be closed. Better make what you can tonight.

Distantly, you can hear two men talking to your right, having just sat down. Their voices are familiar and you know that they aren’t tourists but locals. Those are harder to charm because you see them often enough that the placid and artificial veneer of being pleasant becomes transparent.

“I think I’m going to order a Blue Hawaii,” The first man says and you recognize it as Hongjoong, a painter that comes in every week or so to grab a drink. But where there is Hongjoong, there is…

“Really?” Seonghwa drawls, “Last time I took a sip of yours, it was so weak that I thought I was drinking water. And the same bartender that made it is working tonight. You’re better off just getting a beer than having her make anything.”

You grit your teeth, attempting a smile at the divorced woman, trying to usher her off towards her friends. Once that is accomplished, you turn to face Hongjoong and Seonghwa, your smile cracking like an eggshell.

Hongjoong immediately looks apologetic, Seonghwa apathetic. A cigarette dangles in between Seonghwa’s long fingers, a haze of smoke wafting over his beautifully bored face. His blonde hair is tousled and you can just make out grains of sand among the strands as if Hongjoong’s paintbrush has grazed the beach across it. He wears a black sleeveless shirt, exposing the tanned skin and taunt muscles of his arms. Even though he is beautiful, he is as sour as you and it is for that fact you don’t care for him.

“What do you want?” You bark at them over the din.

“I want a Blue Hawaii,” Hongjoong says defiantly, waiting for Seonghwa to challenge him.

But he does no such thing, instead ordering a beer in a neutral tone. Hongjoong and Seonghwa have been coming to the bar for the past year. You know a lot about Hongjoong – he moved here to paint, wanting to be closer to the ocean, and makes money selling his paintings while working at a cheap tourist trap shop on the main street of town.

When it comes to Seonghwa, however, you know very little. He’s been kicked out of the bar a couple of times for fighting, both verbally and physically. He smokes too much. You aren’t sure what he does for a living. He has a chip the size of a small country on his shoulder. Occasionally, you spot him surfing during the off season. He is blunt to the point of rudeness and when he looks at you, it feels as if he is seeing through any polite façade that you create to charm tourists. …Fine, maybe you know more about him than previously thought.

You start making the Blue Hawaii, a new drink added to the menu for this vacation season, and practically throw the beer towards Seonghwa. His slender hand wraps around it, eyes landing on yours for a brief moment before taking a sip. After finishing making Hongjoong’s, you hand it to him. The drink is electric blue, with both a flower and umbrella on the top.

“Have you ever thought of layering this with some red?” Hongjoong asks, leaning forward slightly so you can hear him, “It would look amazing. Like the sunset mixed with ocean.”

“Have you ever thought of adding actual booze to the drink?” Seonghwa chimes in, rude as ever, “Or is the drink made to be overpriced and catering to tourists?”

You bristle. “You know, you’re insulting your friend when you speak like that. He did order it, after all.”

Something flickers behind Seonghwa’s eyes as he taps the edge of his cigarette into the ashtray. Hongjoong waves a dismissive hand. “You know how Hwa can be sometimes.” Seonghwa shoots a quelling glance at Hongjoong who avoids meeting it.

“Every time he comes into this bar, he’s a jerk.”

Seonghwa doesn’t reply. He seemingly has no desire to explain himself nor justify his way of speaking. For some reason, the fact that he is okay with how he is perceived drives you crazy.

The bar is too busy to stick around and deal with the two of them any longer. You turn around, a group of people smushing against the bar top, trying to get your attention.

Yet even as you work, you are aware of Seonghwa’s eyes on you, like a shark sliding among coral reefs. It takes all your willpower not to look over your shoulder at him. How nice must it be to openly be so rude, to have no interest in acting the way society expects you to, and being unbothered by the fact no one likes you?

With a jolt, you realize that you are jealous of Seonghwa, of his openly annoyed attitude, and the fact you have to mask yours or it will impact your income. What is wrong with me? You think, mixing another drink. There is nothing to be envious of with Seonghwa. As far as you can tell, he is miserable and has one singular friend to tolerate him. But he clearly is okay with that and doesn’t have to fake things all day like you, a small voice wiggles in the back of your head as you go through the motions of making drinks and serving customers. Shut up, brain.

By the time you turn your attention back to their corner of the bar, there is money waiting for you and two cigarettes in an ashtray. As you sweep up their spot, your hand knocks into something under a napkin. Moving it to the side, you realize Seonghwa has forgotten his lighter. It is silver, overly ornate, expensive looking. You have seen him use the same lighter every time he is in here. Throw it out, says the cruel part of you.

But with a sigh, you shove it underneath the bar and return to work.

It doesn’t take long the next day for the clouds to change, sweeping in a summer storm that threatens to disrupt everyone’s lovely vacations and your chance to make more money at the bar. Since it is located directly on the beach, there is no choice but to close it for safety reasons.

That doesn’t apply to me, you think hurriedly, popping into the bar to get a few things done before the storm really kicks up. It isn’t that you are a workaholic, you just care a lot about this silly bar. It is your home away from home, a place where you spend most of your time, working more than any other employee, eventually being promoted as manager to take over the office side of things.

But last night had been so busy that you fell behind on some stuff. Catching up now will be fine. Just an hour or two before the storm gets too bad and then you’ll go home. Easier to get it done now versus trying to handle all of it upon reopening.

In the gloom and doom of the storm clouds, the bar is in complete disarray. The storm seemed to usher in a sense of scurrying about, tourists and your coworkers leaving upon closing without fully finishing their drinks or cleaning up.

Staring at the mess, biting your bottom lip, you know what everyone had been thinking: bar will be closed tomorrow, we can skimp out on finishing our duties and deal with it when it opens again. But the idea of handling all of this later…no, better just to clean it all up now. You glance out the window, taking note of the waves growing thunderous, before hurrying around the bar. Scooping up empty glasses and cleaning them, sweeping the floor, trying to organize the chairs – you are lost in making sure the bar is clean again and don’t even realize someone has entered until –

“Helloooo?” comes that familiar drawl, your head snapping up to see a shadow in the entranceway.

“We’re closed.”

The person steps forward and your hunch proves to be correct – Seonghwa is there, bathed in the soft lights of the bar. He has a leather jacket that is a size too large, hanging slightly off his frame, his blonde hair tousled from the wind, jeans riddled with holes. You hadn’t been expecting to see him, jolted at the sight of Seonghwa against the backdrop of the incoming storm.

“I think I left something here the other night.”

You know he is talking about the lighter. For a brief, petty second you think about lying and asking what he is talking about. But the moment passes as quickly as it pops into your brain.

“Yeah, I have it.” You go around to the back of the bar top, glancing at him, “You came here even with this storm rolling in just to get your lighter?”

“Yes, that’s right,” is all Seonghwa says. You get the feeling there is more to this – something to explain why Seonghwa would come the very next day to the bar just to retrieve a singular lighter – but it is clear he doesn’t want to go into it with you.

You pull the lighter out of the drawer, sliding it across the counter as he walks over. It catches the light, winking coyly at you. When he reaches for the lighter, your fingers touch briefly, an electric sizzle that you ignore.

“You know we are closed today for the storm. Why did you come by anyway?” You can’t help but ask.

“Figured you would be here.”

“What makes you say that?”

Seonghwa shrugs, slipping the lighter in the pocket of his jeans. “You usually are.”

For some reason, this irks you. Perhaps it is the casual tone he uses in assuming that he knows anything about you or the fact he is right. You aren’t exactly sure why it annoys you. Only that it does.

“Well, you have your precious lighter now. You can go.”

Seonghwa arches one eyebrow delicately, his gaze sweeping across the bar top. “You know, it’s starting to rain. Soon enough, it will be too dangerous to leave the bar and too dangerous to stay.”

“The bar will be fine.” You bristle, “It’s a summer storm, not a hurricane. No need for the theatrical warning.”

Instead of leaving, Seonghwa sits down on a bar stool, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the counter. “There is a hostility you show me that no one else is privy to. Have I done something wrong?”

You stop for a second, a dirty beer glass in one hand, glaring at him. “You’re rude. You know that you’re rude. Surely, you aren’t here playing innocent.”

“Rude?” Seonghwa actually looks surprised before his brows furrow, “Is this because I told Hongjoong that new drink of yours is weak?”

“That’s just one thing in the many. You’re overly blunt. We’ve had to kick you out of here a few times for starting fights –”

At this, Seonghwa protests. “I didn’t start those. They just didn’t like what I had to say.”

You keep going. “There’s being honest and just being rude. You cross that every time I see you.” Turning your back to him, flicking on the water in the sink, you began to viciously scrub one of the beer glasses.

Silence settles across the bar. You can feel Seonghwa’s eyes on you once again. Then, there is a click of the lighter followed by the inhale of smoking on the cigarette. You don’t know why the anger that buzzes through your skin feels like something so alive – as if Seonghwa is poking through the delicate shield you wrap your body in every day and letting acid leak out.

“Oh,” He finally says, so softly that you might have imagined it if he didn’t keep speaking, “I get it now.”

“Great. So, you have your lighter now. You can go.”

“Hongjoong is really partial to this bar. For me, it’s whatever. There are about fifty other bars like this along the beach. But he says something about the atmosphere speaks to him,” Another shrug, “He’s an artist. I can’t pretend to know what he sees. But I’ve come here enough times to be familiar with everyone who works at this place. And you’re by far the fakest person here.”

You drop the beer glass in the sink. Luckily, it doesn’t shatter although the side of it cracks. His words are a verbal smack to the side of the head, a sudden spotlight on you that was not requested.

Spinning around to stare at him, you sputter, “Excuse me?”

Seonghwa, who has his cigarette placed delicately elegantly between his lips, stares at you with an expression that is utterly nonchalant. Some of the smoke curls around his face but his eyes remain luminous. “You heard me. I watch the way you smile at tourists, fake laugh at their boring stories, collect the tip money and shove it in your pocket. Every movement of yours is artificial. In reality, you’re pissed that playing sweet and kind is how to make money. You believe that’s the only way to go about it. See, I don’t care if someone likes me or not, and I speak my mind without fear of backlash and you envy me for it. You resent me for it.”

His words strike true, hitting the chink in your armor in a way that you were not prepared for. How dare Seonghwa, this man that cares so little about what people think of him, who can so easily navigate life and whatever he does for a living that he needs to not impress anyone or fake laugh his way for a better tip? Everyone knows that society is built on layers of phony bullshit. Does he think he can somehow skip all of that?

“Come on, admit it.” He nudges you with his words, “It’s just us here, after all. No customers.”

The wind is picking up now, the shuttered windows rattling a little in their frames. Seonghwa is right – not just about the fact you resent him but also that the storm is quickly approaching and that you should leave in the next few minutes to get home safely. But your feet remain rooted to the spot, anxious to finish this discussion with him. All the words that have bounced around in your head finally exploding from your mouth.

“Fine,” You grind out, “Yes, it’s annoying how you say whatever you want and no one blinks. What do you even do for a living anyway? It can’t be any job that deals with people. You are entirely off putting. And yes, I do resent you for it. Every day I come to this bar and serve drinks to dull tourists and pretend I care about anything they are saying just in the hopes they’ll give me a nice tip. I tolerate men and their shitty attempts at flirting with me thinking they will get a discount. I smile the entire time and then you just sit at the bar and start fights and make snide remarks about how I make a drink and I think ‘what makes you so special that you don’t have to play by the same rules as everyone else’? So, yes, that’s why I don’t like you. Also, my drinks are just fine including the Blue Hawaii. You’re just a dick.” You finally fall silent, feeling like a deflated balloon, having let everything out of your system.

Seonghwa grins. It is an expression you have seen before. One night some guy got so sick of him running his mouth he threw a punch. Seonghwa had grinned like that before dropping the man to the floor, the smile not dropping even as your boss tossed him out of the bar with a warning. Not a ban, of course. Seonghwa can somehow evade that as well.

He takes a long inhale off the cigarette, tapping some ash into the tray, going, “If you hate all the fake shit, why don’t you quit? Get a job with less human interaction.”

“Like you?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m a mechanic,” Seonghwa announces and you try to imagine him underneath a car fixing things. Your brain cannot conjure up the image at all. “Everyone knows we are gruff assholes.”

“I make good money here.”

Seonghwa gestures to the empty bar. “I don’t see anyone else here before this storm, cleaning dirty dishes and finishing paperwork or whatever. It’s evident it isn’t just about the money. You love working here.”

Growing weary of his uncanny ability to see through your deflecting, and hearing the rain beginning to strike the roof, you reply, “Alright, you caught me. Yes, I do love working here. I care a lot about this tourist trap bar and making sure it’s clean and orderly. I like all my co-workers. Even my boss. Sure, I could leave but then I miss out on a place I enjoy working at.”

“But you hate the customers.”

“I don’t hate them. I just wish I didn’t have to be so fake all the time. That’s all.”

“You know, I bet if you just eased up a bit on the whole artificial personality you think you need to make money, you might not resent me so much. And you might even find it is unnecessary to be fake all the time. Who told you that you needed to do that, anyway?” Seonghwa crushes the cigarette in the ashtray, sliding off the bar stool and slipping his lighter in the pocket of his jeans. “Maybe try it out sometime.”

“Yes, great, thanks,” Your tone is dry, “I didn’t ask for any advice nor your sage wisdom about my job though.”

Seonghwa runs his fingers through his blonde hair, shrugging at the same time. He looks entirely unbothered, turning around and heading to the door, giving you a small wave as if he hadn’t just attempted to play therapist. There is a sudden pang in your chest for reasons unexplained and you open your mouth to…say what, exactly?

Before you can figure it out, Seonghwa opens the door and a gust of wind slams into the bar, knocking over a barstool. It clatters loudly to the floor as you scamper over to pick it up and he shuts the door again, looking over his shoulder.

“Time’s up. You can’t stay in the bar any longer. It isn’t safe.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you reply, “I don’t think I have time to get back to my apartment. I should just stay here.”

He gives an impatient shake of his head, some of the blonde hair falling in front of his eyes which he pushes impatiently away with his elegant fingers. “My place is only a few minutes away. Just come with me.”

At first, you want to protest. The last thing you want to experience is Seonghwa’s apartment. Waiting the storm out there will be awkward or weird. Didn’t you just explain why you don’t like him? The last thing you were expecting was an offer like this.

But there is a loud clap of thunder, enough to vibrate the floorboards and you know that he is right; it would be safer at his place and you simply don’t have enough time to cautiously cross town to your apartment.

Seonghwa is waiting, one hand flat against the door to push it open. His leather jacket is well worn, clearly a favourite of his by the way it easily fits his frame. The temperature has dropped today due to the storm, allowing him to wear it for once. His jeans are so faded that you know the holes in them are natural versus buying them like that. Even his shoes have seen better days, worn out around the edges and covered in a thin layer of sand. He doesn’t look any different than usual and yet he feels entirely brand new for reasons that don’t make sense.

You nod, unable to reply verbally and Seonghwa pushes the door open, leading you into the beginning of the storm.

It is evident in mere seconds that going with Seonghwa is a good choice. The wind is already intense, the rain pelting you ruthlessly, the tops of the palm trees swaying and bending in an unnatural way. Seonghwa leads the way, cutting across the beach, glancing behind him every couple of seconds to make sure that you are still following as if an errant tree branch might send you flying.

The sidewalks are empty because of course no one else is running to check on their place of employment before a big summer storm. Your clothes are quickly soaked through from the downpour as you scamper after Seonghwa, who has his head lowered, crossing the street hastily towards an apartment complex that looks to be about five stories.

Ducking under the overhang, Seonghwa pushes open the doors to the apartment building and you follow, relieved to be out of the storm which is growing worse by the second.

In the silence of the lobby, Seonghwa turns to look at you. His hair is dripping wet, droplets of water falling off the strands and rolling down his leather jacket. His jeans are now dark blue, and there is a puddle forming on the floor from his soaking wet clothes.

“Wow,” You go, struggling to find something to say, “You do live close. No wonder you’re always at the bar.”

“Hongjoong likes it, I told you,” Seonghwa replies curtly.

Suddenly acutely aware that your clothes are sticking to your body in a manner Seonghwa has never seen before and confused as to why that is making you feel unnerved, you gesture to him. “Come on, show the way.”

He leads you to an old elevator which makes an alarming creaking noise as it takes you to the fourth floor. Hoping the power doesn’t go out on the ride up, you glance at Seonghwa out of the corner of your eyes. His fingers are curled around the edges of his leather jacket, the sound of the wet fabric drip drip dripping onto the floor. His eyelashes are so long that you are envious and you can feel his body heat filling up the small space. This elevator ride is roughly four hundred years long, you think, waiting for the doors to open.

When they finally do, it is only a few seconds down the hall before Seonghwa stops at one of the doors, inserts his key and steps into his apartment.

You have never thought of what Seonghwa’s living space would look like. The place is small with an even tinier kitchen, and a window looking across the street. The living room is sparse with mismatched furniture clearly picked up from thrift stores to save money, not to create any cohesive theme.

“If you go to the window and crane your neck, you can see a sliver of the ocean sometimes. I get charged extra for the ‘ocean view’,” Seonghwa remarks, tossing his keys on a small table by the front door and slipping out of his jacket.

It is chilly in his apartment and your skin breaks out in goosebumps. You rub your arms, trying not to show how cold you are. But between your wet clothes and the temperature, you let out an involuntary shiver.

“Hang on,” He says, ducking into what you assume is his bedroom.

Unsure what to do, you move a little deeper into the living room after removing your shoes. The storm is now in full swing, the sky incredibly dark, and the rain coming down so heavily that you can’t see across the street. Turning your attention from the window, you wander over to look at a painting on the wall. It is of a diner, the yellow lights spilling out across the sidewalks covered in snow, with a strange looking portal behind it.

“I know it’s a weird painting but I found it at a garage sale and I just felt drawn to it,” Seonghwa’s voice is startling, looking over as he approaches you, “You have anything like that in your place?”

“Surrealist art I got at a garage sale?”

“Something you’re drawn to.” He holds out a small stack of clothes, “Please go change before you ruin my cheap carpet.”

Realizing you are dripping wet in the middle of his living room, you hastily take the clothes he is offering. Your fingers brush against his and you dislike how it makes your heart skip a beat. Unable to look at Seonghwa, you mumble, “Are these yours?”

“They’re old.” He takes a step back, “I’m going to go change too.”

The bathroom is next to his bedroom and you duck inside, closing the door at the same time he closes his. The bathroom is clean and minimalist, a far cry from the usual ones you have seen from single men living alone. You take note of his electric toothbrush, razor, shaving cream, and poke your head curiously into the shower. Come on, where is it? You think, wanting to discover what is a staple in these bathrooms: the 15 in 1 shampoo and conditioner that also doubles as body wash, toothpaste, mouthwash, dish soap, motor oil and countless other things. But no such thing exists. Seonghwa has his shampoo, conditioner, and body wash all in separate bottles neatly tucked onto the shower shelf.

Perturbed, you turn your attention to changing, peeling your wet clothes off and slipping into Seonghwa’s warm, clean ones. Once dressed, you peer at your reflection in the mirror, trying to sort through the events of tonight. Seonghwa, who has only ever been annoying, is now someone you are stuck with until the storm finishes.

“In reality, you’re pissed that playing sweet and kind is how to make money. You believe that’s the only way to go about it. See, I don’t care if someone likes me or not, and I speak my mind without fear of backlash and you envy me for it. You resent me for it.”

Seonghwa’s words from earlier bounce around in your head. Could he be right that you didn’t have to put on an act all the time at work? Or in general? Seonghwa, who seemingly paid little attention to what people thought of him, entirely comfortable in his own skin, moving with an ease that you envied so much it turned to disliking him. Now, you are getting the feeling that you have made snap judgements about him because your own emotions got in the way.

You can’t figure out where you learned that being phony at work meant more money. Was that something you just told yourself over and over again until it became your truth? His question bangs around in your brain.

A loud boom of thunder shakes you out of your thoughts and back to the present. That’s right, massive storm, stuck with Seonghwa. You can sort out your mental state later.

Exiting the bathroom, holding your ball of wet clothes, you go to Seonghwa’s bedroom door to ask him where to put them when you realize with a jolt his door is ajar. You don’t mean to stare, truly, you don’t, but it is the sight of Seonghwa tugging a shirt over his head that renders you immobile. Didn’t he say he was a mechanic? Is there a reason his body looks like that? Your heart is racing like a horse using the final burst of strength to cross the finish line while staring at his well-toned stomach and the outline of his abs for a brief moment as the fabric of the shirt covers him up.

Taking a step back, averting your gaze, you stand there awkwardly, thoughts wiped clear as Seonghwa opens the door and looks at you.

“Uh, wasn’t sure where to put these,” You mumble, unable to look at him.

“Normally, I’d put them outside to dry. I can lay them out across a chair if that’s alright.”

Thrusting the clothes at him, you nod. Seonghwa takes them, his fingers once again touching yours, eliciting sparks as you take a step away. He doesn’t seem to notice. Of course he doesn’t – you aren’t sure what has shifted that you are suddenly getting awkward around him.

There is a flash of lightning so bright that your vision turns white for a brief second and the power flickers before dying completely. Standing in the semi-darkened room, you turn your gaze towards the window. The storm is now a vicious beast. You doubt power will be returning anytime soon. If it wasn’t for Seonghwa, you would have either been stuck inside the bar during this or still attempting to cross the city to get back home.

In a begrudging tone, you say, “You were right. I was cutting it too close at the bar. Thanks for letting me come over.” Showing gratitude to Seonghwa is new and the words feel foreign on your tongue.

He goes over to the window, shuttering the curtains. “I get jumpy having the windows exposed during storms.” His tone is completely neutral – he doesn’t care if you find that strange because he doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him or what makes him comfortable. “Also, it’s no problem.”

Seonghwa sits down on the couch, stretching out his long legs. He wears just a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants now, his hair still damp from being caught in the rain.

Not wanting to just stand there awkwardly, you gingerly sit down on the other side of the couch to put a little distance between the two of you. What is wrong with me? You think to yourself. Sure, it had always been evident to you that Seonghwa is attractive. But it was as if having him crack open the shell that carefully protected the logic of why you disliked him completely changed your perception. And now you are stuck in his apartment.

“Why did you really come back to the bar just for a lighter?” You know that the question is pushy, given asking it earlier already, but the silence settling in the apartment is stifling and it is the first sentence to pop into your head.

Seonghwa shifts slightly, the couch springs squeaking a little from old age. “It’s an important object to me. When I first moved here, I was entirely alone and had trouble keeping a job. Being blunt all the time doesn’t always work in my favor. I had worked a couple of retail jobs and kept getting fired for mouthing off. I was falling behind on rent and burning through my savings and stressing out. I felt stuck. See, I could turn into you and act fake all day at work and be resentful of people or be myself and be stressed out about money all the time. I wasn’t good at faking things. People could see through it immediately and I didn’t like how much energy I wasted. It burned me out.

I tinkered with cars in my spare time but hadn’t thought much of it until one night this car outside my last apartment broke down and the guy looked totally hopeless standing there, waiting for a tow truck. I don’t know what it was about him that made me stop. I think it was the expression on his face – a total fish out of water, you know?

So, I stopped and asked him if he wanted me to take a look at it. The guy said sure because he couldn’t afford the tow truck costs. I ran upstairs and got the tools I had and spent an hour on the car. The truck was running late which gave me extra time to fix it. When it started up, the man looked so relieved, explained he just moved here a week ago and everything that could go wrong was going wrong. He offered to pay me but I refused because he already told me how the tow truck cost was gonna clean him out. He left. I didn’t think much of it.

A week later, the guy is outside my apartment building when I get home from doing a shift at some shitty store on the other side of town. At the time, I didn’t have my motorcycle so I had to walk or take the bus everywhere.”

The mention of a motorcycle brings you up short. However, it does strangely fit this new Seonghwa that you are learning about – you can easily picture him on it, tearing through the streets to get to his destination, the wind whipping through his hair.

“I asked him how long he had been waiting there and he said an hour and gave me the lighter. Said he noticed me smoking as I tried to fix the car, that the lighter was gifted to him a couple years back and I would get more use out of it than he would. I tried to refuse because it looked expensive but he wouldn’t hear of it.” Seonghwa pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts, “The whole thing made me wonder if I could get hired working on cars. It would mean not dealing with people and the little bit I would interact, no one would care if I was blunt or too honest. People need their cars fixed, after all. I got hired a few weeks later at the shop I still work at. So, the lighter represents a turning point in my life, see? That’s why it’s important to me. It’s a reminder. And I was worried about leaving it in the bar in case the storm got really bad and damaged the place or something.”

When Seonghwa had closed the curtains earlier from the storm, he hadn’t closed them all the way. Now, a sliver of dark light crosses his face, slicing cleanly across one eye, his nose and cheek. He looks lost in the memory and you almost hate to shatter it. At the same time, you fight the urge to…what, exactly? You aren’t sure. Reach across and touch his cheek?

In a quiet voice, you ask, “It was Hongjoong, wasn’t it? The man whose car broke down?”

Seonghwa nods curtly. “That’s right.”

This time when the silence falls, it is more comfortable, like a favourite sweater rather than a smothering blanket.

At some point, you doze off. Perhaps it is the sound of the storm, the slightly humid temperature in the apartment or simply Seonghwa himself. Regardless of the reason, when you next open your eyes, you are staring at the back of his hand which rests on his knee.

As awareness creeps back into your body, the thunder booming louder than ever, realization strikes that you have fallen asleep against Seonghwa. Your head is resting on his shoulder, he has slumped down further on the couch, the scent of clean laundry and faint cinnamon filling your space. Shifting just a little, taking note of the steady rise and fall of his chest, you know that he is asleep as well.

The power is still out, and since it is the middle of summer, it is a bit too warm for your liking without air conditioning especially now that you have dried off from being caught in the rain earlier. You aren’t sure how long you two have been sleeping or what the time is. The apartment is incredibly dark, the storm still in full swing, a bit more ferocious than before. We must be right in the middle of it now, you think, your eyes closing again.

In the silence of the storm, being this close to Seonghwa, your body is acutely aware of the way you rest against him. Your heartrate is accelerated yet somehow at the same time you are comforted as well. Could it be possible that you understand Seonghwa to such an extent now that the jealously and annoyance is turning into…well, something else?

You casually date a lot but nothing ever clicks. The conversations are superficial or tedious and you grow bored after a couple of times seeing someone. Yet with Seonghwa, who has cleverly seen right through your pretense at work, and goads you to drop the act, you are at ease. How could your opinion on him change in a day?

Previously, you believed Seonghwa to live a miserable existence. Now, you realize he just lives a life on his own terms and doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. He is content with one singular friend, a mechanic job, his small apartment and his motorcycle. He doesn’t lack for anything and you know if he did, he would make sure to have that added in his life. His blunt style of speaking isn’t because he is looking for a fight, he just is himself all the time.

You move a little, just enough to tilt your face to look up at his. His eyes are closed, eyelashes dark smears against his skin, lips parted slightly, some of his blonde hair falling forward. Biting down your bottom lip, feeling the heat of his body next to yours, your mind flickering back to the image of Seonghwa pulling his shirt down over his head, you realize another thing that has been quietly nestled underneath the jealously and annoyance – that perhaps attraction lurks as well.

Thunder crackles so loudly that you jolt a little, startled by the volume. Seonghwa lets out a soft murmur in his sleep, his eyes opening a little. Your breath catches. You are dangerously close to him, close enough that it would take half a second to lean forward and…

Seonghwa looks drowsy, his eyes half lidded, but there is intensity behind the gaze that you feel all over your skin. So close now that you can feel his breath against your skin…and before you can question the urge or second guess yourself, you cross that half second and press your lips against his.

If Seonghwa is surprised, he doesn’t show it. He returns the kiss immediately, starting off slow. Your head is light at the sensation of his lips against yours, your body responding in such a way that takes you by surprise. You want him in a way that you never expected, in a manner that propels you to bring your hand to the curve of his neck, drawing him even closer.

His breath catches, the kiss deepening, growing more urgent. Your mind displays all the times Seonghwa has come into the bar with Hongjoong, all the cigarettes he lit, the people he pissed off, the easy going way he moved without any hesitation. Yes, you have always taken notice of him and it wasn’t just because he irked you, was it?

Seonghwa’s breathing has quickened, his tongue slipping past your lips, your fingers curling around his hair as you lean into him. There is a fire blazing in your chest now, the urgency in which you need him growing by the second. One of his hands runs down your side, lingering on your hip but it isn’t enough. You want more. Briefly moving your hand that is on the back of his neck, you reach for his, pulling it upward towards your tits. He squeezes them immediately, groping you as a soft noise escapes from his mouth and tumbles into yours.

When you finally break the kiss, Seonghwa’s cheeks are flushed, and he is looking at you in such a manner that you can feel it all the way down to your toes.

“Can we go to your room?” You ask breathlessly.

Seonghwa nods, standing up, and holding his hand out for you to take. You reach for him, his hand soft against yours as he leads you towards the bedroom. Perhaps it is from making out or just the fact the power is out, but your body is incredibly warm and it is all you can do not to just throw all the clothes you’re wearing off onto the floor.

The blinds in Seonghwa’s room are still open, showing the view of another apartment complex next door and a rainswept street. There is no sun to be seen, nothing but the darkness of the clouds and the rain thrashing against the window. The room itself is barely illuminated and when you reach for Seonghwa’s shirt to tug it off him, half of his body is bathed in shadow. Tossing his shirt to the floor, your fingers running up along his abs to his shoulders, you pull him back in for another kiss.

You seem to fit perfectly against him, his hands pressing against your back as your arms wrap around his neck. You can feel the tent in his sweatpants against your thigh. The kiss breaks, your lips grazing his, your heart beating hard in your chest. Your fingers rest in his hair and Seonghwa leans his head back a little.

“You can pull on my hair,” He says in a low voice, “I don’t mind.”

“You don’t mind or you want me to pull on your hair?”

A smile tugs on the corner of his lips as he replies, “I want you to pull on my hair.”

That is enough for you. With his hair wrapped around your fingers, you give a sharp pull as another kiss begins. He groans quietly, his lips traveling along your jaw, down your neck, nibbling along your skin as his hands slip between the waistband of the sweatpants you are borrowing and the top of your underwear.

Seonghwa moves down further, your sweatpants soon dropping to the floor as he hooks his thumbs along the sides of your underwear and pulls them downward. There is a flash of lightning, briefly filling the room with light, and you watch as Seonghwa falls to his knees in front of you, hands gripping your ass and squeezing it. When he tilts his face upwards to look at you, silently asking for permission, it is all you can do not to tell him to hurry up.

Instead you nod, sitting down on the bed. In one swift motion, Seonghwa yanks your underwear off and your legs circle around his head. His tongue probes your folds, dipping inside to taste your wetness as you bring one hand to his hair again, getting a good grip on it. Seonghwa spreads your lips apart gently, allowing him to insert his tongue into your wet hole, his groans muffled. As he works on tasting you, his nose occasionally brushes against your clit, driving you crazy. Every time that happens, you reflexively pull on his hair which only seems to work him up more.

Another flash of lightning. The curve of his neck, his shoulders propping your legs up, blonde hair against your hand. His tongue darts upwards, one single flick against your nub, driving a gasp out of you. Seonghwa brings his tongue back down, clearly teasing you. You wiggle your hips urgently. The only thing you can focus on is him between your thighs, the desire for a man you didn’t even realize you had an eye on until today. It is becoming so overwhelming that you pull sharply on his hair to illustrate your desire.

The hair pulling only works Seonghwa up more, his breathing ragged against your cunt as he finally moves his mouth to your clit, sucking on it softly for a few seconds just to heighten your passion. Your head rolls back, eyes closing tightly as he switches between sucking and rolling his tongue across your swollen nub. You cannot help yourself – you are grinding your cunt against his face, your grip on his hair firm, so close to finishing –

Seonghwa stops, pulling away so abruptly that your hold breaks. It is like someone turning off a light switch. A whine escapes you, looking down at him in frustration. He stands up, removing his sweatpants and boxers, his hand wrapping around his hard cock to stroke it.

“You want me to fuck you?” His voice has dropped an octave, his hair a mess from all the pulling.

The ‘yes’ that comes from you is more like a whine, your hand falling to your clit, rubbing yourself as you take in the sight of him.

Seonghwa crawls onto the bed, his body sliding over yours. Light headed again, your hands come to rest on his sides, needing him to fuck you already.

But he is still teasing you, his lips brushing against your neck, one hand groping your tits as he goes, “You sure? You aren’t too offended about what I said about your Blue Hawaii drink? Don’t want to tell me off for not being fake nice enough?”

The irritation that blooms in your chest is very familiar although strangely enough it only seems to further your desire. Impatiently, you reply, “You’re still wrong about the drink. It’s plenty strong. If you had it again, you would – ah –” The rest of your complaint is lost in a moan as Seonghwa slides the full length of himself inside your wet cunt.

Seonghwa goes still for a moment, breathing uneven, as he says, “Sorry, what was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”

He begins to rock his hips, getting used to being inside you. Your hands skim across his sides to his back, feeling his muscles move underneath your fingertips. As he thrusts increase in speed, your back arches as you start to moan his name. Seonghwa’s lips are against your neck, kissing you there, your heart thrumming underneath each touch.

“Bite me,” You say desperately and he does so, leaving a trail along your neck that you will have to cover up the next time you work. When he finishes with one side, he switches to the other, his teeth biting along your skin as his cock is buried in your cunt.

You try to rock your hips to meet his thrusts but his pace is increasing, his body curled around yours. His hands move from the side to under your body, gripping your ass tightly against his palms as he rams his cock. The position forces your legs apart more as he drills into your cunt, fucking you into the mattress as the storm rages outside.

Your hands find his hair again, tugging and pulling on it just to make Seonghwa fuck you faster. He is panting, his grip on your ass tight, your legs bouncing with each jerk of his hips. You are going to cum soon, between him working your cunt with his mouth earlier and the angle and speed, it is pushing you closer to the edge every moment.

“Hwa,” You gasp, “I’m going – I’m going to cum.”

He doesn’t reply, just brings his lips against yours, not slowing down. His tongue is in your mouth as your climax begins, making your entire body hum and tingle as your pussy tightens around his cock. You try to move against him, gripping his hair so hard that you must be pulling on it unknowingly.

“In me,” You beg against his mouth as your climax only grows stronger, “Cum in me.”

Hwa squeezes your ass, driving his cock all the way in you, letting out a guttural moan as he begins to cum. He goes still, spilling inside you as your pussy milks his cock, feeling the warmth mingle with yours as the two of you climax together in a mess of noise and sweat.

Panting, Seonghwa slowly pulls out of you before flopping onto his back, running his hands through his hair, his eyes closed. Lightning fills the room again as you turn your face to look at him, trying to catch your breath. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, the darkness of the room settling back in. It’s been ages since you’ve had sex and last time was nothing like this. It had never been quite like this.

You know sleep is coming and don’t stop it. You’ll figure out everything later. Right now, it is enough to be here in Seonghwa’s room with him.

The bar suffers minimal damage in the storm and opens a couple days afterwards. The night sky is full of stars, the tourists are back to bustling in and you are thinking of Seonghwa.

Okay, so you panicked upon waking up next to him. In the morning light, the storm having finally broke through while sleeping, Seonghwa had turned on his side at some point, fast asleep with his back facing you.

The full force of what you had done hit you then like a train. You had slept with Seonghwa, of all people, someone you hadn’t thought particularly kindly about…until he had waltzed into the bar looking for the lighter. A few conversations with him was all it took to shatter the careful shield around yourself and how you perceived him. And then what did you do? You fucked him.

So, yes, you hurriedly dressed back into your now dry and stiff clothes and snuck out of his apartment like a thief. You didn’t have his phone number. He didn’t have yours. Surely, he wouldn’t show up at the bar now, right? Whatever happened there was some strange occurrence brought on from the storm.

Because what could happen next? You two start dating? Was that even a possibility? No, would you even want such a thing? Could you see yourself with Seonghwa? (Yes, came the tiny voice in the back of your head which you tried to squash.)

“Sorry, I don’t have that, sold out of that brand of tequila earlier. Our inventory shipment got delayed cuz of the storm.” You tell a tourist that is interrupting your Seonghwa brooding.

They scowl, “Can’t you go down to the liquor store and get some?”

“Can’t you?” You fire back without thinking before realizing that you have slipped up – your careful façade of bullshit around tourists slipped.

Their friend snickers loudly, tugging on their sleeve. “Come on, you sound like a dick.” They say when a glare is fired their way.

You think the tourist is going to storm out but instead they look a little chagrined. Their friend leads them away towards a table where they sit down and start revisiting the drink menu. Relief sweeps through you. Maybe Seonghwa is right, you think tentatively. Sure, you couldn’t pull an attitude like that at a retail job but this is a bar, after all. Maybe you didn’t need to be so phony all the time. How could I spend one day with this man and be rethinking everything like this?

When the crowd thins out, Seonghwa is standing there as if conjured up from your thoughts. Taken aback, your heart freezing in your chest, you stare openly at him. Tonight, he is just wearing a sleeveless blue shirt, exposing the muscles in his arms easily, his hair tousled by the wind coming off the ocean. His jeans are riddled with holes as usual and he holds his typical quiet confidence. Shockingly, Hongjoong is not with him.

Seonghwa sits at the bar, glowering at someone who tried to take the stool first, sending the person scampering off a few seats away. He looks pointedly at your neck which is covered up careful in foundation to hide the bite marks.

“What do you want?” You ask, the words coming out far more hostile than intended because your heart is galloping.

Seonghwa clasps his slender hands together and you think of the way they felt gripping your ass as he fucked you, thighs squeezing together at the memory.

“Your phone number.”

The words take you by surprise. “Why?” Demanding rude tone – great, you are doing a wonderful job at ruining this.

“So I could ask you out,” He replies, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

You hesitate for a moment. “You want to see me again?”

Seognhwa has the lighter in his hand, the flame kicking up, cutting across the top of the cigarette and lighting the tip. “You’re not interested in seeing me again? Only want to hang out when a storm rolls in?”

Feeling weirdly flustered, you say, “No, that isn’t true. I want to see you again.”

He puffs on the cigarette, staring at you evenly. I really like him, you think and as terrifying as that is, you want to follow up on it and see where it goes with this man who swept in and changed everything so quickly and easily.

“Well, get your phone out then so I can give you my number.” You gesture to him.

Resting the cigarette in between his lips, he brings his phone out, adding your number when you recite it. When finished, he goes, “One more thing too. Want a drink.”

“What beer?” You ask, noticing a particularly large group of visitors entering the bar at that time, momentarily distracted from Seonghwa.

“I’ll take a Blue Hawaii,” He says casually.

Your gaze falls back on Seonghwa and he doesn’t look away. In the hum and buzz of the bar, there is now only the two of you. You know what ordering this drink again illustrates – I’m giving it another chance because I want you to take a leap with me. This is bigger than Seonghwa asking for your phone number and you both know it.

For a crazy second, you want to lean forward and kiss him in front of everyone. But you don’t, remembering that you are still at work. Instead, you grab a glass off the shelf, give a small shrug and go, “Alright.”

As you mix the drink, Seonghwa puffs on his cigarette, the smoke curling upwards, even ignoring when someone accidently jostles him hard enough to almost spill the Blue Hawaii as you hand it to him. He is too busy staring at you. You have a feeling he has always been staring like this. Just like you had been under the guise of irritation. Maybe it has always been just the two of you in the bar, circling around one another until the storm brought everything together.

Seonghwa orders another when the first one is finished.

the end.

#ateez fics #ateez smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fics #kpop fic #blue hawaii #100 notes #500 notes

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matbenetti17 · 3 months

Text

♡ Name: Amentia Amantis

♡ Name in life: Marilyn

♡ Age: 40-45

♡ Died in: 1960s

♡ Cause of death: lethal injection

♡ Sin: murder

♡ Species: orchid mantis demon

♡ Gender: female

♡ Sexuality: straight

♡ Occupation: cosmetics expert and hairstylist (often collabs with the Vees)

Amentia, Marilyn in life, ended up in Hell for having shot dead with a rifle her husband and his young lover around the 1960. After this, driven crazy by her grief, she beheaded him and fled with his head for months around the States until she was arrested, prosecuted and sentenced to death by lethal injection.

Having arrived in Hell, she made a name thanks to her knowledge in the commercial field, that was because in life her husband was the head of a famous chain of department stores and she was in charge of the cosmetics department.

Despite everything, due to her rampant insanity Amentia still considers herself a married woman, she still wears her wedding ring and carries her husband's skull chained to her, as retaliation. She often talks with the skull or plays with it making it talk like a puppet.

Her husband and the lover never ended up in Hell with her, even though they were adulterers, because apparently for Heaven it's enough to ask for forgiveness on the verge of death to access the Celestial Gates. Which is extremely unfair in her eyes. Amentia was never sorry for what she had done, even during her execution she laughed and was proud of having killed them.

Amentia's taste in fashion and aesthetics made her to be noticed by Velvette who made her one of the first collaborators with the three Vees, in particular taking care of hair and makeup for Velvette's fashion shows and Valentino's porn movies.

Every now and then Amentia tries to convince Vox to oust Val and take her in his place but obviously he always refuses. She and Valentino are kinda like cat and dog, or more like mantis and moth.

Amentia has been looking for a new partner for some time but every time she is in bed with someone her madness gets the upper hand and she ends up killing the poor man accidentally with her claws. This is why she is convinced that emotions like love and affections are a weakness. She often frequents Cannibal Town and is friends with Rosie because when she accidentally kills one of her lovers she brings him to Rosie to get rid of the corpse in her own way.

Quotes:

“For the next extermination, be fabulous~”

“I won't be caught dead again with messy hair, dear”

“I'm a married woman!!”

“I'd like to go to Heaven just to find my cheating fucking husband and that little dirty whore AND KILL THEM AGAIN!”

“You need meee~ If it wasn't for me your little cheap movies would look like fucking amateurs!” –to Valentino

“Dont'cha think that the acronym VAV sounds so much better? Vox, Amentia and Velvette, let's discharge the midge, Voxxie~” –to Vox

“Ugh, how do you manage to work with these two, darling? They're two fucking hysterical fags!” –to Velvette

“Love? Love doesn't exist dear, it doesn't exist on Earth and it should be here? In Hell?”

“What did ya say sweetpea? Oh sure, they look horrendous~” –talking with her husband’s skull

“Oh for all the Seven Rings, can I have some cockroach blood in this hovel you call studio??”

Fun facts:

♡ Her hairstyle and the mole on her cheek are inspired by Marilyn Monroe (which is why she also had the same name as her when she was alive)

♡ The "gem" on her chest is used to hear conversations about her at any distance. It takes inspiration from the metathoracic ear capable of picking up ultrasound that mantises have on their chest

♡ When she is in a "semi-demonic" form the designs on her claws and "tail" light up neon pink and another three small eyes open up on her forehead. The three eyes are also present in the anatomy of mantises, called ocelli

♡ The chain to which her husband's skull is attached can stretch infinitely so she can use it to pull things towards herself, throwing the skull which bites

♡ Her design is inspired by the orchid mantis and the pokémon Lurantis

#amentia #character sheet #digital art #digital drawing #drawing #mantis #my art #my ocs #orchid mantis #xp pen #firealpaca #hazbin hotel #xp pen tablet #hazbin hotel oc #amentia amantis

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sojournerstales · 29 days

Text

Lauralette is Hungry

It is the tail-end of a long, hard week. Lauralette’s bones ache, her breath tastes stale, and there is a sharp pit in her stomach. Lauralette is hungry and she has been trying not to deal with it. Methods to that end include a diet of red meats, idly thumbing the on-off button of her phone, pacing the main room of her apartment, leaning forward with her forehead on the wall and her eyes closed, keeping halfway busy with chores and errands that are quickly given up on, and then thumbing that button on her phone again.

She isn’t going to make the first call, but the person she is waiting on hasn’t either.

Frustrated, Lauralette tosses the phone down face-up on the table. It reflects the dark grey sky through the window. Moon-haze, all clouds and no stars and a glare of red from the lit sign outside.

BLOOD

ROCK

MOTEL

Lauralette owns the place and her living situation is a small two-room affair above the main reception and office. She doesn’t need a lot of space and if her ego needs a shot she can embellish things by claiming that in actuality 22 rooms are hers.

Right now Lauralette is in the dining room which is the living room which is the kitchen. She’s trying to keep down a greasy, somewhat undercooked burger, but it’s already tasting stale at two bites in and the cheap-as-shit chair is uncomfortable and her jaw aches from clenching.

“Fuck it.”

From slouched to upright to standing, her bones creaking all the way, Lauralette rolls her shoulders and massages that space between her neck and clavicle. She ignores the twinge of pain there which carries down from her neck and the top of her spine. She hisses whatever curse she has for it and drags herself through the bedroom to her bathroom.

The light here is a cold green-blue from the cheap lino and wall tiles. Lauralette peels out of her clothes and leaves them discarded over the corner of the towel rack. Her skin is grey, her eyes are dark and sunken. In years past her dirty blonde hair had looked more vibrant and she had put the work in, given it volume and sheen and she had blushed herself, and painted her lips red. She is older now and less interested in putting the effort in. Truthfully she hasn’t had to put the effort in for a while.

Lauralette pushes herself into the shower and washes under cold water. She had put on some mass since her glossy blonde, red lipped days, and then let it go again. Well worked musculature was left behind, along with nicks and scars and calloused knuckles. The water feels good down her back and for a moment she can forget everything aches. Only a moment.

The idea of clean and presentable had shifted over time. These days a shower is body soap and two-in-one shampoo, water splashed on her face and then quickly rinsed off. Clothing then has turned from sparkling black dress and heels to old jeans and a black t-shirt. She hand-combs her hair after drying off and by the front door Lauralette pulls on her bomber jacket and stuffs her hands in her pockets to find her keys.

Lauralette locks up the upstairs apartment and heads down. She is lost in her own head, mind filled with bad ideas, operating on autopilot as she moves through the reception, out the front door, almost bumping into a man.

“Oh thank God someone is here!” He sounds relieved.

“Uh?” Lauralette is trying to remember how to talk.

“Sorry, I know it’s late. I’ve been driving all night, I got totally lost on my way to– Nevermind that, sorry. Do you have a room?”

Lauralette stares at the man. He needs a shave and he’s sweating and his hair is a little greasy and he has thick rimmed, thick-lensed glasses. He looks warm in the literal sense, she knows nothing about him to gauge the other sense. He is also travelling alone. The man is easy pickings. She could take him to a room and rip him open.

“I can pay, obviously. Cash or card. Whichever is easier.”

The man’s saving grace is that he is simply not Lauralette’s type. Neither is it a good look if people go missing so close to the motel. Lauralette makes an irritated sound and heads back into the motel reception, “Fine,” She grunts, “Come in.”

The man’s relief is obvious and immediate. He follows Lauralette inside, who has quickly rounded the front desk, and almost fumbles the catch when she tosses him the key to a ground-floor room.

“Pay me tomorrow,” Lauralette says, already leaving the front desk, “Can’t be asked to open the register.”

“Oh. Oh, well. Okay then! Thank you.” He isn’t certain what to do with himself.

“Uh-huh.” Lauralette brushes past the man and heads out into the night air. She sucks on her teeth, tongue pressing against a sharp fang.

“Thank you!” The man calls out again. He is left to inspect the key given to see if it has a door number attached.

. .

Far flung from the small town she lives at, Lauralette pulls her truck into the parking lot at a roadside bar. Here there are stars in the sky. Lauralette pays them no mind. She climbs out of her truck, boots crunching gravel underfoot, and rolls her shoulders to work out any lingering stiffness from the drive.

She’s about an hour from home.

Hands stuffed into her pockets, Lauralette approaches the bar. It has a neon open sign that contradicts the painted lettering above it.

OLD MASTER’S ARMS

OPEN

Lauralette nudges the door open with her boot and sidles on inside. She catches the scent of tap beer and nicotine and sweat, then someone’s cologne, more than one strand of floral perfume, some kind of chlorination also. Underneath it all is the age that clings to the walls and the wood. Lauralette is hit with noise also – the mild din of conversation underneath a louder voice backed by terrible speakers and microphone pops. It is quiz night from the look and sound of things.

Lauralette licks her top teeth and sucks on a fang. The sharp point digging into her tongue focuses her from the sensation of the world packed into this bar and she scans the space. No patron looks isolated, it’s the sort of night where everyone arrived with a group and are unlikely to break off from each-other. They all look like they are getting along, any falling outs will be lubricated by alcohol and taken in stride.

She is scowling even though she doesn’t mean to. It’s just how her face rests, if rest can be considered as a frown and a knit brow and narrowed eyes. Someone once told her about how her crows’ feet would clench into fists. Scowling then, Lauralette walks to the bar. Most seats here are empty, anyone coming up intends to take their drinks away.

“You all good, hun?” The barmaid asks. She’s pretty enough, that’s the first impression. Warm skin, full lips, big brown eyes. Her hair is pulled back into a tight, black ponytail and the way her apron is tied pulls her whole outfit snug to her figure. Hourglass.

Lauralette reads that with a long look that drags up until finally meeting the barmaid’s gaze – the barmaid wears a knowing look there – and Lauralette says, “Yeah.” A single word typically isn’t enough to lay a line, so she gives the mildest form of elaboration, “Long week.”

“I hear you,” The barmaid’s name tag says CAM in neat handwriting. Cam is cleaning a line of shot glasses with a bit of torn cloth. There is someone else behind the bar with her, he’s name-tagged PAUL and seems to be pulling more than his own weight. This means Cam can be busy with those glasses and with Lauralette’s company and not worry about much else.

“Mm,” Lauralette leans on the bar after sitting and gestures with a nod across the room, “Weekly? Monthly?”

“Few times a year. Look like your kind of thing?” One glass is stacked under the bar, the next is picked up for a polish.

Lauralette scoffs, lip curling, “No.”

The MC cracks a joke at the same time and the whole pub floor breaks out into a mixture of laughter or just polite chuckles. Mostly polite chuckles.

“Bad night to come if they aren’t your thing, then.” Cam says, “Not from around here?” She leans forward, elbows on the bar, glass and cloth still in hand. At this angle she is bent at the waist and Lauralette is unsubtle in dragging her gaze away from the crowd, craning her neck to look behind the bar, behind Cam, Cam’s behind.

“I don’t mind the noise,” Lauralette says, sounding absent, the question goes ignored. Her eyes have darkened, though her gaze is not quite perverse it is altered somehow. Shark-like. Blood in the water.

“You checking me out?” Cam leans to one side and intercepts Lauralette’s gaze. Here she demands they meet eye-to-eye, though her expression is amused rather than offended. Her smile long and lop-sided, one brow raised, eyes narrowed with playful suspicion. She is used to playing this sort of thing off, but Lauralette isn’t the same kind of breed as the good old boys Cam is used to.

Catching Lauralette’s gaze is a mistake.

Her eyes are black pits, abyssal and falling forever, and though eye-contact is momentary the feeling will last. Lauralette calls this her certain something and that’s something she used to say with a coy tone of voice and an easy ‘gotcha’ smirk. These days she hardly says anything about it, little effort put into the social side of affairs. At a certain point it became easier to act as hook rather than bait.

She spares idle thoughts for the concept of catch and release. A back-of-the-mind reminder.

It is Lauralette who breaks eye contact and the experience leaves Cam blinking, staring into space. She glances away and tries to remember herself, what she was doing, asking internally if someone had just given her an order to fulfill.

“Got a light?” Lauralette asks.

“Uh. Yeah. Sec.” Cam stands up straight and then leans back to pat down her apron pocket. Tied around her waist, but not over her shoulders, she has to rummage to find what she’s looking for. “Here.” Cam slides a translucent pink lighter across the bar.

It spins into Lauralette’s hand. “Cheers,” She mutters and pockets the lighter. “Got a cig, too?”

“… Yeah.” Cam obliges again. She is feeling stupefied, malleable, though the feeling is quickly starting to fade. She hands Lauralette a cigarette and adds – voice empty – “You gotta smoke outside.”

“Sure.” Lauralette pushes away from the bar. Cigarette balanced between her lips, she heads for the exit to the pub garden.

. .

Outside is relative quiet. The bar still thrums with the energy of a busy night, though that energy is hitting its peak with a round of clapping, some cheers and jeers, and the muffled unintelligible announcement of the winning team. Moments later, a handful of people step outside into the garden to light up before heading home.

So the smokers smoke, chat, comment on the cold, and one by one snuff out their little lights and head back inside to re-couple with the others they came with.

Lauralette watches this from a corner of the building, one which joins the beer garden and the back wall to a side-alley between the bar and old wooden fencing. There is a dumpster there, garbage bags piled up, a door into the kitchen or some such back area. She is outside of any cones of light from the bar or the garden lamps, marked instead by an ember pinpoint. Smoke curls from between two fingers and then her lips.

She waits.

Time passes.

Lights inside the bar go out, the main floor cleared. Lauralette slips from her corner position to deeper in the alley. Action had managed to push down a certain feeling, but now it bubbles back up from the pit of her stomach, carves a line up through her chest, and grips at the back of her throat.

Hunger.

Lauralette knows that Cam will come out here. It comes from a certain type of intuition gleaned during their brief eye-contact. It’s only a waiting game before the barmaid delivers herself to Lauralette. Cam will come out here, she will find a pleasing shape in the shadow, she will allow herself to be lured deeper. Her mind will ignore the litter, the rust of the dumpster, the horrid scent of it, all in favour of a kiss and hands on each others’ bodies.

Lauralette imagines taking Cam by the neck then, dipping her low while clutched tight. Then there her fangs will sink into skin and Lauralette will be able to drink deep.

Lauralette knows this from both sides. For the giver it is a mix of hot-and-cold. First ice where the skin is pierced, the sensation running through the giver’s veins until seizing and slowing their heart. Then in their head they swim with feverish heat. Their vision blurs with blots of inky darkness. The corners close in.

For the taker it is the base euphoria of a vital need met after too long. Water in the desert. Warm hands in the dead of winter. Food, actual food, after a lifetime of starvation. Satisfaction is reached only when the taker drinks deep of the blooded well and it takes only a moment for it to turn deadly. Only a moment for the giver to take hold of a small strand of their sense and try to push away. Only a moment for the taker’s feral instinct to kick in, like an errant twitch on a hair-trigger.

Only a moment to go from control to a dead woman slumped in blood behind a rusty dumpster.

Images of it all flash hot in Lauralette’s mind.

Door opens, door closes. Cam steps into the night holding a garbage bag in each hand. She mutters something to herself about getting no help and dumps the bags as best she can into the dumpster and it’s then that she hears a sound – movement just out of sight.

“Hey.” Cam’s voice has a shrill quality when met with cold air, “That you, weird hot lady?”

Nothing responds, nothing is there.

. .

“FUCK!” Lauralette slams her hand on the top of her steering wheel once, then twice more. After the third time she grips with both hands on top and rattles her arms, “Fuck!”

She is driving too fast down narrow winding roads, each turn is taken too hard. That feeling of speed, the g-force on each bend, the sight of the world whipping by on either side, none of it is enough to truly distract her from herself.

She had very almost made a terrible, terrible mistake. Though she knows to call it a mistake is part cowardice and would not truly characterize what could have happened. She almost gave into her hunger in the worst possible way, all because she has been avoiding a phonecall.

Her stomach hurts. Her own body is angry at her.

Lauralette slams a cassette into the center console of her truck. She hits play and cranks the volume and the entire vehicle is filled with bone-shaking garage metal.

Another sharp turn with no loss of control. The straight-away ahead is empty and so – screaming along to the wave of sound – Lauralette slams her foot down.

. .

BLOOD

ROCK

MOTEL

The light of the signage casts a red glow about its immediate area.

The dusty road leading two ways to and from the motel – one way goes towards town, an errant collection of shops, businesses, two tourist traps, and a sprawl of mostly single-floor houses. The other way goes elsewhere.

The front of the motel’s lobby. The glass of the windows and door reflecting the sign at odd, conflicting angles, glaring over the signage posted on the window interiors. Rates, lobby hours, local businesses.

Further flung, from the other side, the motel pool is tinged red only if the night breeze catches the surface just right.

Right below, the step that leads up to the lobby doors. A young woman is sat with her knees up looking tired and bored. Without thought or intent she focuses her gaze on the whites of her trainers turned red by the light above.

She sighs. Her name is Dina and she is not sure how long she is going to continue waiting out here. She had called ahead, she had knocked on the doors, she had walked back to the side of the road to expertly toss a small pebble at what she knows is the bedroom window. Only after all that did she walk around the side of the building to see that Lauralette’s pickup truck was gone.

Dina hears a distant engine approaching. The trope ‘speak of the devil,’ might apply in some fashion, but Dina has been trying to manifest Lauralette’s presence for a while now. What this is – the truck fast approaching down from the road towards elsewhere – is coincidence. Good or bad remains to be seen.

Dina braces herself because she truly does not know what state Lauralette is going to be in. Just underneath the sound of the engine and then as the truck draws closer overpowering it, the sound of Lauralette’s rage-out tape. It isn’t an unfamiliar nose and it tells Dina very little about what to expect.

Lauralette parks the truck opposite where Dina sits. The windows glow red from the motel sign, but through that red Dina can see Lauralette. Lauralette is staring straight ahead. She takes a few moments to compose herself and then with a forceful thump she cuts out the music. Dina pushes herself up to her feet and Lauralette exits her vehicle. Neither women say anything to each other just yet, instead they hold eye-contact over the few feet between them.

It’s a game of chicken. It’s a game of who will blink first. It’s a game of Dina staring Lauralette down under the red haze and wondering if she’d see any blood. Lauralette with her hands stuff into her pockets, pulling the jacket taught and encouraging a slouched stance. Dina with a long narrow satchel over one shoulder, her hand steepled on the end of it, stood up straight to force Lauralette into meeting her gaze.

Lauralette blinks first. She bows her head, steps forward, and then steps past Dina entirely. She takes the step up to the motel lobby, opens up the door and says, “Alright. In, then.”

. .

Red glow, lunar grey-blue, dark shadows where the windows can’t reach. Lauralette sees just fine in darkness, though she’s familiar with home enough to navigate blindfolded. Lauralette winces when Dina hits the light switch behind her. The space still isn’t brightly lit by any measure, the bulbs are old and take a while to warm up and the furnishing harkens to an era where beige and muted greens were the fashionable thing.

Dina has said before the space needs an update, Lauralette always tells her it is the way she likes it.

“Tried calling you,” Dina says. She sounds distracted while looking around the front room of the apartment, looking for clues as to how Lauralette spent the week since they blew up at each other.

Lauralette shrugs off her jacket and tosses it over the back of the sofa. Then with the attitude of stepping into an old routine she pulls a chair from the table and sits slouched, legs parted, fingertips balanced on a surface. She looks up at Dina who is still in the middle of the room, “Didn’t take my phone with me.”

Dina had come here telling herself she wasn’t going to play caretaker, but still she sees that old plate on Lauralette’s table with the going-stale food and she feels compelled in some way to take it to the kitchen.

Tap-tap. Fingertips on the table. The chair creaking when Lauralette leans back, head turned to track Dina, tentative, curious, too-satisfied, hunger roils and it feels too easy to think this is how her week ends.

When Dina returns Lauralette makes sure to smooth her expression to something less shark-like.

“You fuck up?” Dina asks. She stands at the end of the table and looks down at Lauralette.

“Not all the way.” Lauralette is clean. No blood on her lips or her chin or her collar and sleeves. Hungry as she is, hungry as Dina knows she must be, she hadn’t tasted blood tonight. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” Dina folds open her satchel on the table. It’s a knife-roll, though hardly a standard kit. Rather than the tools of a butcher there is a scalpel and a wooden stake and zip-ties and gauze and adhesive bandages. Lauralette had helped her put it together more than a few weeks ago and she had called it a Bloodletter’s Kit. “Hands behind the chair.”

Lauralette obeys. She sits up straight, reaches her arms behind her, and watches carefully as Dina prepares. Earlier she had felt like a predator. If she’s still an animal she wonders what sort this makes her. Dina rounds behind her and binds her hands, the zip-ties looped through the spindles of the chair. Dina pulls them extra tight and Lauralette just barely hisses at that.

“I feel teeth and I stake you,” Dina warns. It’s nothing new, but Lauralette doesn’t roll her eyes, doesn’t take any of it disingenuously. So many aspects of her – her boredom, her attitude, her confidence – they get washed away and replaced with need. Hunger. Blood is close.

“Yeah,” Lauralette answers because she doesn’t want to fuck this up. Her eyes catch the glint of silver and she licks her lips when Dina raises the scalpel to her own wrist. Dina cuts a small, thin line without flinching.

The line of precious red. Thin but thickening. Terrible in its inches out of reach, almost enough to make Lauralette lurch.

“Please,” Lauralette gasps.

That seems to do it, the plea. Dina holds the cut to Lauralette’s lips and instinct takes over from there. Lips to skin, tongue over the red line, then eyes closed she suckles from the wound. Dina holds the back of Lauralette’s head, fingers in her hair, ready to yank her away if needs be, but until that might occur only cradling. Not a drop is spilled.

This isn’t their first time doing this. The sensation is familiar to Dina. Cold up her arm, hot in her head, a silent bee-swarm sensation that buzzes throughout her body and rocks the world from left to right. For Lauralette it is a vital heat that floods into her, flushes red in her cheeks and her chest. Nothing can replicate this, nothing comes close. Not from an animal, alive or dead. Not from a donor bag, lacking a pulse. The pulse is important. Lauralette drinks to the rhythmic throb pounded out by the beat of Dina’s heart.

Then it is over. Dina pulls her arm away and stumbles backwards until she is able to catch herself by the edge of the table. Lauralette lunges forward. The chair creaks. She gasps, teeth bared. Animal. The zip-tie bindings dig into her wrists and she remembers herself.

“Ugh.” Dina grabs the gauze and turns to sit heavily on the floor. She puts pressure on her wrist and keeps the limb raised.

The room is hot. Sweat prickles at Lauralette’s skin. Her mouth is wet and that void in her stomach is gone. She sits herself up and stares up at the ceiling and feels animal instinct abate and subside. She can’t look down at Dina, not right now, not while she is too painfully aware of how warm that body is, aware that the cut on her wrist hasn’t fully closed yet.

Time passes with silence between them. The buzz of the lightbulb, the heat of their breathing. Eventually the floor groans and Dina picks herself up. Lauralette catches her in the bottom of her vision – Dina looks tired and pale, but there is less red on the gauze than one might expect. The cut is already healing. Through some property of Lauralette’s mouth, wounds close quickly, but Dina still bandages up her wrist.

“Can I?” Lauralette’s voice comes out wet and sated, but the question itself is pathetic. She’s staring at the gauze, at wasted drops of blood.

Dina’s expression curls. She’s amused and disgusted and a harder to read third thing. It’s this strange third thing that has her indulge. She shoves the bloodied gauze into Lauralette’s mouth.

“You good?” Dina asks.

Lauralette nods. She can still taste blood all over her mouth. Metallic and warm. There are precious few drops left, soaking from the gauze to her tongue. She knows how it looks, she doesn’t care.

Dina waits a beat just taking Lauralette in. This woman who had drifted into her life with supreme confidence and unsaid history and some kind of raw magnetic power. This woman who is now very much bound and at the mercy of Dina. Dina, someone who really has no idea what she would want to do with power. Dina shakes her head. She kneels down behind Lauralette and with a deft hand she cuts the ties that bind.

Lauralette slouches immediately. She folds forwards and rubs her thumbs against her wrists. “Mn.” She takes the gauze from her mouth and uses a clean side to wipe her face before tossing it across the table.

“See you tomorrow, Lette.” Dina has already packed her things away. She is shouldering her satchel and getting ready to leave.

“Wait.” Lauralette sits up, one hand on the table and the other about to reach out.

“What do you want?”

“It’s late,” Lauralette says. “You should stay.” It’s impossible for Lauralette to sound innocent here. Even sated there is a wet hunger to her voice. Blood itself makes her feel whole, but she is always, always left wanting more.

“Ugh,” Dina scoffs and shakes her head, “You’re just fucking horny because I fed you.”

Lauralette takes Dina by the wrist, leant forward almost out of her chair, “That a problem?”

Dina snatches her wrist back. She’s starting to remember clearly why she stormed out last time, why she told Lauralette to go fuck herself and tossed the spare key she had been given at the vampire’s face.

“Sorry.” Lauralette says the word like it physically pains her.

“See you tomorrow, Lette,” Dina tries again. This time she leaves without interruption.

. .

The next day, about seven in the morning. The world is dusty yellow and orange and the colour blue strikes through all that in a big rectangle shape. Lauralette is standing poolside with a big net. She has a wide-brim hat and large shades and a short sleeve floral print shirt and the heat of the sun only mildly stings and the brightness of the summer morning atmosphere is not enough to dampen her mood.

It is quiet. Soft breeze and the glug-glug of the pool’s water filter and the splash whenever she swoops the net through the surface to catch more dead leave and the occasional cigarette end.

“Oh, hey!” Some man’s voice in the distance behind her.

Lauralette squints at something odd in the water. She has to lean to reach it with the net, but an expert’s hand swipes it from the water.

“Hey!” He’s getting closer. The man is loud, but trying not to sound threatening.

Lauralette pulls a face when she has to touch the net to get the strange bit of litter free. It must be some type of business card, but the ink is all run and ruined.

“Did you know the ice-machine is broken?” The man asks her. He’s not just a few feet away.

Lauralette doesn’t want to deal with all that. She swoops the net back into the water. She will pretend not to hear him for at least six seconds longer. It’s going to be a good week.

. . .

Read more like this?

#writeblr #creative writing #horror #queer fiction #prose #short story #original fiction #sapphic #vampire

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thepomegranatewitch · 7 months

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chag sameach and happy chuseok!

This year, for the first time ever, I built a sukkah. It was tough. I'm not going to lie, even doing it on the cheap it was expensive. There was a lot of hot, hard work.

But I am so, so proud of myself.

I put in the effort to make sure my kids have access to both of their cultures through me, and then I got a shady hut to sit in this last week. I also am making sure to be visibly, loudly, publicly all my selves, so another queer, neurodivergent, mixed race Asian Jew out there knows they aren't the only one.

For those who don't know, Sukkot is a Jewish harvest-time festival celebrating the harvest with some ancestor veneration. It's not a big deal holiday anymore, but it was one of the three pilgrimage festivals during Temple times. I've seen lovely photos of streets in eretz yisrael lined with many sukkot. Chuseok is a Korean harvest-time festival celebrating the harvest with some ancestor veneration. It's not such a big deal holiday anymore, but many people still use it as a time to travel and spend time with living relatives. I hear tell of planes and hotels being booked out for months and traffic being horrendous as people roadtrip to childhood or ancestral hometowns.

Here's some photos of mixed race Jewish Korean queer joy. If you follow the link at the bottom, you can watch the video with voiceover on my instagram. (I could download the video, but because I added the theme from Practical Magic behind my words instagram wouldn't let me download my own voice.)

Come with me and enjoy!

Image description: a light skinned mixed race person with dark hair and eyes, large dark green glasses, a white kerchief, and a light blue jeogori with dark blue collar and cuffs and white dongjeong smiles at the camera, gesturing with one hand upwards and back to the grass fence sukkah wall behind them.

Image description: building the sukkah. A series of five shots, the first two with the person described above wearing a long sleeve green tee and a striped buff straw sunhat on a cloudless sunny day. They use white cotton twine to stitch reed fencing to a metal pop up tent frame, with the top lowered to waist height. The third shot, without people, shows the roof completed and raised to useable height, with flowering bougainvillea and white oleander in the background against a cloudless blue sky. The fourth shot shows the sukkah with walls and an orange outdoor extension cord going into the sukkah. The top has more schach of flowering bougainvillea, pyracantha with orange berries, and an olive-like ornamental covering the roof under the metal frame point. The last shot, at night, shows the interior of the sukkah with a round outdoor table and four patio chairs with cushions inside. Sandbags hold the corners of the sukkah, and a large blue tapestry with a combined sun and moon is pinned to the back wall. Outdoor lights are strung so the sukkah interior glows brightly against the dark night.

Making songpyeon! Songpyeon are as important to Chuseok as a hanukkiah is to Xanike or a seder is to Pesach. They are two to three bite rice cakes traditionally stuffed with sesame seeds, pine nuts, beans, or chestnuts, mixed with honey. They are steamed on pine needles to make a sweet, earthy, chewy treat. I wanted to buy them, but nowhere locally sells them. The white and purple are from our first batch, and the decorated green and purple are from batches six and seven. We had seven batches in 48 hours, and I am grateful my preschooler has been getting plenty of playdough time at school - they were really good at making songpyeon!

A note on togetherness: it is traditional to make songpyeon at home together. I have many memories of the work and stress that went in to pulling off picture-perfect holidays, and while the photographed objects are perfect, the smiles never reach our eyes. I committed to making ugly art and focusing my energy on enjoying time with my four and one year old. I want their foundational memories to be enjoying time together, not me screaming at them to make perfect edible art. It was only on the last batch, when we had an empty afternoon stretching out before us, that we tried some more beautiful candies. I think they turned out great.

The white are plain, the purple is made with blueberry juice, and the green with green tea powder. We stuffed ours with a mix of honeyed pine nuts, honeyed white sesame seeds, and honeyed black sesame seeds. We also made a batch tinted rosy brown with beetroot powder.

Image description. Set of seven photos showing songpyeon being made. The first three show a plate with measured but unstuffed pieces, shaped pieces, and the same person as above in a black shirt, black apron, and teal tichel using a spoon to stuff a white songpyeon with sesame seeds. These all sit on a table with a large print of orange fruits, leaves, and flowers. The songpyeon are white and purple. Below that is a set of four images with green and purple songpyeon decorated with purple and green flowers to leaves. They are simple in design. The first two show the paler, uncooked pieces sitting on cloth liners and pine needles in a bamboo steamer basket on the table, and the last two are steamy shots showing the cooked pieces, now darker, still in the steamer basket in the pot on the stove.

Some shots of the sukkah just before the triple holiday started: Chuseok, Sukkot, and Shabbat. After all the work I did (plus baking our challah), we got takeout for dinner.

Our lulav is not standard. We don't have an etrog, but a very special lemon our friends grew and gifted us the harvesting thereof. The palm came from our home, and the willow from our friends,' but instead of myrtle I opted for redwood branches (also from our friends' home). These are similarly fragrant, grow in sets of three, and were foragable by me and the baby close to home. I believe there is a balance to be found between traditional observance, and localized observance. It's not right for everyone, but it is right for me and my family.

The table with with shabbat candlesticks and food is our jesa table. Jesa is an ancestor veneration ceremony in which food and bows are offered to the ancestors. They consume the energy from the food, and leave their blessings behind. When we consume the food, we receive the blessings. For more on traditional Korean practices, I recommend popping over to instagram to follow Mudang Mia, Mudang Jenn (who has a free digital magazine), and Mudang Seo Choi (who regularly has kickstarters for books!).

Image description. Four shots of the sukkah interior, showcasing the food. First shot shows a table set for two adults and two children, with printed homemade colouring books at each child's place setting, The table has a blue tablecloth, three takeout boxes of food, a takeout container of fried rice, a small floral arrangement, a challah wrapped in a red and gold cover with bees woven in, a bottle of de-alcoholized red wine, a bottle of pomegranate juice, a large jar of lemon water, and takeout containers for soup. The second shot is the same set but pulled back and showing the whole interior so the lulav table relative to eating table is visible. The third shot is a very narrow table with a blue cloth printed with smiling white suns on it. It has two glass shabbat candlesticks, a package of beeswax candles, a stack of five coconut jellies, chopsticks, and a plate with homemade songpyeon in white, rosy brown, and purple, white mochi with red bean paste, and three cylindrical puffed rice snacks. The fourth shot is of the lemon and lulav bundle as described above. The lulav is wrapped and tied with white cotton twine.

Bonus: the video I made, with voiceover available on instagram.

You aren't alone.

moadim l'simcha.

Image description: a twig with flowering pomegranate in various stages for seven buds and blossoms total. It has a large white circle behind. Collaged on top are three rounds of moon cycles, spiraling in towards the center in black.

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all-the-things-2020 · 6 months

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No Better Place - Chapter 3

Summary: Chucho volunteers Javi to help Cassidy fix her corral.

Javi knew his dad wanted to talk about something the moment he sat down at the dinner table. “I was at the feed store this morning,” Chucho began. “Ran into Cassidy.”

Javi sighed. “Oh, yeah?” He shoved a spoonful of chili into his mouth so he had an excuse not to say anything more.

Chucho leaned back in his chair and took a sip of beer. “She thanked me for helping her catch that loco horse of hers. She wants to get the vet out to geld him soon but she needs to fix the fence on that pen first.” He sat his beer down and leaned forward to catch Javi’s eye.

Javi deftly dropped his napkin onto the floor and bent to pick it up. “Shouldn’t take her long,” he said as he wiped his lips.

“I told her you’d help her,” Chucho said. He smiled innocently and took a huge bite of chili.

Javi cursed under his breath. “Why the hell did you do that, Dad?”

“Because I’m running out of shit for you to do around here,” Chucho said simply, “and you spend too much time sitting in your bedroom drinking and smoking and watching movies. You need to get out more.”

“I go out on Saturday nights,” Javi mumbled.

Chucho laughed. “To the Lobo to pick up women,” he scoffed. “Don’t think I don’t know what goes on down there.” He shook his finger at Javi. “Joe told me you have a few beers, a few shots of whiskey, then you go home with whatever puta will have you. And I know you come straight home afterward, because I hear you trying to sneak in at three o’clock. You couldn’t get past me when you were a kid and you still can’t.” He took another swig of beer. “You’re wasting your life, son.”

“It’s my life to waste,” Javi said. He wasn’t hungry anymore and he pushed his half eaten bowl away. “Besides, I’ve done plenty already, haven’t I? Don’t I deserve some time to myself?”

“You aren’t even forty years old, mijo. You’ve got years and years ahead of you. You can still do some good in the world.”

Javi shook his head. He’d had enough. “I tried to do some good and look what happened,” he said. “I fucked up. End of story.” He shoved himself up from the table and stalked out of the dining room. Why the hell can’t he just leave me alone?

“Whatever,” Chucho called after him. “You’re still going out there tomorrow at nine to help her fix that corral.”

“Fine!” Javi shouted just before he slammed his bedroom door. The bed was a mess, just as he’d left it that morning. He flopped onto it anyway, not bothering to straighten out the covers. He fished a bottle of whiskey out from the bottom shelf of the nightstand and poured himself a few fingers. No need for an alarm clock with his dad around to roust him out of bed to work in the mornings, so the nightstand held only his whiskey glass, the reading glasses he pretended he didn’t need, an ashtray and the remote for the VCR.

Leaning back against the headboard, Javi took a long sip of whiskey, relishing the warmth as the liquor slid down his throat. It took more and more whiskey to numb the pain these days, but booze was cheap and easy to get in a town like Laredo. He opened the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. It was a cheap Zippo he’d picked up at the gas station. He’d left the nice one Murphy had given him for his birthday in Colombia, along with a lot of other things. Like his pride and his faith in humanity.

He lit a smoke and took a drag. Between the whiskey and the nicotine, he started to relax just a bit. He got up, turned on the VCR and crawled back onto the bed. Another night watching crappy telenovelas, but what else was he going to do? He sighed and took another drag on his cigarette. At least he hadn’t stooped to watching porn. Yet.

*********************************

As he pulled up next to Cassidy’s house, Javi spotted her pushing a wheelbarrow full of dirty straw out of the barn. When he’d seen her the other day, she’d had on a shapeless old sweatshirt, with her hair shoved under a baseball cap. Today, she was wearing a tight pink tank top and her light brown hair was done up in a long braid that trailed down her back. “Holy shit,” Javi muttered to himself as he watched her maneuver the wheelbarrow to the muck pile and easily tip it out. She had thin but muscled arms and her bra straps were peeking out just a bit. As she tipped the wheelbarrow, her shirt rode up, exposing a strip of pale skin just above the waistband of her jeans, a strong contrast to the golden tan on her arms and upper chest.

After she dumped the wheelbarrow, Cassidy wiped the sweat from her forehead with one arm and raised the other hand in greeting. Javi slid out of the truck, his boots hitting the ground with a thump that raised two tiny clouds of dust.

“Thanks for the help,” she said as she approached. Javi tried not to notice how a rivulet of sweat trickled down her chest and disappeared between her breasts. “Taking care of four horses by myself doesn’t leave me much spare time for extra projects.”

“Thank my dad,” Javi said. “I just do what he tells me to do so he doesn’t kick my ass out of the house.”

Cassidy laughed. “A grown man like you? I don’t believe it,” she said. “I think you’re just as good a neighbor as your father is.” She waved him toward the corral. “I had the wood delivered two days ago, but I haven’t had a chance to get much done. I need to finish mucking the stalls, but when I get done, I’ll give you a hand.”

Javi walked slowly over to the corral. One section was completely destroyed and needed to be rebuilt. The post on the left side was cracked and would have to be replaced, but the other one still looked sturdy. It should take him a couple of hours at the most, but it would be hot work with no shade. Good thing I wore the stupid hat today, he thought as he started sorting out the boards and figured out his plan of attack.

Cassidy disappeared back into the barn with her wheelbarrow and Javi soon lost himself in the rhythm of his work, wrestling the boards into place and securing them with hammer and nails. He was careful to make sure no nails protruded from the wood when he was done, so there was no danger of a horse getting hurt. As his dad was fond of saying, if there was one sharp thing in a five hundred acre field, a horse would find it and impale itself on it.

“Need any help?” Cassidy asked at one point, but Javi just shook his head and grunted at her, since he had a nail clenched between his lips. She disappeared again and he returned to his work. Finally, he was finished. The new boards were bright and pale compared to the rest but otherwise it looked just like the rest of the fence.

“Nice job,” Cassidy said, as Javi stood back, lifting his hat to wipe the sweat off his brow. He turned to look at her. She had two dripping bottles of beer in her hand and offered one to him. “Come sit in the shade and cool off,” she said, nodding toward a pair of lawn chairs she’d set up against the side of the barn in a narrow strip of shade.

Javi gratefully took a beer from her and dropped into one of the chairs. “My momma would tell me to offer you sweet tea or lemonade,” Cassidy said as she sank into the other chair, removing a bottle opener from her back pocket before she sat down. “But I thought you’d appreciate a cold beer more.” She leaned over and popped the cap off his bottle, then settled back and opened her own.

Javi watched the muscles in her throat work as she swallowed, and tried not to let his eyes trail down toward her cleavage again. He tore his gaze away from her and took a long pull of his own beer. “Ah, that hits the spot,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Least I could do after you fixed the pen for me,” she said, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing her ankles. Her boots were dusty and caked on the bottom with manure, but they were good boots, real working boots, not the fancy tooled crap that a lot of the wannabe cowgirls in town wore.

“Just being neighborly,” Javi grunted, taking another drink of beer.

Cassidy laughed. “Still,” she said. “It was nice of you. Now I can get that colt cut and have a place to turn him out while he recovers.” She tipped her head back and took another drink of beer. “I need to figure out what to call him. I got his Jockey Club papers when I bought him but he just doesn’t seem like a Murphy to me.”

Javi nearly choked on his beer. “Murphy?”

“Yeah, his registered name is Murphy’s Law, but I don’t like it,” she said lightly. Javi relaxed a bit; she clearly had no idea. “What do you think? What’s a good name for an asshole horse who’s too smart for his own good?”

“Javi’s already taken, unfortunately,” he replied wryly. “But I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

They finished their beers in companionable silence and then Javi stood up. “Well, I’d better get back, see what else Dad has for me to do,” he said. “Good luck with the asshole.”

Cassidy walked him to his truck. “Thanks again,” she said. “Come by in a couple of days, once the asshole’s had his brain surgery, and you can help me pick out a name for him.” He wasn’t sure if she was just being nice or flirting with him, but either way, it wouldn’t hurt to stop by in a few days and see how his handiwork was holding up.

“I’ll try,” he said. “Have a good day.” He tipped his hat the way his dad had taught him to do and climbed in the cab of the truck. He caught one last glimpse of her in his rear view mirror as he drove away, standing with her hands on her hips, a pose that emphasized her boobs. He shook his head to rid himself of the image. Don’t even think about it, Pena, he told himself. She was too good for him, too nice, and too … normal. The last thing she needed was a fucked up mess like him in her life.

#pedro pascal #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #horses

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laurelsalexis · 11 months

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Hello there. May i kindly request Mason Whump? Perhaps with protective Nadia?

ask and you shall receive. this is a bit out of my element, but i tried.

read on ao3 // 4.1k words // nadia x mason

It was one of those moments where Mason wished that he was back to being Kyle with no memories, living in that stupid house, and lying about on a Saturday doing nothing. Instead, he was lying on the cement floor with a sharp pain in his chest, gasping for air, and trying his hardest to keep his mind together before he inevitably passed out. He didn’t really wish to go back to that life. Living a life where he didn’t know who Nadia was was nothing he ever wished for.

He blinked a few more times as Carter’s voice was loud in his ear. His hands moved across his body in a desperate fashion, soaked with blood or water, he wasn’t sure. He hoped it was water but as his hand came into view and he saw the flash of red his head fell back against the concrete and he let out a groan.

“Mason.” Nadia ran over to him, smacking lightly at his cheeks. “Mason, you have to stay awake.”

“No.” He answered with the only word he could manage to get out, soft and low, fading out completely. "I'm so tired."

When he woke up again, he was lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to the monitors. The constant beeping annoyed him within a second. He frowned as he pulled at the IV in his arm. It wasn’t that bad, was it? Probably. He recalled the brutal fight where he took multiple hits to his chest, stomach, and head that caused everything to be a little fuzzier than he wanted it to be.

“You’re awake.” Nadia whispered as she got up from the chair and walked over to the bed. Her fingers ran through his hair.

Mason instinctively moved away from her touch. Things were fraught between them and he didn’t know what she was thinking, ever; instead, he allowed the wall to remain between them with his secrets slowly being exposed. He certainly didn’t think things were good between them. “How long have I been out?”

“Three days.” She pulled her hand back.

Mason did his best to sit up in bed. His entire body was sore and it felt like his ribs were broken. “Fuck.” He muttered softly under his breath. When he looked over at Nadia, she looked worse for wear. The scar he knew wasn’t there before was healing above her eyebrow. She was definitely up to something while he was passed out in the bed.

“Take it easy.” She whispered gently as her hand met his shoulder and tried to get him to lay back down.

“We can’t waste our time here.”

Her voice was as stern as her look. “You are not going anywhere.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Someone has to.”

He tried not to glare at her. She was just trying to be nice to him; a niceness he knew he didn’t deserve. It took him no time at all before he was ripping the IV out of his arm, the machines blaring, but he didn’t care. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and had to bite back the amount of pain he felt throughout his entire body. “Let’s go.”

“You are not going anywhere.” There was no room for arguing. “Lay back down.”

“And what? It’s our daughter.” It was a cheap shot; one that would work.

“I know that.” She didn’t move. “I know that," she repeated, "that’s why I have been out there every day figuring things out and here every night so you don’t go do something stupid.”

“Get out of my way.” It was a threat even with his weakened stance and the way the words came out far shakier than he intended.

“I will put you down.”

“Try me.” He had to grab onto her arms as he stood, trying his hardest to steady his balance. He gripped her so hard that his knuckles were white. Still, he refused to sit back down even if it was the best idea.

“I don’t need to try very hard.” Her eyebrows raised, a look of triumph on her face. “Will you lay back down?”

“No.” He finally gained the courage to stand without her help. It hurt but he felt better simply standing there and not moving. A few minutes of her glaring at him lasted before he took a step to the side. Slowly and carefully with how shaky he was. He just couldn’t stay in that room and be monitored when he knew exactly what they needed to do. They didn’t go all the way to Italy for him to be committed to a hospital for the unforeseeable future.

Citadel was coming back slowly after the destruction he and his mother caused. Some secrets he still held and he couldn’t bear to look at Nadia and tell the truth. Instead, he allowed her to think whatever she thought and for him to act as if nothing ever happened. Made him kind of a pussy but he didn’t care.

He only had one thing on his mind as he walked around the room, slowly feeling the pain and tension burning every muscle and nerve in his body. Nadia said something to him but he ignored her as she grabbed his clothes from off the chair. When she offered to help him get dressed, he brushed her off. He needed to do it for himself. For his own sanity.

As if he had any sanity left.

They were so close to bringing the Zani family down that he wasn’t going to let that go because he was a little injured. Wasn’t the first time. He took a bunch of painkillers and decided to be on his way.

None of it was a good idea but as the cool night air hit him it was the right choice. Their temporary Italian station was only suffocating him.

Nadia was right behind him. “I’m driving.”

Not something up for discussion as Nadia got into the driver’s seat and Mason was in so much pain, he could barely get into the car without screaming out. He managed and relaxed, somewhat, as the two-hour drive took them to the mansion lit by the moon. They didn’t talk about anything of substance the whole way; he was too lost in his own mind to entertain small talk as if they didn’t have the history they did.

He was grateful when they stopped outside of the mansion. Dealing with arms dealers was hardly his favorite, nor did he care for the Zani family, specifically. Nadia stopped the car a few blocks down so they wouldn’t be made immediately. He popped a few painkillers he stuck in his pocket for moments such as those. He stepped out of the car and after a stumble he found his balance as he walked around to the trunk. He popped it open and found a sea of firearms for them to use in situations such as those.

He grabbed his preferred gun and tucked it in the small of his back and put another one on his leg. Things Kyle had no idea about came second nature to Mason as he grabbed the knife and tucked the jacket closer to his body. He looked over at Nadia briefly who was assorting herself with weapons of her own.

They worked together effortlessly. It was everything else that was a mess.

He slowly began the walk up the road towards the house. It was lit up just enough and he was sure there were many guards in place. They would be stupid to have otherwise.

“You flank.” Mason all but ordered her.

“Absolutely not.”

Mason turned to narrow his eyes. “You flank. This is my mission.”

“And you almost got killed the other day dealing with them. You shouldn't even be here.”

“You want to go in alone. Be my guest.” He gestured to the gate and could already see the guards who definitely noticed them.

“Great, so you agree you flank.”

Nadia didn’t stay to continue the conversation as she moved closer, clearly winning the discussion. The gate opened without them needing to use the code, which meant they had been made. Well, fuck. Things were already not going to plan.

Mason didn’t hesitate as Nadia stepped through the gate. Her Italian was as good as he remembered as she did her best to charm them. It didn’t go well when he saw the first punch being thrown. If he was reckless so was she, but that didn’t seem like it was the best time to start that argument.

The pain was replaced with adrenaline as his own punch was thrown. His legs came in handy as the others tripped. A tumble into the ground as he swore his rib was breaking for the second time. A gasp, one he swallowed back, rolling on the ground until he caught his leverage and straddled the chest of the other. Hands around his neck as it was a quick snap that took much more effort than he ever thought that it did. They really lie when they make it seem like it was too easy to snap someone’s neck.

It wasn’t.

With his hands against the chest of the corpse he caught his breath, head down. It was going to be more of a challenge than he thought.

His breath caught in his throat as Nadia offered her hand out to pull him up. He watched her as the three bodies were on the ground versus his one; she dropped his hand and they slowly moved towards the main house. The plan was to undo each Manticore family one by one. It seemed easiest to start with the Zani family instead of starting in other countries, even America.

He held onto the gun tightly as he stalked towards the main door of the property. He felt his heart race in a way that was very familiar to him; the one he got right before a mission where he was able to fight without thought, his body acting on instinct.

“ – Mason.” Nadia was quiet, pulling at the back of his jacket.

Mason stopped as he turned to look at her, a fist full of his jacket gave him no choice. “What?”

“Let me go first.”

“No.” It wasn’t just a pride thing but that was definitely part of it. A big part of him thought he deserved whatever happened to him and if nothing else a girl needed her mother.

“I am not asking.”

“And I am telling you no.” He forcefully moved from her grip and no matter how much pain he was in he found himself moving slowly, quietly, to the side entrance that Carter pointed out to him on the map they studied before they even took the flight to Italy. The code to the side door was exactly what he was told it would be. Nothing signaled an alarm went off. He stepped in as quietly as he could and started moving up the grand set of stairs. Not as opulent as the house that his own mother had, but she was someone he was saving for last.

If he even made it that far.

With each step he took his legs ached and his blood felt as if it was going to start spilling out of him. He didn’t care as he held the gun tight, pointing down, until he found one of the men he used to deal with well over ten years ago. A good for nothing lackey that took a bullet right between the eyes. At least his aim was still good.

Of course, that sent everything spiraling down.

“Really?” Nadia snarled at him but then as the bullets came from what seemed like a million different directions her back was to his. She took out as many men as she did. He ran up the stairs, tired already, as he moved through the first door he could open. He took an elbow to the jaw. He didn’t have any time to react as he found himself in a fight. His breath was heavy as he kneed the guy in the balls, having a groan let out that wasn’t his. He took his advantage before the two of them were rolling around the floor. The other man got a few good punches, one directly in his chest, before Mason found his strength as he hit the guy so hard, he could feel the bones in his hand crack.

Survival by any means necessary.

The room was empty except for the series of guns on the table. He grabbed one as his one and tucked it in his back after checking that it was loaded. He didn’t know where Nadia was; if anyone could handle herself it was definitely her. He took a moment to swallow back the blood pooling in his mouth.

“Shit.” He muttered to himself as he opened the adjoining door after he pressed his ear to make sure there were no sounds.

He stepped over a body.

Nadia.

She was definitely there already. He stepped over another and another before he made it to the other door. He could hear the fighting down the hall and the curses that came from Nadia were as clear as anything. He moved down the hall to help her. Until he felt the arm around his neck, pulling him until he passed out.

When he woke up, he was tied to the chair. His arms were well bound as were his legs to the chair. He spit out more blood that was pooling in his mouth. He couldn’t have been out long.

His eyes cast around looking for anything and anyone would tell him where they took him to. The drip from the faucet only seemed to further annoy him. Clearly, he didn’t think it through. He still wasn’t himself after getting his mind back, but being merged with Kyle, and forced to face all the shit he did that led him to being in some shitty room with the world’s worst faucet.

“You’re awake.”

The voice. He knew that voice. “Mother.” Of course, it was his mother. She never did anything to make his life better. She only ever tried to make it worse. When he went to her in order to get her help in finding Nadia, he never expected for the destruction to be as bad as it was. That didn’t absolve him of any sins. It just reminded him how stupid he was when it came to the women in his life.

“I see you are yourself, my darling boy.”

Mason could have thrown up at the mere sound of her calling him that. “If I’m your darling boy, why am I tied to this chair?”

“Because,” she walked closer to him, the back of her hand running along his cheek, “you and your wife are up to no good. Does she know the truth?”

His face hardened. “Where is she?”

“Never mind that.” Dahlia ran her fingers through his hair as if she was a doting mother.

“Where is she?” He asked again.

“Learning the truth about Mason Kane.” She whispered and when she came into view again, she was holding a smirk on her lips. “Tell me, does she know I am your mother?”

“Yes.” It was the only thing he managed to tell the truth about.

“She seemed surprised, then.”

“Let me go.” Mason did his best to pull at the restraints on the chair to no avail; so forceful that the chair began to rock until his mother’s grip put a stop to it.

“Come.” Dahlia called out.

It was Nadia that came stumbling in. She did not look any better than he felt. There was blood in too many places and he was certain that the bruise on her eye was only going to get worse as the days went by. He tugged further at his restraints but found it impossible to break free.

“I hate your mother.” Nadia breathed out. Only then was she tossed onto the ground. Her groan was loud and echoed throughout the room.

Mason’s first instinct was to check on her. Tied to the chair he found himself furious and frustrated as he took in the man who came with her. Someone he hadn’t seen before, but since her other bitch boys seemed to be dead it didn’t surprise him.

“Why would my son choose to do such a thing?” She mused as she walked over to the male. He was taller than her but he seemed smaller with how she took over the room with her mere presence. “Come to kill the ones who are keeping him alive.”

Nadia looked over at Mason and only had a nod.

His brows furrowed. He didn’t know what she was up to and that made him worry about her fate. Mason long ago gave up on making sure that he was okay. He didn’t care anymore. He just needed Nadia and his daughters to be okay.

The male moved forward and that was when Nadia used her leg to trip him, holding the knife in his hand. It didn’t slip but rather went right into his eye. He was screaming. Mason was impressed. Her restraints around her arms were loose and suddenly she was making a move towards Dahlia. Watching the scene unfold before him reminded him of just how good Nadia was at her job, even if the moments when he doubted her.

He never saw fear in Dahlia’s face before. She looked terrified. He was glad. She stepped back but it didn’t take Nadia long to have the gun pointed at her head, arm wrapped around her neck, holding her tight to her.

“My turn.” She whispered into her ear as she watched Mason.

He swallowed. What felt as if they were actually going to make it out of there alive, he felt the cool metal against his throat. The blade dug into his skin. He didn’t swallow or move. He didn’t want his throat slit.

“An eye for an eye.” Dahlia spoke. “You kill me, he kills Mason. Then again, maybe that is what you want. You did hide away with your child. I don’t blame you,” she whispered, only smiling, speaking to Nadia as she looked at Mason, “my son is not fit for anything. Not even being my son.”

Words that would have hurt a decade ago held no impact on him. He stopped chasing after the affection of his mother the moment he realized she had no mercy for him. She was going to kill Asha without a second thought and used him to kill nearly all of Citadel. She would not hesitate with him. She had no love for anyone but herself; he didn’t even believe she loved his father but merely used him as an excuse to appeal to him that day.

“Do it.” Mason said, eyes locked on Nadia. “It’s okay.”

“Fuck that.” Nadia dismissed as she rolled her eyes.

“It was me.” He confessed. “I was the leak.”

“I know.” Nadia admitted. “But I’m not going to let them kill you because your own guilt has you suicidal.”

“I’m not suicidal.” Maybe he was just not in the traditional sense. But if only one of them was going to get out alive it was going to be her. The blade was tighter against his throat. He bit down on his lip to keep from crying out but that only had him pooling more blood into his mouth. “Do it.”

“You would kill your own mother?” The male behind him spoke.

“She’s no mother.” He ground out as he shifted his gaze to the woman who gave birth to him. She never did anything else for him. Maybe being a fucked-up person was in his blood, but he wasn’t going to be the cause of Nadia’s death. “Nadia, please.”

It was the nod from Nadia that caused the blade to slice against his throat. The gun went off then, the body thudding behind him. She held onto Dahlia tighter, causing her to try to claw at Nadia’s arm, choking out. She bit down on Nadia’s arm.

“Bitch.” But she moved around to the front of her with the gun pointed at Dahlia.

The sound of the gunshot must have alerted the others as to what was going on. Three men came rushing in. There were probably more; unless they used their brains and ran off before they could become another casualty.

Nadia undid Mason’s ties as Dahlia escaped out of the room. “You’re not doing this alone.”

“Get out.” Mason told her as he turned his head to look at her.

“I am not leaving your side.”

He didn’t understand why she was so stubborn. “Why not?”

“Now, Mason?” She glared at him but ultimately pulled him from the chair as three men moved closer to the two of them. The gun jammed and Nadia ended up throwing it without a second thought. She took on one man while he took on another. Mason was hit in the chest and that sent him stumbling back. He had the wind knocked out of him. He gasped for breath as he grabbed at his bleeding throat. He coughed. Fuck. He never should have left that hospital. It was too late now.

Mason grabbed the knife that fell on the floor and shoved it in the chest of the guy that came running towards him. He fell to the floor and then Nadia was breaking nearly every surface in the room when the other came for Mason. He was tackled. His back hit the floor with a loud thud, letting out a loud groan of nothing but pain. There were bodies on either side of him as he took far too many punches. He was caught off guard. He managed to get a few hits of his own that gave him a chance to catch his breath.

The hits kept coming to every part of his body; his chest, his face, his neck, his stomach. The man had more energy than Mason did as the blood was rising up his throat and on the open wounds that were being created with each hit of his knuckles. He was going to die on that floor, he was sure of it. He began to fade until the man was yanked off of him and when he went flying across the room it was only Nadia, he could see above him.

“We have to go, love.”

“I can’t.” He could barely breathe let alone think or move from the comfort of the cool floor. His gaze faded as she became nothing more than a blurred vision. “I can’t.” He blinked a few times as he tried his best to find some stream of consciousness.

“Mason! Mason!” She was frantic. “You need to stay with me.” She begged as she pulled him up. “Mason, don’t give up.”

He managed to find his footing enough to stand as he leaned against her body. He was warm. Everything felt so fucking warm.

“The house is on fire now.” She whispered as she dragged him out of the room.

The words barely registered with him as she practically dragged him down the stairs. He did the best that he could and tried not to send them both tumbling down the stairs. His mind was foggy and so was everything else. He wanted to sleep, but also felt like he was going to be sick.

“I can’t, Nadia.” He whispered out as he found himself falling to his knees right as they passed through the front door, “go.”

“I’m not leaving you.” She said for the millionth time that night. “Just a few more steps. Think of Hendrix and Asha.”

His daughters. He looked over at Nadia, focusing all too hard on her and he found himself able to stand. Enough so they were past the gates as the fire grew from one room to the entire building. As soon as he got to the car, he ended up collapsing against it. It felt so cool against his skin as he began to cough. More and more blood was coming from him. He wasn’t even sure if he was going to make it to the hospital with how shit he felt.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Disgusting.

“Can you, uh,” he had to breathe, swallow back the mix of saliva and blood, “take me to the hospital?”

“Yeah,” Nadia whispered as she moved to help him into the passenger seat, “and when you’re better we have a lot to talk about, Mason.”

#citadel #mason x nadia #mason kane #nadia sinh #*#i love requests so thanks!

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popitdontdropitwrites · 2 years

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"New Invention" Engineer/Medic - Chapter 8

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,

❗ This is a sequel to Mx. Sinister. Events may not make sense if you have not read that fic.

CW: Memory alteration/other manipulation, use of a (fictional) drug.

Sleep’s numbing, inspiriting embrace did not come for Joseph.

The curtains swayed, the alabaster glow of the crescent moon creeping out alongside the cool night air, casting a soft outline around his skin as he fidgeted endlessly. He turned over for what felt like the thousandth time and instead of being met with soothingly cool, untouched blankets, he discovered the warmth of himself from just minutes prior. He rubbed his burning eyes, only aggravating them further and let out a long exhale out of frustration, utterly exhausted.

He counted Dell’s breaths, giving himself something to pass the time until rest arrived, that was, if it ever would. The engineer lied open mouthed and sprawled beside him with an unconscious arm draped over on Joseph’s side, reaching out to touch. Slow rasps of air passed through him, alongside the occasional snore. His chest rose and fell over and over again, bloating full of air before emptying again. The chirps of crickets interrupted the universe they shared from within this room, mocking him for his inability to sleep.

It was then when it struck him – all of this was familiar somehow.

A cold, nauseating feeling swelled within him, settling in the pit of his stomach. But this fear was not new, no, it was old and suffocatingly familiar. His heart thumped in his chest, its mechanical components responding to the panic flooding his entire body, prickling up the hairs on his neck. He held himself for comfort, his breathing hastening as blurred yet agonisingly familiar images shot through his head, tearing him apart in an instant. They went by too quickly to clutch on to them, but in their wake, echoes of haunting emotion curled and danced within him, biting at his mind, threatening to break it. The smells, shattered pictures, and faint flavours from before flowed through him, again and again slowly fermenting into vivid sensation.

He strained to remember what had come before, his fingers digging into his temples to force anything out from the depths of his memory. Those feelings sharpened themselves as if they had been put into focus under a microscope – cold air in his lungs, mechanical wails piercing his eardrums, the wet kiss of the grass beneath him, blinding lights in his eyes, burning pulses of agony, screams booming through the air and then… nothing.

There was a void in the epicentre of it all, a place without warmth, without colour, without the intake of breath. A bottomless sarcophagus made of ice, where he had once rested, devoid of all volition and life. Though his mind held no memory of the end, his insides spoke of unwanted preservation, violation, and forceful reconstruction.

Joseph clawed at his skin. He was not making sense. Sleeplessness had to be driving him mad. But… at the same time, something continued to gnaw at him. Something remained forgotten, neglected and alone.

Not something. Someone.

Joseph tuned into the depths of his mind, searching for a face, a voice, anything to jumpstart his memory. He needed to remember. There was someone missing. Someone important. Someone he loved.

It came so close to surfacing, but crystalline hands pulled it under, back into the depths, leaving only the scattered fragments of a name on his tongue, unable to be put together.

Scheduled drugs flowed through the cables in his neck, a small dose intended to prevent any possible withdrawal symptoms that could disturb him before dawn. After upping his dose, the cables were a constant part of his life, whether he was awake or asleep – much to his dismay. The discomfort was not the cause of his sleeplessness, as Joseph could doze off on just about anything. Many times in his working life, he had passed out over his desk, or on cheap couches – both of which had often rewarded him with a crick in his back. He was more than capable of doing the same with a few wires to annoy him.

This had to be in his head, like an illness.

That word stung more than it should have, with more meaning than he could possibly comprehend. It hurt him in the way only nostalgia could. A part of him mourned the time associated with that simple yet heartbreaking term. More than that even, it pined for it. He overturned both of his hands, examining them both under the shine of the moon, unable to stop himself from wondering…

Had he been ill once?

That line of thinking bore diseased fruit, with soft, penetrable skin and black craters in their bruise-coloured faces, their once saccharine mouths too full of larvae and rot to respond to his question.

The feeling of perturbation from within beseechingly reminded him that some things were better left forgotten – especially this, whatever it may be. He could not remember this, for it was dangerous, like the horrors stored within Pandora’s box. It would be unwise to bite into the fruit and poison himself.

Joseph slumped in the bed, pulling the blankets back up, covering himself in hopes of finally getting some rest. He would forget about this in the morning. He snuggled up to his lover, interrupting him mid-snore as he gave him a featherlight peck on his cheek, kissing him goodnight, or perhaps more accurately, good morning.

Consequently, the Texan began to stir, though he had not intended to wake him. “What’s the matter, darlin’?” He asked groggily.

“I can’t sleep.” He said flatly, his frustration with the matter coming through in his emotionlessness.

Dell rolled over to face him, pressing his forehead to his. “C’mere, Joseph.” He said softly, just a hint of worry bleeding into his tone.

The smaller man slowly closed the distance between them, kissing him gently and sweetly, the taste of the morning accompanying every movement. Pleasantly rough stubble brushed against his face, easing his nerves while Dell’s hands wandered all over him, metal and skin working as one to soothe him into sleep’s embrace. Joseph’s fingertips met the softness of his partner’s body, following all of his lovely curves, his skin warm like love itself.

But he was gravely mistaken, wasn’t he?

This love was a mere taste of what lied within. His hands affectionately squeezed Dell’s belly, his body remembering something his mind did not – the intense heat of one’s innards, the wetness that used to kiss his skin like a thousand tongues, seductively velvety flesh, and the intimacy as thick and sweet as even the most luxurious cream.

That was love.

Joseph stiffened, missing his every cue as if he had forgotten his lines during a performance. He pulled away from Dell, violently forcing that unnatural, putrid thought from his head. They did not belong here, not with this man, not with what they had made together.

“Is everythin’ alright?” Dell reached in to touch him, and he shied away from it, beyond consoling.

He could not lie to him, not when he cared so, so much. “I remembered something awful. And… I’m beginning to realise just how much I have forgotten.”

The man he loved froze, his eyes moving in the dark, calculating, judging. “You’ve been through a heck of a lot, honeypie. It’s natural to forget. Hell, maybe it’s for the best.” He wrapped his arms around him with the intention of comforting him, but Joseph could only feel entrapped. “Would ya like to talk to me about it?” He swallowed thickly, giving away the fact that he was just as frightened as him.

The words were in his throat, but fear had hardened them and lodged them in his throat. “I can’t.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “It’s too fucking awful, Dell, I can’t.”

Engineer held him closer, protecting him from himself. “Alright…” He sighed out. “Just promise me you’ll come and talk to me when you’re ready. Whatever this is, I can fix it.” He said, his voice low and soothing, but not in the way that false promises were. He meant those words.

“I promise.” He mumbled, burying himself against Dell. “I just need some sleep.”

He gave a nod, allowing Joseph to close his eyes and sleep against him. Time crawled by, leaving a dark residue behind where nothing moved, and nothing changed, slowly blurring into a smear of emptiness. Breaths swelled and collapsed against his body, blankets rustled, and birds chirped, waking with the coming sun. Slowly, Joseph sunk into a dreadfully light sleep, so light in fact, that it could hardly be called sleep at all.

Dell, however, lied awake.

Next Chapter

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blackhakumen · 2 years

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Mini Fanfic #1007: Breakfast Meal For the Birthday Bro (Persona 5)

9:33 a.m. at Niijima's Apartment's Dining Room.......

Ryuji: (Happily Chewing Down on Fix Stacks of Pancakes Makoto Made For Him) ('Munch') ('Munch') Ah man. ('Mmm') ('Munch') (Points at his Food in Front of Him) These. ('Munch') ('Munch') These has to be the best damn stacks of pancakes I've ever tasted right here. ('Mmmm') ('Munch') And your coffee's as good as ever, Coffee Bro!

Ren: (Places his Hand on his Chin) "Coffee Bro", huh?........(Starts Smirking a Bit) Has a nice ring to it.

Makoto: (Smiles Softly) We're glad you're enjoying your birthday breakfast, Ryiji, but could you try not to talk woth your mouth full? You're starting to make a mess on the table.

Ryuji: (Stops Eating For a Second) Oh...right. (Swallows his Food Before Smiling a Bit Sheepishly) Sorry 'bout that. But anyways, I'm thinking we should bring everyone from the Smash here, show 'em around the place, shop, eat out somewhere that less expensive, after that, we head on down to the theater and watch the movie of my choosing of course.

Ren: Hey, as long as we're not watching that new Minions movie, I'm more than welcome to watch whatever. Getting tired of these little twerps already.

Ryuji: (Rolls his Eyes) Don't we all.... But rest assured, my fellow party goers,the movie I'll be choosing will wayyy more awesome than that one!.....Hopefully. And the meantime, once all of that's over with, we head over to the mansion and some good old fashioned Mario Party all night long. (Starts Smirking Evilly While Rubbing his Habds Together) Which will give me all the time in the world to come up with a perfect, devise plan to fially beat DP in his own, cheap game.

Makoto: You're really dead set on getting him back this time, aren't you?

Ryuji: Hell yeah I am! The guy's been constantly screwing me over since the day we first started play. Ain't no way in hell I'm letting it slide any longer, especially on the celebration of my birth for crying out loud! I just hope whatever plan and strategy I do come up with, works out in my favor....(Turns to His Bro) You think you could help me out this, Ren?

Ren: And let you potentially bully my angel brother throughout the remainder of the night? (Smirks as Well) Count me in.

Ryuji: (Grins Happily While Hi-Fiving Ren) Hell yeah! Operation Screwing Dark Angel Boi Over is indefinite go! (Turns to Makoto) Wanna tag along, Queen?~

Makoto: (Sighs While Shrugging a Bit) I might as well....(Smiles a Little) It wouldn't hurt him to go down a peg for once.

Ryuji: Exactly! Add a few more pegs down and we'll be golden! (Starts Taking a Few More Bites Off his Pancakes and Finish Drinking his Coffee Before Sighing and Slowly Looking Away) Soooooo....anyways, I've been thinking......

Ren/Makoto: (Raises an Eyebrow at the Birthday Boy) Abooouut?.......

Ryuji: You know.....the plans for my future and junk.

Ren: (Eyes Widened a Bit in Genuine Surprise) Oh wow, really?

Ryuji: Yeah, man. (Takes Another Bite of his Pancakes) I mean, at first, I thought about taking up being an up 'n coming track athlete, but now.....I think I might wanna give this whole......P.E. Teacher gig a shot someday.

Makoto: (Eyes Begins to Widened in Genuine Surprise as Well) For real?

Ryuji: (Chuckles Lightly) Yeah. I mean, I know it'll be a hassle and all, but....(Shrugs a Bit) I dunno. I...guess I wanna make more of an impact in my life than just trying win all the fame and glory that'll probably won't last a lifetime. Plus....(Smiles Softly) I think having some of your students look up to you could be a pretty cool feeling, you know? If I have what it takes obviously....

Makoto: (Gives Ryuji a Supportive Smile) I think you have what it takes.

Ren: (Smiles at Ryuji as Well) Me too. (Smirks Again) Just try not to let those kids make you pull your hair out too much and you'll Ave yourself smooth sailing from here.

Ryuji: ('Scoffs') You're kidding? (Points at Himself) You're speaking to the most easy-going person in the planet here. There's no way I'm gonna crack that easily.

Ren: (Immediately Gives Ryuji a Deadpinned Look on his Face Along With his Girlfriend) Really? You. Ryuji Sakamoto. An Easy-Going person.

Makoto: (Crosses her Arms) The same easy-going person who gets easily provoked whenever someone hurts and insult himself, his friends, and family?

Ren: The same easy-going person who Blurts Out every cuss words in existence except for the F-word....somehow?

Makoto: The same easy-going person who constantly butt-heads with an alley cat for a mascot.

Ren: Ooh! And how about the very same easy-going fellow who cries every time he gets played in Mario-

Ryuji: Alright, alright, alright, I get it. ('Sighs in Defeat') So maybe I'm not always the most easy-going person here.

Ren/Makoto: (Teasingly Raises Their Eyebrows) Maybe?

Ryuji: (Glares at his Friends in Front of Him) YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, DAMNIT! (Takes a Deep Breath Before Putting on a Serious Look on his Face) But I'm really serious about wanting to do this kind of thing down the road. So if I have to settle my happy ass down and get into more shape to do it, then I'll step up to the plate and do it. That's a promise and a half.

Ren: (Happily Nodded) Spoken like a true P.E. Teacher. You'll do great out there, man.

Makoto: (Smiles Softly Again) And we'll always love and believe in you no matter what happens.

Ryuji: (Heart Begins to Melt as He Begins Smile Brightly) Many thanks, guys. I'll always love and believe in you crazy people too. That being saiiid....Would you say that you two love enough to give some birthday cash?~ (Blinks his Eyes in a Soty of Cute Fashion)

Ren: Take it down a notch, Skull Boy. We're not that generous.

Ryuji: Damnit.

Makoto: Buuuuut we could give you something that could suffice~

Ryuji: Liiiike?

Ren/Makoto: Your Birthday Kisses!~

As the Joker and Queen went by and give their respective kisses on both of his cheeks, Ryuji's eyes widens for a few seconds before he starts snickering and letting out a snort as he finally begins to burst out laughing, much to his friends' sight amusement.

Ryuji: Ohhoho my God, you guys! Birthday Kisses? Are you for real right now!? (Continues Laughing Nefore Wiping a Tear From his Eyea) I swear, you two are gonna end up being the dorkiest parents towards your own future kids if you keep this up.

Ren: ('Scoffs') You kidding? I'll be the coolest parent my future kids will ever have!....Can't say the same for Makoto unfortunately.

Makoto: (Gasps Before Pouting at her Boyfriend Right Next to Her) Excuuuse you!? I could be just as much as a cool parent as you could be! I can ride motorcycles, I am a black belt in the Arts if Aikido Karate, as well as a proud leader of the Bunchimaru-Kun's Fan Club.

Ren: You're also a goody two-shoes, was almost every teachers' pet throughout high school, not to mention that you're also known as The Mom of each of our groups of friends. (Puts on a Teasing Smirk on his Face) Need I say more? Cause I can go on all day.

Makoto: (Crosses her Arms) I don't know, Ren-Ren. (Gives Ren the Cold Niijima Glare) Do you want your cuddle sessions to be revoked for the rest of month?

Ren: (Cowers a Bit in Fear) No, ma'am.

Ryuji: Ha! Whipped!

Ren: Don't start.

Happy Late Birthday, Skull Boy!!

@keyenuta

@princekirijo

@26shann

@cyber-wildcat

@caleb13frede

@theweebmaster31

@albion-93

#persona 5 #ryuji sakamoto #ren amimaya #makoto niijima #birthday breakfast #humor #friendship #cute romance #a lot of fluff #shumako

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noteguk · 3 years

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bad influence | jjk | m

— summary; in which you know Jungkook is a bad influence on you, but you can’t avoid falling for him every time.

— contents and warnings; pwp, badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, car sex, dirty talk, fingering, hair pulling, breast play, jk has a big dick and an attitude, unprotected sex (condoms are your friends), jk being kind of a douche, use of the word “slut”, cum eating, creampie, cockwarming, possessiveness, he slaps her ass like once, enemies to fuckbuddies pretty much

— words; 4.5k

— author’s note; I got carried away because I don’t know how to control myself!!! Also bad boy Jungkook is a fucking concept and I’m exhausted. Have fun. // BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

You didn’t even know who you were trying to convince when you told yourself that you wouldn’t fall for Jungkook’s cheap charms anymore because, clearly, that wasn’t working. Every time you saw him, every dumb promise you made in front of the mirror came crumbling down, erasing your defenses along with it.

That whole “falling for the bad boy” fiasco was really pathetic, and you knew that terribly well. You thought you had prepared yourself well enough to see through that mess of testosterone and leather jackets, of hollow smirks and messy dark hair. You knew better than to get involved with someone that didn’t take anything seriously and, worse, that mocked you for doing the opposite.

You knew that Jeon Jungkook was nothing but trouble and, yet, you came crawling back to him every single time.

“Fuck,” he moaned against your mouth, his eyes flickering shut at another roll of your hips. His voice was so deep, so rough, that you felt yourself clenching around nothing, a small whimper dripping from your lips as you pressed your panties against his bulge one more time. “You should wear skirts more often, you look like a sexy schoolgirl.”

You rolled your eyes, struggling to keep your balance on his lap. Straddling him on the driver seat of his car really wasn’t how you thought your night out would end, but it wasn’t all that surprising either. “I fucking hate you sometimes,” you spat.

Jungkook smirked, taking one of his large hands to the back of your head. “Only sometimes? I should try harder, then.”

You were left without a chance to respond because, within a second, he was pressing his lips against yours in a deep, sensual kiss. Jungkook always made out with you like he was about to lose you, like he was drowning and you were his last, desperate gush of air. Jungkook had been the only one who had ever kissed you like that, so messy, but yet so passionate; every curl of his tongue against yours making you melt in his embrace. You, of course, would never tell him how much you liked it, your pride would never allow you to do so.

His palm was firm and hot against your cheek, tilting your head slightly to the side so he could deepen the kiss. His other hand was tenderly placed on your hips, guiding them as you continued to grind against his clothed erection. The air inside his car was so heavy that you felt as if you couldn’t even breathe, only small whimpers echoing between your mouths at the gentle caresses of your clit against the fabric of his pants.

But, as much as Jungkook was having fun, that grinding session was starting to annoy him a bit. He had been waiting to have you all night — going through the motions of boring bar conversations and brushing off the shameless flirting of other girls — and he wasn’t going to spend his sweet time just dry humping you like you two were horny teenagers.

So, he took his shot as you raised your hips from his. Before you could move your body down once again, one of his hands traveled beneath the hem of your skirt, his nails pressing down on the skin of your thighs as he made his way towards your pussy. Jungkook had been daydreaming about your cunt wrapping around his cock for far too long then, and he needed to remind himself of how good that felt.

“Fuck, babygirl, look at you… You’re soaked and I didn’t even touch you yet.” Jungkook smirked wickedly, his fingers faintly tracing its way up and down your clothed folds. You shivered at the contact, biting on your lip to avoid moaning out — he, of course, noticed that. He had quite the natural talent when it came to seeing what made you tick. “Why are you holding back, baby? Afraid that someone will hear you?”

Your only response was a shaky breath from your nose, the words far too complicated to leave your mouth. Only Jungkook, in all of his great self, was able to make you such a mess so quickly, and you hated your body for being so reactive under his touches. It was the expectation, you noticed, the anticipation of knowing how well he fucked you, of knowing he was only taking his time before ruining you.

Without hesitation, he pulled your panties to the side and placed two of his fingers between your pussy lips, barely brushing your entrance. Jungkook covered his digits with your wetness and moved them toward your clit, pressing them delicately on your sensitive nub. “I asked you a question, baby.”

A bit overwhelmed, you breathed out, trying to keep yourself composed. It was almost impossible when it came to him. “Yeah, I don’t want people to know,” you admitted.

He knew that, of course. It was a common worry amongst the two of you — especially when Jungkook had such a thing when it came to risky places to have sex in. Fucking you in his car, right outside the bar where you two had accidentally ran into each other, was far from being one of the most out-there situations he had created.

“Hm? Know what?” He continued playing his self-indulgent game, pressing down on your clit. Your body jilted at the contact, mouth parting slightly and hands resting on his broad shoulders as he began slowly moving in circles over your sweet spot. “That pretty little ___ isn’t such a good girl, after all?”

“J-Jungkook,” his name was a pathetic moan that died on your tongue, barely a whispered plea as he continued his advances on your clit. You had broken down so easy and so fast, you didn’t even remember you had once promised yourself that you would never come back to his bad boy shenanigans.

But it was so, so hard to keep yourself away from him. You were only human, and Jungkook was this little demon ruining you just a bit more every time.

“Are you worried that they’ll know that, beneath all those good grades, all those nights spent studying in your room, all that fucking charity work...” His fingers pressed harshly against your clit and your back arched, making you almost hit the steering wheel behind you. The thought of accidentally pressing down the horn made your blood run cold, and you forced yourself to lean back against his chest. “That under all that, you’re still a slut for my cock?”

Your eyes fluttered shut, pleasure starting to climb up your spine as his voice guided you towards the past. All the times you snuck out during the night, all the times he fucked you raw after just bickering with you in front of your friends. All the times you told everyone that he was just a pile of trouble, and yet you begged for him to bury himself between your thighs until you were crying out his name. Really, it was difficult to find a bratty clapback when he was fucking you senseless, and Jungkook seemed to like that discovery just as much as you.

And still, sometimes he didn’t like when you didn’t answer him.

“You’re so shy all of a sudden…” he trailed off, taking one of his hands to pull up your crop top. He didn’t take it off, especially when he knew you’d freak out being topless in a public parking lot, he just needed to have better access to your bra. “You aren’t this quiet when you’re around other people, though. Always mocking me, being so mean…”

“Don’t play the victim, you do the same to me,” you found the strength to respond, making Jungkook stop his motions on your clit right away. You sighed in frustration, your shoulders falling as you watched him lick his lips. “Why did you stop?”

“I’m waiting,” he said.

“For what?”

“For an answer, baby.” He smirked. “You’re so mean. You always leave me hanging.”

“That’s not true,” you said, taking your hands to his nape. There, you played with the strands of his hair, making him groan after a harsh pull. “What’s the question?”

Jungkook hummed, taking his free hand to your bra and cupping one of your breasts — his other one was still paused, hovering over your clit like an unspoken promise. “Do people know?” He repeated, unclamping your bra with one swift motion and pushing it up along with your top. “Do they know how much of a dirty girl you are?”

You swallowed hard and pushed your body against his fingers, trying to find some more friction. “I’m not,” you said, but could not believe your own words. “It’s just—“

The lie vanished the second that his lips found your nipple, his velvety tongue coming out to circle around it before he gave you a harsh suck. You pressed yourself closer to his mouth at the contact, and you could no longer hide the needy moan that escaped you — which seemed to satisfy Jungkook.

“You’re not?” He spoke as he pulled away from your breast. Jungkook’s fingers slithered away from your clit and dove inside your pussy without further warning, making you cry out his name. No matter how many times you touched yourself, your fingers could never compare to his larger ones, making you stretch out so sweetly around them. “So why are you soaking my fingers like this? That’s so filthy, baby...”

You clenched your teeth. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“And you’re so wet,” this time, however, the mockery in his voice had faded a bit, giving space to a newfound wave of lust. As much as Jungkook loved to tease you, he was quite fast to break too — and the lewd sounds of your pussy were making him lose his mind. “Are you remembering all the times I fucked you before? All the times I pounded this tight pussy until you were crying? Begging for my cock?”

God, you could feel as the heat started to spread down your body, guided by his words alone. When you spoke again, your voice wasn’t as firm as you expected. “J-Jungkook, that’s not…”

“Not what, baby?” He interrupted, tilting his head to the side. You hated how clothed he was, but you couldn’t deny that you wanted to ride him like that — in that stupid leather jacket of his. “You didn’t like it?”

“I- I did.” It was getting hard to think when his thick fingers were pumping in and out of you so well. “I loved it.”

Those words left your throat before you could stop yourself, and your heart almost sank when you realized you had actually praised Jungkook, local douchebag, for something. You knew that he wouldn’t let that go anytime soon. “Loved being fucked like a good slut, right?” He asked, moving his fingers faster. You moaned especially loud when he started pushing them apart, scissoring you.

“Yes,” you gasped, utterly defeated at that point.

“Hmmm… so let me ask you again, and I expect a direct answer this time,” Jungkook said, leaning his head against the crook of your neck. His voice was a cloud of heat against your skin, vibrating up and down your body. “Do people know that you’re a slut for my cock?”

“No,” you finally responded, fingers digging on his hair. Your pleasure was increasing so fast that you knew it was just a matter of time before you were cumming around his fingers, like you had done so many times before. “Only you know, Jungkook.”

That seemed to really satisfy him, because it was his turn to grunt against your flesh. The sound of his voice, so hoarse and guttural, made you clench around his fingers. “You’re getting so tight, baby.” He breathed out, unable to hide the desire that coated his words. Jungkook really needed to feel that delicious pussy of yours around his cock before he went insane. “Close?”

This time, your answer didn’t take long to come out. “Yes.”

“I have another question for you,” he started, and you would've rolled your eyes at him if you weren’t so awfully close to your high. “Do you wanna come on my cock or my fingers?”

“Both, please,” you moaned out and rolled your hips against his hand, dignity long forgotten. You wondered what your friends would say if they knew you were pleading for Jungkook, of all people, to make you cum.

“Not both, you have to pick one.” Jungkook stopped his movements for the second time that night, and you couldn’t help cursing out at the absence of motion. You clenched around his fingers, making a sly smirk spread across his features. “I’m feeling especially greedy tonight.”

“Fuck you,” you said, taking a moment to organize your thoughts. As much as you really, really needed to cum, the idea of not having Jungkook’s dick inside you was much worse than waiting just a few more minutes to have it. “Your cock.”

He smiled and, for a moment, he almost looked innocent. Almost. “I thought so,” Jungkook teased, giving you one final pump of his fingers and watching as you bit your lip at the abrupt feeling. “I know you love it.”

You scoffed. “You have such an attitude.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook said as he removed his fingers from your pussy, watching how they shimmered, coated by your wetness. He looked up at you and took his hand towards your mouth. “Let me see you taste it,” he told you, tapping on your bottom lip. Obedient, you opened your mouth for him, allowing for his digits to slither inside. With a whimper, you sucked him like you would his cock, curling your tongue around him in a way that left Jungkook cursing out. “So fucking hot.”

His eyes were focused on your mouth as he pulled his fingers away from it, swallowing dry at the “pop” sound it made when it left your lips. “Now,” he almost groaned, “let me taste it.”

Jungkook crashed his mouth on yours, making you moan against his kiss once again. His tongue hungrily danced with yours, searching for your taste as his hands grabbed your ass, pressing you down against his aching member. You never wanted something as much as you wanted to feel him inside you right then, and Jungkook also didn’t want to wait any longer.

He smirked against your mouth when he heard the sound of his zipper opening, your hands working fast to pull his pants down. “I told you that you love my cock.”

“God,” you complained, pulling at the hem of his pants. Jungkook raised his hips from the seat so you could slide them down, bringing his underwear along with it. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Only when you let me eat you out.” His cock had sprung free, resting against his abdomen as your hands moved to grab it. Again, another compliment that you would never give him, but Jungkook had one of the prettiest (and biggest) dicks you had ever seen; already so enlarged and red-tipped, leaking with pre-cum. Just looking at it made you horny, and it wasn’t long before you were taking it in your hand, giving it a few pumps before brushing your thumb over his crown, spreading his wetness all over it. “Fuck, that feels good.”

The pleasure in his voice almost blinded you for a moment, making you forget what had been your intention in the first place. However, as you felt yourself clenching around nothing, you came back to your senses.

“I wanna feel your warm little cunt around me, baby,” Jungkook breathed out, watching as your hand continued to pump him.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling especially nice tonight,” you told him, placing your thighs closer to his center. With a grunt of expectation, Jungkook’s eyes followed as you raised your skirt with one hand and guided his cock towards your heat with the other one. “Ready to make your schoolgirl fantasy come to life?”

He opened his lips to respond, but his voice was lost the second that you pressed his tip against your opening, coating his cock with your warmness. “Fuck, baby,” he moaned, hands grabbing your ass as you sank down on him.

“Oh, God,” you whined as you bottomed out, your walls pulsating around him as you got used to his size. No matter how many times he fucked you, you couldn’t get used to his large size and the amazing way he filled you up like no one else could. “Jungkook, you’re so big.”

That was another comment that, unfortunately, you could not hold back. Because you hated yourself, that was why. “You can take it, baby,” he said, pressing down on your ass. “Be a good girl and take everything.”

With his added force, you sank down until you had all of him inside you, practically sitting against his thighs by the time you were done. Taken away by the delicious feeling of his thick cock inside you, you started slowly setting a pace, moving up just so you could crash back down; the sound of skin on skin filling the still, muffled atmosphere of his car.

“Shiiiiit, ____, you’re so tight.” He breathed out heavy, watching the way your bodies connected; the way his dick was coated by your wetness. “I can’t get used to it, it’s the best pussy I’ve ever had.”

Now it was your time to be carried away by his compliments. It was stupid, but having Jungkook praise you (especially after he spent most of his days making fun of you) had you feeling over the moon. Before you could hold yourself back, you were already setting up a rhythm, bouncing up and down on him in a way that got him seeing stars; moaning in delight every time you rolled your hips on him.

“Fuck, yeah, ride this cock,” Jungkook groaned, thowing his head back against the seat. His hair was a mess, falling over his eyes and gluing against his sweaty forehead; and yet he looked like sin incarnated as you fucked yourself onto him. Those saliva-coated lips, those furrowed eyebrows, and the deep, hungry gaze that he sent you way every time you sunk down on him would be the death of you.

Jungkook breathed out as you started to pick up your pace, your hands pressing down on his shoulders as your ass bounced against his thighs. “Such a good slut,” he praised breathlessly, taking one of his hands to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes. “Such a filthy little thing.”

Pride forgotten, you knew what he wanted to hear. “O-only for you,” your words were a confusing mess of syllables, mind drunk on the feeling of his big cock pumping in and out of you. Only Jungkook could fill you up like that, only he could make you such a mess so quickly.

“Oh, I know, baby.” His palm came down heavy against the globe of your ass, stinging your skin and making you cry out in an amazing mixture of pain and desire. You whimpered at the feeling that his slap left behind, your eyes dazed and unfocused as you looked down at the boy. “This pussy is all mine.”

You called out his name as he started thrusting up, the force of his movements increasing your pleasure immensely. You loved when Jungkook started to get rough with you, when he started to use you like you were just a doll for him to seek his own high.

He pulled on your hair, making your head tilt backwards and presenting him with a glorious view of your neck. Jungkook groaned against your flesh, his lips and tongue attacking your skin in a way that you knew would leave marks the following day — just the way he liked it. “I want to fuck you forever,” he moaned, “Wanna make this pussy so messy with my cum. Mark it as my own.”

“It’s yours, Jungkook,” you told him, lost in the buildup of your pleasure. “It’s all yours.”

He groaned, and the force of his hips snapping against yours only increased. Weak, you allowed your body to tumble against his strong chest, letting him use you the way he wanted it.

“Such a tight and wet pussy for me,” he moaned out through clenched teeth. Jungkook looked almost animalistic then, only wanting to fuck you until his stamina ran out. “Say my name, baby.”

“J-Jungkook,” you gasped.

“Louder,” he hissed, buckling his hips higher. The feeling of his cock thrusting upwards and reaching even deeper inside you got you seeing stars, eyes rolling back and mouth falling open. “I want everyone to hear it. Hear how good I make you feel, hear that this pussy is all mine.”

Any other time, you would refuse to do something so absurd — but, at that moment, your mind was floating far away from that car, and all that you wanted was to be a good girl for him. “Jungkook!” you called his name louder, moaning out at you felt his cock throbbing inside you.

“Again,” he rasped out, his jaw clenching.

“Jungkook, fuck!” You almost yelled out, the world turning into nothing as you continued to fuck yourself on his cock. Moments like those were wonderful: all your problems went away, and you could only focus on the way he made you feel so deliciously full.

“Ah, that’s it, shit,” he cursed out, member throbbing inside your pussy, “I’m gonna fucking cum.”

You cried out at the thought, wanting nothing more than to see him cuming because of you. “C-Cum inside me, please.”

“Yeah, baby,” he said, his voice lost in pleasure. You could feel his desperation from the way his hips crashed against yours with much more force, hitting deep inside you. “Take everything.”

His mind went blank when you clenched around his cock, wiping everything away from him but the delicious feeling of your walls sinking down on him. Jungkook looked like he was in a haze, his eyes unfocused and teeth sinking on his lip, barely watching the way he disappeared inside you. He only needed a bit more to be pushed over the edge.

“Please, fill me up, Jungkook,” you begged. His eyes darted towards yours, watching your face. He could see that you had tears pooling at the corner of your eyes, a faint heat in your cheeks. God, he had completely ruined you. “Please, I need your cum.”

And that was it. His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, a deep groan leaving his throat as he spilled himself inside you, hearing the lewd sounds of your wetness as he continued to thrust up against your pussy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed, head falling against the seat once more. Jungkook’s eyes closed as he felt the last drops of his cum being milked by you, his mind a jumble of broken words and disconnected ideas. “Oh, fuck, baby, fuck. Take it, baby, fuck...”

Of course you did as he asked, and you took every drop of his cum until it was starting to spill out of you. You couldn’t even look down, but you were sure that you were a complete mess between your legs. “J-Jungkook, I’m so close,” you cried out, drunk on the feeling of his thrusts.

“God, that’s it.” He pressed down on your hips, overwhelmed with the feeling of your walls clenching around his sensitive member. Jungkook loved it, though, loved seeing you cum around his cock like it was all that you ever wanted to do; loved watching your face as you looked at him with so much desperation that he almost grunted out. You really were a precious thing. “Make a mess on my fat cock, come on, baby. Let me see you cum for me.”

His request was like magic to you, and you came right after, calling his name amidst breathy moans and high-pitched whimpers. Jungkook kept whispering in your ear as you rode your high, praising how good you were for him, how good you felt around him, until you crashed down against his chest, absolutely spent.

Still, you had experienced enough sexual adventures with Jungkook to know that he still wanted two more things before he called it a night. He had his particular tastes.

“Let me see it.” Jungkook told you about a minute later, and you knew exactly what he wanted you to do. With your thighs still trembling a little, you leaned back against the steering wheel and pushed your body upwards, letting his dick slip out of you. Jungkook hummed in delight as you pulled up your skirt and he watched his cum dripping down your thighs, painting your folds in a delicate shade of white. He always loved to admire his work. “So fucking pretty… and all mine.”

You had to bite down your lip not to whimper at the touch of his fingertips against your pussy, catching a bit of his cum on them. He took it to his mouth, humming around his digits as he tasted himself. “You always make such a mess,” you complained.

“Shut up, I always clean it.” Jungkook sighed, looking at you almost tenderly. “You know what I’m gonna ask.”

Yes, you did.

You sighed. “Fine.”

Jungkook hummed happily as you propped yourself over his cock once again, now half-hard, and placed it back inside you, sinking down until you were sitting on his lap. “Good girl.” He sighed in bliss, his hand caressing your hair as you rested your head against his broad chest. You didn’t understand why Jungkook loved staying inside you after sex, but you couldn’t deny that you weren’t bothered by it. You just liked to pretend as if you were. “Feels so nice.”

You pressed yourself against his chest. “I hate you.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around your lower back. “No, you don’t.”

And you hated that he was right.

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

#jungkook #smut #bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #x reader #reader insert #x you #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts x reader #jeon jungkook #bangtan boys #pwp #jungkook pwp #bts au #jungkook au #drabble #smut drabble

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prince-septimus · 3 years

Text

bathroom break

pairing : rick flag x bartender!reader

summary : a team of criminals and a colonel wearing a cowboy hat walk into a bar.

word count : 2.4k

warnings : smut, 18+, minor spoilers for the suicide squad

You had spotted them the moment they walked in -- they stuck out like a sore thumb. The rag-tag group of men and the woman with the rat on her shoulder.

Nothing surprised you anymore, so you paid them no mind.

Not until the man in the cowboy hat stepped up to the bar.

It was a while after they arrived -- all crowded into a table not meant to fit the three giant men in the group, let alone all five of them. They had started off slow, a couple of shots, and then they were all splitting off. You could see a few of them on the dance floor, all clearly lost in their own little world.

The bar isn’t particularly crowded tonight. There’s a few regulars, but nothing that keeps you too busy. That’s why you’re able to spot him stepping up to the counter, a beer bottle in hand as he offers you a cheap smile.

He’d be hard to miss even if you had been distracted.

“What can I get you?” you ask, your hands toying with the rag in your hands as you watch the man carefully. There’s something about him that puts you on edge, and you’re not quite sure yet if it’s a good or bad thing.

“Another beer,” he tells you, his teeth flashing in the neon lights of the bar. There’s a faint drawl to his voice, and you can tell the alcohol he’s drank has caused it to drop. “And a one-way ticket out of here.”

“Not the party type?” You take the bottle from his hands, quickly replacing it with another. “Could’ve fooled me.”

His lips turn up. “It’s the hat, ain’t it?”

There’s a slight hint of a smile on your face.

He shakes his head as he takes a pull from the fresh bottle. “Ladies love the hat.”

You busy yourself with wiping down the counter, trying not to think too much into his words. “What’s your name, cowboy?”

Another smile, this one cocky and full of confidence. “That’s classified.”

You make a face. “You really think I’d tell on you?”

“No, but I do think you could get me into quite a bit of trouble.”

The heat courses through your body so quick, and you’re suddenly very aware of everything about this man: the arrogance with which he wears his combination of a cowboy hat and ratty t-shirt, the cocksure smug he sports across his face, and the way he’s looking at you right now.

Something about him reminds you of men you’ve thrown out before, ones who had gone a little too far and had gotten a little too handsy, but there’s something that tells you this man wouldn’t do either of those things unless requested.

Another swig of his beer, and then the bottle is empty.

“Rick Flag.”

You raise a brow. “Flag? How patriotic.”

“There’s more truth in that statement than I’d like.”

“You’re a soldier?”

“Used to be.”

“And now?”

It’s the first time you see something other than his brash personality show through. There’s something almost like regret etched into his features. “Something like that.”

You frown, feeling the conversation taking a turn that you don’t like. Conversations with bartenders are meant to be pleasant -- something to calm your foggy mind and fuel your drunken desires.

You briefly wonder if he’s drunk.

“Had enough?” you ask, motioning to his bottle.

That smug look returns. “It takes a lot more than a couple of shots and a few beers to get me drunk.”

He gives you a knowing look and you flush at the realization that you had been caught in your motives for asking.

“Do you want another?”

“I think I’m good.” A pause. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I’m working.” You feel dumb when you say it, but it’s true.

It makes Rick laugh. “Okay. What about the bathroom? You do get bathroom breaks, don’t you?”

You glance at the restrooms in the corner. “Anybody who knows better knows not to use our bathrooms.”

“Even better.” Rick grins. “Then they’ll know it was an emergency.”

You feel your mouth fall slack, trying to take in Rick’s sudden forwardness. You know there’s a possibility at losing your job over this, but you couldn’t be the first employee to fuck a patron, right?

Maybe the first to fuck one in the bar’s bathroom.

The space is stuffy and smells faintly of stale piss -- a good sign that you won’t be disturbed. One of the overhead lights is busted, its bulb shattered and littered across the tiled floor. You’re not sure who last cleaned in there, but in no way is anything sanitary and up-to-code.

That doesn’t stop Rick from lifting you up onto the bathroom sink and kissing you so hard your head smacks into the mirror behind you. You let out a groan at the quick pain that courses through your head, but Rick swallows the sound and attempts to pull something sweeter from you. The brim of his hat tips back as you kiss, and you absentmindedly push it off, letting it fall to the floor before his shirt follows.

You push him away just enough to admire his exposed skin -- his broad chest and tattooed arms. When you meet his gaze you can see that confidence still hidden there.

You reach for his jeans, yanking on the button and zipper and trying your best to push them down. Rick takes the opportunity to attach his mouth to your neck, sucking a bruise into the underside of your jaw as he takes over for you, kicking his shoes off and pushing his pants down in one quick movement.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he breathes against your skin, “not fair.”

You push on his chest again before yanking your own shirt off, throwing it into the growing pile on the floor. Rick reaches around you, deftly releasing the latch of your bra and pulling the fabric from your body. As his lips land on your bare shoulder, light kisses pressed into your skin, Rick reaches down to undo your jeans.

The next moment is the most awkward, and there’s laughter from both of you as Rick deftly pulls your shoes off before you try to lift up enough for your pants to follow. He struggles to pull the tight fabric from around your waist, but finally gets them off. It’s awkward and clumsy and there’s something oddly intimate about it.

And then Rick’s fingers are against the growing wetness of your panties and you’re crying out against his mouth at the stimulation.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he drawls against your lips, “so wet for me already.”

His fingers smooth up and down the fabric, giving enough stimulation to make you feel something, but not enough to get off. You push a hand through his hair, trying to coax some sort of sound from him to mix with your own, and with a slight yank on the hair at the nape of his neck, Rick is groaning out loud. His eyes shut as his hand against you picks up speed, rubbing more earnestly now.

Just as you feel the hint of something start to grow, Rick pulls his hand away, a smirk painted across his face as he looks at your disheveled state.

“You bastard,” you breathe out, resting your hands on either side of you as you try to catch your breath.

Rick laughs. “I’ve been called worse.”

There’s a lull in the action then, and it takes you a moment to figure out why.

“I don’t have a condom,” Rick says softly.

You smile, wiping at the sweat gathering on your forehead before pointing to the machine in the corner. You’re not sure when they had last been changed out, but you’re sure they’re good enough to use still.

It’s another slightly intimate moment -- you watching Rick fumble with the machine before finally producing a condom and holding it up in success. It’s cute, the grin that forms on his face when he turns back to you.

“Still okay with this?” he asks, unwrapping the condom before pushing down his briefs to put it on.

You bite your lip at the sight of him, almost forgetting that your own underwear are still on. When you reach to take them off, Rick reaches out to stop you.

“Keep ‘em on,” he tells you gently. He steps back up to the sink, standing between your legs as he reaches a hand down. His fingers skim across the fabric of your panties before he’s hooking into them and pulling them to the side.

There’s something about the action that turns you on so much you forget to breathe for half a second, and it catches you off-guard when he finally slides into you -- slowly filling you to the brim.

“Good?” he asks, panting slightly, and all you can do is nod as you let the feeling of him inside you completely wash over you.

The first moments are slow, both of you trying to get used to the feel and the position. And then his arms are hooking under your thighs, changing the position slightly and causing him to go almost deeper. You let out a small cry at the sensation as he begins to pick up the speed.

The mirror shakes with the force that he’s fucking into you with, and it leaves you breathless with each stroke. He’s pressing his lips against yours, but it’s nothing close to a kiss, just two mouths pressing against each other as you both try to get a hold on the feelings.

It’s all so overwhelming, and you whine into Rick’s mouth as his hands grip your hips and use that hold to push you against him. You can feel the beginnings of your orgasm returning, a little quicker than normal due to the previous stimulation, and you put a hand on Rick’s chest, trying to steady yourself.

“Almost there,” he tells you, his pace turning sloppy.

When you look at him, his pupils are blown out. He moves his hands up to grab your neck, pushing you back against the mirror. The position is more clunky, a little harder to manage, but Rick never stops moving against you as he swipes his tongue into your mouth.

He’s kissing you when your orgasm hits, swallowing your moans as he sets a frantic pace, trying to get himself off. The overstimulation hits like a truck, and you’re practically crying out against Rick’s mouth.

When his orgasm hits, he falls against you. You absentmindedly wrap your arms around his shoulders as he buries his face into your shoulder, groaning out as he finishes inside the condom. You hadn’t noticed a chill to the bathroom before, but now you can feel it creep up along your skin and you try to use Rick’s body against yours to keep warm.

“You were right about these bathrooms,” Rick says a few minutes later when both of your chests have stopped heaving. He lifts up slightly from you, glancing around the dingy bathroom before carefully pulling himself out of you. The action causes both of you to let out a hiss at the sensitivity, and then you’re making a choked noise when Rick lets his fingers brush across your slit before he pulls your panties back into place.

“Cheeky,” you breathe out, “very cheeky.”

“I try.” He gives you a quick wink as he reaches down to grab at the pile of clothes across the floor. “You think they’re still clean enough to wear?”

“They’ll have to be,” you chirp, taking your clothes and shoes from his arms.

It’s the last intimate moment of the night, the two of you getting dressed beside each other in a dirty bar bathroom. Rick bumps his shoulder against yours as he pulls his shoes back on and you offer him a giddy grin. You snatch his hat from the floor, pretending to brush the dirt off the brim and placing it atop his head. Rick smiles at you, a smile that’s less cocky and more saccharine. You reach for the door after the two of you finish getting dressed, carefully pushing it open to look around the bar. It’s slowly emptying as the night goes on, but there’s still enough people to not make it so obvious when the two of you slip out from the bathroom.

“It’s not the worst walk of shame I’ve done,” you comment, taking pleasure in the way Rick’s brows shoot up as he follows you back to the bar.

“I’m shameful now, am I?”

“More like shameless.” You take your position back behind the bar as Rick takes the seat across from you. When you look out into the dimly lit room, you spot the group Rick had originally come in with. “I think your friends are onto you.”

Rick follows your gaze, offering a small wave to the group when he spots them. “They’ll be fine. Everyone’s got to use the bathroom once in a while, right?”

The look Rick gives you then sends you into a fit of giggles. “Bathroom break. Sure.”

Rick waits for you to settle down before he’s giving you that sweet smile from earlier.

You look at him strangely. “What?”

“I had fun,” Rick tells you, “wouldn’t mind doing it again next time I’m around.”

You scoff playfully, “I bet you wouldn’t.” You still reach for a pen and scrap piece of paper, quickly scribbling your name and number down and handing it to Rick.

Rick stares at the paper for a second before he says your name, a small twang in his voice. It occurs to you that you previously hadn’t given your name, and he's grinning at you like a mad man. “At least now I know who’s name to call out next time.”

Rick leaves you with that, heading back to his friends who all give him a pat on the back as he passes. There's a heat in your face from his words that you’re not sure will ever go away.

#an alternative ending to that bar scene in the suicide squad #aka my attempt at giving rick some fucking happiness #its what he deserves james gunn #rick flag x reader #rick flag #rick flag imagine #the suicide squad #the suicide squad imagine #the suicide squad spoilers

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