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qwimchii · 8 months

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𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 4) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 12𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘴 & 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘨𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 😞

note: oml. i cannot thank you guys enough for your patient. this took me a lot longer than i thought it would (i've been writing the whole day LMFAO). your patience and support has been literally amazing and i love each and every one of you. thank you so much 😭💐💞 please enjoy <33

you gasped, scrambling back into the bed.

the girl just stood there. stock still. like a ghost. eyes so shadowed in the darkness that they looked like two black pits staring at you.

your heart beat out of your chest, blood thickening to a slow gurgle, as you reached slowly for something solid on the nightstand. you made contact with the glass cup.

you were surprised by the amount of force in your voice. “are you here to kill me?”

she just stared, unblinking.

a roiling turmoil of heat built right in your chest, and you snapped, “are you one of Turner’s men?”

she scoffed, and it only added to the flame of your ire, before you heard the soft click of her gun cocking.

“no,” she said, defiant, turning her chin up at you. “but you do have a nice ransom on your head.”

her head tilted, taking you in with a dark look that raked across your body. “and i recognized that man you were with. Ghost, is it?”

oh.

your eyes narrowed. “how do you know him?”

the better question was how did she recognize him?

your heart sank.

“i’ve done business with him,” she said cooly, and your heart just sank further.

it made sense now. why she was standing at the door, her attention trained on Ghost, marching away when the other man told her to leave. she was expecting a customer.

maybe even a regular one.

then, she frowned at you. “not in ways that you are thinking.”

curling relief soared in your chest, and a weight lifted from your shoulders as you released a shaky breath.

she threw down the gun onto the floor and it skidded across the wooden floorboards, hitting the post of the bed with a thunk. mind clouded with confusion, you looked up at her with a furrowed brow.

she straightened her shoulders. “i’m here to save you.”

you blinked. save you?

“save me?” you squeaked, and her face twitched with annoyance.

“yes,” she said, striding forward to the bed, “we have to hurry. come.”

you scurried further back into the bed, yelping when you almost fell off the side.

she stopped in her tracks, watching you struggle in the sheets with flushed cheeks. quickly, you drew the yellow robe that was discarded on the floor around your body, hoping she didn’t see anything in the dark, and turned to her again, fumbling with the knot of it.

you were still holding the glass cup.

she looked down to it in your hands and then back up, mouth in twisted line.

embarrassed, you put the cup behind you on the nightstand.

“your father?” she chewed out slowly, “he has a ransom. he wants you alive.”

“what?”

“your father. he wants you—”

a thick cloud of confusion settled in your furrowed brow, and you shot out, “i thought Turner wanted me dead.”

the girl gave you a long look, face twisted and hands clenched into the fabric of her dress. “he does. your father doesn’t.”

your mouth fell open, tongue heavy, then closed again.

“are they not working together?” there was a little flicker of hope deep within yourself.

“they are,” she said with raised brows, “they are working to come to an agreement over you.”

your stomach twisted. you felt like puking.

you flattened yourself against the far wall of the room to stop the nauseating swirls of dizziness racking your mind, creating a marginal distance from the girl who loomed with a veil of impatience over her face, hands clenched by her sides and shoulders braced. a roil of fear boiled in you.

“you can’t take me,” you whispered, voice weak and trampled.

her frown deepened. “you want to stay with Ghost?”

“i am waiting for him,” you said carefully, and the girl scoffed, turning on her heel.

“do you think he will come back?”

your throat felt closed up. “what?”

“do you think he will come back?” she asked again, slowly, like you couldn’t understand her words. she pointed towards the low table in the room—there was a drawstring pouch you didn’t notice before.

“he left that for you at the front desk before he left. i came in to deliver it,” she explained, and you followed her line of sight to the gun at the foot of the bed.

ah. she came in to deliver them as well as threaten you. or save you, in her words. maybe both.

your eyes narrowed. “what are you saying?”

in the darkness of the room, you could see her roll her eyes.

“he left you money and that revolver.”

your head swirled, a pulsing headache building right in the base of your forehead. he left you these items—why? to protect yourself?

he said the brothel was safe.

a sour taste filled your mouth. why would you need to protect yourself if it was safe?

unless you left the brothel.

you fought the droop of your head with a sharp twinge of your heart, deflating from the inside out.

“he wasn’t planning on coming back,” she gritted out, sounding more impatient than anything.

“you don’t know that,” you snapped, “it’s not dawn yet. he promised me he’d be back by dawn.”

she grew very still. “why do you want to stay with him? has he not been using you for…?”

her eyes roamed down the revealing nature of your robe, then flitted back up to your eyes. her face was stoney cold. serious.

you stiffened. Ghost had promised you he would never bed you again for revenge. had he been telling the truth? you didn’t know.

“i don’t know.”

she scoffed again, muttering under her breath, “she doesn’t know,” and turning away, rubbing over her face.

you swallowed down the growing swollen tightness in your throat, a familiar burn building at the waterline of your eyes. “you don’t understand. if you give me to my daddy…”

she turned back to you and your voice faltered. “i don’t want to be a mistress.”

her stoney face crumpled, eyes narrowed with unease, but you pressed on, “my daddy. he owns a saloon chain and made a business deal with Turner—investment and protection.”

your voice dimmed, quiet and low. “i was part of that deal. my daddy was going to give me to Turner as his mistress.”

the girl was silent, stark still in the darkness, mulling over something in her swirling eyes.

“alright.”

your eyes snapped to her. “alright?”

“i don’t work for Turner. i don’t work for your father. i don’t work for anybody but myself,” she said.

you nodded slowly, trying to digest that, searching her eyes for a twisted lie, but only finding a blank stoney void and truth. instead, you asked, “what about Ghost?”

she paused for a moment, looking apprehensive, before explaining, “when Ghost was younger, and when the law used to be trouble for him, he would hide here in this brothel. he paid for my services for a week but didn’t touch me once. he wanted something else.”

something else? you thought, hands growing clammy and cold.

she turned her head from you. “he wanted my secrets. powerful people tell me too much in the midst of an intimate night. now, i recognize Ghost’s gesture for what it was. he was not being kind to me like i believed him to be.”

her voice was eerily void. “he wanted to use me.”

then, she said, “i was sold by my father for fifty american dollars.”

you flinched. it made you wonder how much Turner had promised your daddy in exchange for you.

her stare was glazed over, dark and unnatural. you suppressed a shiver and listened to what she had to say, clutching at the wall tighter when she slowly stepped forward towards you.

“i know what it is like to want to be useful. i, too, once believed that it was necessary for my father to sell me to feed my brothers. i told myself that the entire way by ship from china. then, i told myself that helping Ghost would give me purpose.”

her voice was stronger, and she drew so near you could see the swirling pattern of her crimson dress. “now, i am not of use to anyone except for myself. i worked hard to get here. this is one of the kindest and most well-paying brothels in the city. most girls only last for five years after being sold into prostitution.”

her words were icy cold. “i worked hard to survive.”

“i’m…” your voice failed in your choked up throat, pangs of heaviness breaking your heart apart. you wanted to apologize but that didn’t feel like enough.

she pinned you with a hard look. “i do not want your pity.”

you slowly sunk down the wall, till your backside hit the cold, hard floor, and you wrapped your arms around your knees. all your problems felt dwarfed in front of this girl, but you still shook with fear.

“i won’t go back to my daddy,” you whispered, words trembling, but defiant nonetheless.

she got on her knees, creeping towards you till she leaned against the wall in the spot beside you. the proximity of her body felt warm in the crisp morning of the room.

she was insistent, expression fierce and strong. “i will not give you over to him for money. ”

your eyes snapped to hers, and her hand slid over the floor into the space between you.

desperate, you searched for the right words but couldn’t find them. “thank you.”

you took up her hand, and she squeezed yours with a strength that shocked you for her thin, petite frame.

“i will help you,” she insisted, and a curl of despair wrung your chest.

“you cannot help me, miss,” you said weakly, truthfully, “i need to wait for Ghost.”

she made a noise of deep frustration. “you do not.”

you closed your eyes, nose buried into your knees. “i have to.”

you felt her draw your hand into her lap, holding onto it with a powerful grasp. “he will not return. i prayed many nights for him to return too. but still, i will wait with you.”

the certainty in her tone felt soul crushing, and a truth from her own experience, but the tightness of her grip was an anchor that held you through the nauseating, racks of unease that pulled you like a tide.

you waited for the sun to peek up through the far windows of the room, overlooking a dip in the city that revealed a stretch of chinatown twinkling in the early, blue hours with loud ruckus, shouts, and clatters.

when the first bruised pinks and purples stretched the morning sky, and beams of orange had cast over your body, your head perking up as you squinting into its glare from over your knees, Ghost had still not come.

you moved through the city like a ghost—like nothing was anchoring you down to the ground except for the girl’s iron grip on your hand. she had almost never let go of you when you roused from your light slumber, letting her drag you from the room, pocketing Ghost’s money and his revolver.

you left behind your shattered heart in that room. you felt like you died in that room.

the girl had forced you into one of her few western-style, yet airy, dresses that still felt too revealing from the wardrobe of her small room in the upper floors of the brothel. but nobody stared at you as she pulled you down another avenue through chinatown, considerably cleaner and better groomed than the ones you had been on before.

you did not know where you were going—you weren’t sure if you cared. the girl had only said with a determined ferocity, i will help you, when Ghost had not come.

Ghost had not come.

it was like a splintering realization every moment.

she hauled you into the back of a busy shop, barely squeezing through the small frame of the door, opening it to a whirlwind of more women shouting in mandarin and bent over desks strewn with cloths, silks, garments, and clunky sewing machines that packed in the room. that same sweet smoke tinged the room and you resisted pinching your nose against the searing smell.

an older woman with grayed hair and a wrinkled face like a plum stepped into the girl’s path, shouting something at her, though not unkindly, to which the girl shouted back. the old woman stepped back with a nod, and you curled closer to the girl as many of the women in the room turned from their stations to stare as you passed before busying themselves once more.

the girl took you into the front store room, marginally more quiet than in the back, and adorned with a plush red carpet and racks of colorful clothing where some wealthy women perused.

then, she pulled you towards a raised platform in the corner of the room, where a red curtain hung by it and pushed you onto it. you stepped up, feeling uncomfortably light without her hand around yours, and she tugged the curtain around the platform without a word and a stricken face, shrouding the rest of the room from view.

you stood there for a moment, clutching against the wall and listening to the faint screeches of hangers dragging across their racks, light footsteps, and the bustle of the city from outside the store.

you jolted when she yanked open the curtain and quickly jerked it close behind her once more.

her face looked more serious than before—face screwed up in a tight expression and deep frown. you bit back a gasp when her arms flew to your shoulders and tugged her towards her, almost falling off the platform.

“listen to me,” she grit out with a clenched jaw, and you nodded quickly. “i cannot help you for long. tell me, what do you want?”

what do you want?

the question ran bated circles around your mind.

in a panic, you choked out, “i don’t know.”

she looked disappointed, but her grip on your shoulders only tightened, and you winced from the painful pulse in your injured joints. “you need to decide. now.”

she pressed something hard and cool into your hand and you looked down at the revolver in your open palm. the steel of it was engraved with trumpet vines.

you were reminded of several nights ago—when Ghost had first asked you the question.

“what do you want?” his hand moved to stroke at your cheek, your brow, your hair.

you never had the luxury of pondering the question. your path was always laid out before you by your mama and daddy. there was no choice. only lingering, bitter feelings of resentment as you fought yourself to believe that tending Daddy’s saloon and entertaining businessmen was the life you wanted.

“i dont know.”

“tell me.”

you had said you wanted him. now, you weren’t sure.

what did you want?

you looked into the dark swirl of the girl’s intense gaze, the inky hair that went down her shoulders in unfurling waves. did you want independence like her?

instead you asked, “why are you helping me?”

her face flitted with a tenseness but she held fast, unmoving and unshaken.

you pressed on, “what about the money? don’t you want the ransom?”

you felt eerily calm despite what you were alluding towards—her selling away your last flickers of freedom.

she shook her head. “i will not use you like my father used me.”

you stared at her. maybe, for the first time in your life, you’d met someone who didn’t want to use you for an advantage. maybe this girl was lying and would lead you straight into your daddy’s embrace again, and once your daddy smoothed everything out with Turner, you’d be in Turner’s bed every other night, satiating an old man with the warmth of your youthful touch.

or maybe, she was telling the truth.

“i don’t believe you,” you said, voice soft, and her grip slackened.

“you have to. tell me what you want.” she reached into the neckline of her shirt, and pulled something from her undergarments, revealing the drawstring pouch of the money Ghost left you.

she pushed it into your hand with the gun and closed your fingers around the heaviness of it, the clink of coins and rustles of paper feeling too loud in your ears, your mind swirling with effort.

you mulled over everything for the past week—only just seven days total. when you had met Ghost, one-four-one, their outlawed antics, los vaqueros. Kate’s expression when she left you at your train door, when you had challenged her about the truth of their revenge ploy, when you had escaped on horseback from the leather crafts shop.

the fullness of her eyes. the sadness of them.

you thought of john when he had an arm circled around your waist as he galloped on that chestnut through the small town, saving your life, and the blinding rush when you turned over your shoulder and shot that man gunning for John. you saved his life in return.

you thought of Soap’s kindness in the hallway of the train, the thick swell of his accent, the delight that bloomed across his face whenever he saw you. the vicious sober look that twisted his smile when he promised to get revenge on Turner.

you thought of Gaz and his proposal, the origin of his poor childhood that he had disclosed in hushed murmurs, and the warmth of his polite touch grasping your hand and pressing it to his chest. the youthful earnest in his face.

you thought of your daddy and your mama—preparing you for a life that you had never chosen. Turner’s mistress.

you didn’t know who to hate more.

you thought of Ghost.

maybe you should hate him.

your skin prickled in remembrance of his soft, warm lips, and gentle touch, the way he held you, his even softer words, his empty promises. the perfect lies he created with a smug look and twinkle in his dark eyes, more charming than his infamous reputation led you to believe.

more charming, terrifying, mysterious, and guarded than you had ever seen in a man.

he lied to you time and time again. you closed your eyes against the weight that dragged your entire body down—so heavy it was like it never wanted you to stand properly again.

the girl’s tight grip steadied you.

“i want to be wanted,” you said weakly, eyes fluttering open again to see the grim look on her face.

her jaw was clenched tight. “i did too. but that is not an option.”

your whole heart shattered all over again.

“i want…” you mind spiraled, “i want revenge.”

the smile that twitched into her lips was malicious.

“against who?”

you felt like you were floating. “Turner.”

your voice darkened. “my daddy.”

she nodded, a pleasant look on her face now. “good. i will help you.”

before she stepped away and off the platform, you shoved the pouch of money back into her arms.

when she shook her head to refuse, you pressed, tone cutting and vicious, “take it. or take me as a ransom so help me god.”

when she realized you would refuse to let her go uncompensated, either from the harsh tone of your voice, your words, or the twisted tightness in your face, she relented, and disappeared from the changing room again.

you steadied your breath, looking into the full-length mirror hung on the wall.

you didn’t look like the girl you were a week ago.

you were different now—sinful, vengeant, a murderer.

you thought that it suited you better.

the girl came back and took you to a different area of the store: through the compact kitchen, where she fed you something greasy, savory, and foreign that you consumed in mere bites, then you swallowed down a steaming cup of tea, and she helped wash in a tub.

rubbing and lathing up soap through your hair as you scrubbed down your body. she was unashamed of your bare state, and the newfound rush that boiled in your veins left you uncaring for it.

after you dried off, she took you to the upper floors of the store to a bedroom—the old woman’s, you recognized later on, when the elder woman brought in several elaborate dresses with a wry smile on her face. the bedroom smelled herbal and picante, you noticed, as you were stripped of your clothes again and redressed in the undergarments the girl lent you.

the old woman said something to you—pleasant with a bellow of laughter—before she trudged out the room with heavy steps.

when you looked at the girl in confusion, the only thing she offered was, “she was very happy the day her husband died. she hopes you can find that same happiness.”

whether it was an ominous omen, or a cruel joke, you couldn’t shake it as she laid out a pale evening gown of silk with patterned lilac flowers up the front. your breath hitched as you smoothed a hand over it, the beads adorning its hems, and the lace gathered along its short puff sleeves.

“i think it would suit you,” the girl said, face lax and fond as she picked it up from the bed and pressed it into your hands.

“how could i accept this?” you asked weakly, and she held up the drawstring pouch, jingling its contents lightly in your face, though not unkindly.

“i know my worth,” the girl said with a deadpanned simplicity that made you smile at the sheer absurdity of it all.

she helped you slide on the dress, over your corset and drawers, and sat you down at the chipped vanity by the windows where the natural light of mid-day came streaming through that aided you as she drew up your hair into a loose updo.

you used the powder, eyeshadow, and rogue on the vanity and painted your lips with a careful hand. the girl’s hand came to rest on your exposed nape, and you shivered, not used to the exposed air along your bare arms, neck, and chest due to the low bust of the dress.

the girl placed the revolver on the vanity beside you and you pocketed it through the slit-opening between the layer of your petticoat and dress.

you looked into the mirror of the vanity and the girl’s reflection stared back, expression placid and cool, easing your own nerves.

she said with confidence, “you look lovely.”

you winced at the word, grateful that it went unnoticed to her.

she continued, “tonight, when you reach Turner’s party, there will be violence and bloodshed.”

she slid a box of matches onto the vanity. “wreak havoc. he has run these streets for far too long.”

you pocketed the box with a nod, the box knocking against your revolver, watching her head tilt in the mirror.

“maybe one-four-one will run these streets in time.” a smile flashed across her face before it was gone. “i think things would become better.”

you reached back to grasp at her hand on your neck. “i will make sure you are better compensated when it happens.”

she blinked, eyes flickering with a curiosity. “you will work with one-four-one even after all they have done to you?”

with a sigh, you nodded. “they are all i know. i care too much for them.”

“and Ghost?”

you released her hand, looked away from the mirror, and trained your eyes on the bustling street through the window. “him included.”

you heard her shift behind you. “i cared for him once too. i hope it ends happier for you than it did for me. maybe in marriage.”

you grimaced. “you think i should marry him?”

she was silent for so long that you looked back at her from over your shoulder. she sat with an impeccable posture and a sad tightness in her expression.

“he has used you. he has hurt you. maybe he did not come this dawn to protect you. from Turner and from himself. although he has failed time and time again, maybe his intentions are with a good heart.”

good heart. you didn’t know if you could use those words to describe him.

“albeit, he did not know i would betray him like this. i stole his lover away,” she said with a mischievous look and an air of accomplishment that made you smile.

“are you not worried that one-four-one will punish you for it?”

she only shrugged. “what will they do to me? with this money—” she held up the drawstring, “—i will run away and buy property to live off myself. or i will marry a rich, powerful old man and wait until he dies like the old woman did.”

you laughed at that, remembering the pleasant look on the old woman’s face as she left the bedroom, full of delight and fondness at the memory of her own husband’s death. maybe, you could imagine yourself running a successful clothing boutique like this.

the image soured. you realized you could much better imagine the girl maintaining her own business rather than you.

you could better imagine yourself married with children—their blonde heads bobbing and dark brown eyes twinkling with delight. your chest deflated with a heavy weight.

she pulled you from your thoughts, a new stoicism to her face. “whatever you do with Simon, make sure you use him twice as much as he used you.”

you flinched at the proposition, but her resolve was like steel. you knew she meant it from the way she pinned up the last of your hair with steadied hands and a wall of iron over her elegant features.

for the rest of the afternoon, you stayed up in that bedroom, exchanging stories of your girlhoods. how you grew up in a small town embedded in the dusty, desert west, manning saloon bars and entertaining your daddy’s business partners. the girl told you about her childhood in china, the impoverished peoples in her town, and the ships that came to the nearby big city port that offered families sell off their young girls for services in america.

you had never been impoverished and you had never gone hungry. you listened with horror to the way she described the malnutrition in her town—the way her ribs hung over her sunken stomach, and the cavernous hunger that felt like shooting pains all over her body.

you were surprised when she was so stricken by the way you described the neglectful nature of your daddy and mama that you used to see as a different avenue of affection unique to your own family. she described her tight-knit relationship to her mother, how there was no veil of secrecy between them, only a flow of transparency unlike her and her father.

then, she described her first years in america. how she was starving more than ever with almost no pay, manipulating the managers of each brothel to transfer her, running from establishment to establishment until she found the wealthy brothel chain associated with one-four-one where she met Ghost.

she described him when he was younger—“bearing a quiet, devouring hunger for power,” she had said with such simplicity it almost made you grimace. he was brash and rash fighting the law until he bribed them out of it, she explained, growing his influence through the west through bigger investments and bigger bribes.

she admitted that in her naivety, she had seen his indifference to her as a kindness, and fell in love. she waited earnestly for months until his next return when he would give her a large sum and she would spill all her secrets of illegal business syndicates reinforced by politics within the largest western hub for organized crime—san francisco.

they would mule over long nights together, piecing together motives, crimes, big players, moving pieces, in a never-ending chess game of control over the western frontier between gangs. he had trusted her all with it.

“and i never betrayed him till now,” she reminded you with a wink. “i wonder what he would do if he knew i was leading his little lamb right into the lion’s den…”

you didn’t want to know the dark thoughts that churned in her head as you watched her ponder in silence, a hand to her chin.

soon, she was drawing a shawl over your shoulders and leading you down the steps of the shop, passing through that crowded room where the seamstresses worked, shouted, and trained their attention to you with a curiosity for mere moments before they looked down at the fabrics between their hands again.

you only saw a flash of the old woman’s dark smile, an impish look in her eyes, before she was turning away and disappearing into the fray.

the girl led you out of the shop and into the street where a horse and buggy waited with a coachman at its head. it was the manager of the brothel. he grinned at you, sinister and eerie, gold tooth flashing.

when you faltered, she explained easily, “i organized it for your arrival at the party. it needs to look convincing.”

she helped you up into the carriage and you slid into it, smoothing over your dress and tugging at the shawl to keep any of your exposed skin from showing in the light of the early evening. she handed you a pair of white gloves that you slipped on and then a pearl white mask with light purple feathers.

“you have done too much for me,” you said, feeling guilty as you peered down into her face, but she shook her head.

“i told you i would help you. i have. now, you owe a debt to me,” she said, voice low and laced with threat. you suppressed a shiver but nodded eagerly nonetheless.

“i thought i was saving you from one-four-one. then, i thought i was saving you from your father. mostly, i’m saving you from yourself,” she mused, and you felt stumped as you pat your knee with a softness.

“what do you mean?” you asked with a furrowed brow, jolting when she closed the door of the carriage in your face.

you heard the coachman hitch the horses with a shout, and the carriage began meandering slowly up the road.

you hung out the window with a panicked alarm, but she only grinned at you.

“we are the same in many ways, sister!” she shouted over the clop of hooves and the wheels churning over stone as the carriage pulled away.

sister. you had never had one of those.

“what is your name?” you called, and she shouted back, “Yue-Yi!”

the big grin on your face made your cheeks ache as Yue-Yi waved, wishing you could say so much more as she grew smaller and smaller in the distance, a shorter figure joining her by the sidewalk to wave goodbye. when you squinted your eyes, you could make out the frizzy grayed hair of the old woman.

turning back into your seat in the carriage, you tied the mask onto your face and steeled your nerves, grasping the revolver and matches through the layers of your gown with a eerie calm that settled over you like a thick veil.

as you neared Turner’s estate, more carriages coalesced into a line, queuing up to its large, sprawling and trim lawn, adorned with hedges and fountains that twinkled in the low light of the evening.

you craned your neck out the carriage window to get a glimpse of the sheer architecture of the residency—massive and victorian, with pointed roofs and limestone carvings. you had always thought your home was impressive in your small town but this mansion dwarfed it.

the carriage lurched to a stop, horses whinnying with a stomp. you waited with bated breath in front of the great, arched entrance of the place, listening to the coachman walk over to the door of the carriage and open it, offering a polite hand.

you took it, ignoring his gold-toothed smile and tossed your shawl back into the carriage quite rudely. with the new exposure of your skin, and the growth of his grin, you jerked your hand back from his and gave him a rushed thanks.

but before you made your way up the steps to the elegant entrance, lined with guardsmen in black three-piece suits and fashionable bowler hats, where more guests lingered for admission in fancy attire, you turned back to the manager of the brothel, puffing up your chest with a new confidence.

“you,” you snapped. his brows rose in reply, sly smirk only growing more, much to your discontent.

“yes?” he said, stepping forward. you stepped back.

“Yue-Yi is one of your best workers, no?”

his mouth open and closed before nodding, that greasy smile never leaving his lips.

“you should increase her pay,” you said, impressed by the cool indifference of your own manner.

turning on your heel, you spoke over your shoulder, “or else she might find better avenues of self-employment.”

he paled slightly at that, smirk dropping from his face, and you smiled sweetly, making your way up the steps before remembering yourself. you turned back to him and his pale, stiff disposition before curtsying with the most properness your mother had ever taught you, then continued your ascent to the doors.

you didn’t look back to see if he still lingered with that dumb, pale look on his face. the very thought made you grin bigger.

the line slowly trickled through the entrance as the guardsmen checked names off a list. a new nervous fervor built in you. looking around the lines, and at women and men who lingered together in their own parties, you sidled closer to a loud, unsuspecting woman and her two other female friends, all donned in light yellows and dark magentas and fanning themselves.

when you were just steps from the entrance, the women gave the guards their names, and you craned your neck to see the interior of the residency. lavish, loud, overly decorated in golds and marbles. nothing you would expect less from the old, obnoxious Turner.

“good evening, miss,” one guardsman said, and you jolted from your thoughts, eyes snapping to his. he tilted his head. “your name?”

“i…” you felt stupid, mouth opening and closing, not sure of what to do when—

you crept closer to him, hoping it went unnoticed to the distracted parties around you, and his brows rose slightly, a strange look crossing his face.

you snuck a gloved hand onto his arm, his gaze lingered at your touch, to the exposed skin of your low-cut dress, neck, then your eyes. you cocked your head, sliding your hand up his arm.

“mary smith,” you lied with an ease, and he nodded dumbly, looking through the list. you knew that he wouldn’t find that name and he knew it too.

he cleared his throat, shifting under your touch. “no chaperone, miss?”

you wanted to curse yourself. you had become so accustomed to running off through the west without a chaperone that you had completely forgotten an unmarried, young lady needed one at all.

“maybe you could suffice, sir,” you whispered with a light giggle, and watched with amazement as a slow pink flush crept up into his ears and cheeks.

he cleared his throat again, gesturing to the entrance and avoiding your eyes, “i’m sure our boss wouldn’t mind one extra, lovely young lady.”

you smiled at that, sliding your hand very lightly across his chest as you glided past him, biting back a snort at the way he stiffened under your touch.

crossing the threshold, you stepped into the grand entrance hallway filled with people and you almost melted with relief. making an effort to get lost in the crowd, you snaked in between bodies and conversing groups, their faces adorned with feathered masks and glasses of wine between their gloved fingers.

gliding through the rooms of the residency, you wondered how you would ever find your daddy or Turner in this mess. you stiffened at the thought of crossing paths with one-four-one by mistake.

wringing your hands nervously as your head whipped around between the loud, noisy surroundings, you realized for the first time how utterly alone you were in this mansion.

hundreds of people may have been stuffed into the place, but you were the sole person on this mission, and whether one-four-one had shown up to this party or not, you were the sole person who knew your own plans to kill the party host and turn tail.

with his death, hopefully, you could carve a good chunk of your daddy’s money out of his business. you quieted any alarming thoughts about your mama.

a large drone of partygoers began moving slowly towards the opposite side of the room, and you followed the crowd into the main family room that dwarfed the houses of your small town. looking up into the curve of the ceiling adorned with paintings, a large chandelier hung down into the cavernous room littered with tables of food and colorful banisters.

at the head of the room, near a fireplace, a man stood in a crisp black suit and bow-tie with a curling black mustache and greased black hair flecked with grays on a platform. Turner.

you hadn’t seen his beady, blue eyes and grim, twisted face since dinner with him, your daddy, and mama since months ago along with that haughty wife of his, who stood proud and arrogant by his shoulder.

your mouth soured at the sight of them and you felt around the skirt of your dress, feeling the handle of your gun through the layers.

if you shot him now, could you run away in time? and if they caught you, what would happen?

Turner took a glass cup and clinked a spoon against it, grabbing the room’s attention as it diminished into a silence.

you grasped the gun tighter between your hands.

“thank you for coming,” he said, low, rumbly voice ringing out over the crowd. “we are here today—” he reached back and you watched with amazement as a little girl stepped up onto the platform, grasping onto his hand with a shy, meek look, “—to celebrate my daughter’s birthday.”

your stomach curled at his words, grip going slack against your dress.

if you had shot him right there and then, in the midst of this swarming crowd, maybe you could’ve slipped away easily in the scrambling panic of the crowd. but he would’ve dropped dead, blood oozing from his in a dark puddle, right in front of his own daughter.

the thought made you feel nauseous.

the tall, broad frame that creeped up beside you startled you with a jolt, and you looked up to find an incredibly tall and massive body of a ginger man with a black mask tied around his face. he had his hands behind his back, looking lax with an arrogant smirk on his face. he peered down at you from his shoulder.

“hello there,” he said quietly, under the words that Turner continued to bellow to the crowd. his accent was foreign. maybe german.

“this is an interesting party, no? with masks and such,” he gestured to the crowd, and you struggled to find words.

“i guess,” you croaked, voice scratchy and thick. his smirk only widened.

“what are you doing in this big crowd without a chaperone, little lady?”

you wanted to shrink away from him at that moment, feeling awkward and exposed under the burn of his gaze.

“i have business to conduct.”

he laughed loud and throaty, earning a few hostile glances from the people around you, and you winced, trying to step away and disappear into the crowd but his big hand came to rest on your shoulder and you went impossibly stiff.

“i do, too, little lady.”

he bent down closer to your ear and you shivered. “how do you know, Turner?”

your mouth opened and closed.

“family connections.”

his eyes widened beneath the mask—the color an exotic pale green that you had never seen before.

“really?” he shifted closer to you and you tugged at his grip on your shoulder, trying to move away but the strength of his massive body easily overpowered your own.

“can i tell you a secret, little lady?”

you shook your head with a strong, “no,” but he continued you anyways.

“i know you have a gun in that pocket.”

you went impossibly rigid, breath catching in your throat and he chuckled lowly in your ear.

“i don’t know who’s paying you, but they’re incredibly clever, hiring an innocent-looking little lady like you. you almost fooled me.”

you grit out through a clenched jaw, “and just who are you, sir?”

he released you with an, “ah, my apologies, i need to remember my manners.”

you turned to him, craning your head up to look up into his face, shoulders set with frustration at the prospect of somehow being… caught.

he sighed out, sounding disappointed. “you should know me if you’re in this sort of line of work, but i guess i’ll tell you my name.”

then, he gave you a lop-sided smile. “i’m Konig.”

you blinked at him. “okay.”

the smile slid off his lips. “okay? haven’t you heard of me?”

there was a bitter taste in your mouth as you shook your head slowly, and his face crunched into deeper disappointment. you almost regretted giving him the reply that you did, and you would have, if he didn’t start going on a tangent about himself.

“you should know me,” he insisted, putting a hand to his chest, “i’m Konig. i’m very famous in this line of work. i work under kortac.”

your brows pinched together, neck beginning to ache just from looking up at him.

he only sighed again. “i guess americans don’t know kortac. no matter. i’ll just have to kill you before eliminating Turner.”

at that, you jolted, beginning to scramble backwards as he reached out to you once more.

“wait—!” you shrieked, crashing into a trio of ladies that shrieked on impact, flailing as you turned to flee from the large man, but a loud, splintering shatter echoed through the entire room and the lights flickered overhead.

everything stilled and you stopped in your tracks. you looked up into the ceiling, at the chandelier overhead, stomach dropping when you saw the thing sway, then with more ear-rupturing splinters, in almost a slow-motion, began to crash down to the floor where you stood.

the entire room flooded with screams and shouts as the crowd scrambled out of the room. bodies pushed against yours and you almost fell to your knees, screeching when a hand hoisted you up and pushed you forward toward a narrow hallway stemming from the room.

a harsh german accent was in your ear, “fick mich—move, move, american!”

you did, as fast as you could, through the snaking crowd, and you clutched at your ears with a scream when gunshots rang through the room.

and when you turned to look over your shoulder, you saw a familiar broad body, clad in all black with a black mask, a tussle of dirty blonde hair shaved down on the sides of his head and pieces that hung down his forehead, and a silver scar on his upper lip with a revolver raised and aimed at Turner.

you couldn’t turn and go back with Konig’s massive body blocking your path and urging you forward. picking up the hem of your dress, you pushed through the squirming crowd and into the narrow hallway.

a resounding crash shook the entire mansion, and you almost fell to the ground again from the vibrations of it, but Konig picked you back up and pushed you behind a curtained area in the nook of the hallway.

when you were obscured from the rest of partygoers rushing through the mansion, Konig turned to you and put a hand around your throat, squeezing tight, and the other hand shoving a revolver right beneath your chin.

you clawed at his grip on your throat, glaring into the emptiness of his green eyes. with the last of your strength, you spit on his face, and he drew back his hand around your throat to wipe it away with a look of disgust. you scrambled away from him, gulping in breaths of air, but he only reached out and pulled you back with a tight grip around your arm.

you whipped your head back at him, trying to kick at him, but he pressed you to the wall with ease and a curiously amused look.

“you are not very good at this, little lady,” he admitted, and that only pissed you off.

with all your strength, you stomped as hard as you could on his foot, and he hissed out, reeling back but not easing his grip on you at all.

“i don’t even know what you’re talking about!” you shrieked, wriggling, and his brow furrowed.

“no? were you not hired to kill Turner?”

“no!” you almost screamed between desperation and frustration, and he released you. with a gasp you crashed to the floor.

“really?” he asked, helping you up with a tight grip that sent another flurrying panic through you, and you squirmed out of his touch. this time, he let you.

“yes,” you said, exasperated, fixing the dishevelment of your dress, and Konig stared at you, revolver laying limp by his side.

“oh,” he said, quietly, and you just glared at him, sending him a strange look when he began to fumble with his hands. now, he wouldn’t look at you, strangely awkward and apprehensive.

“sorry,” he mumbled, and you huffed, taking the moment to pull out your own revolver and dig it into his stomach.

he barely responded—just giving you that same distant, awkward look.

“you’re right,” you hissed, cocking the gun, and his brows only raised slightly as you continued, “i wasn’t hired to kill Turner. i’m doing this on my own accord.”

that seemed to pique his interest because he tilted his head, shoving his revolver into the breast pocket of his coat. “oh? pray tell, american?”

you rolled your eyes. “it’s none of your business, sir.”

you drew back the curtain and stomped into the hallway, looking around and unsettled by the eerie quietness of the place. most of the partygoers had emptied the mansion already, only distant gunshots and shouts and crashes of noise vibration through the place.

when you saw Turner’s men barrel past a couple corridors away, you rushed backwards with a squeak and almost screamed when you crashed into Konig’s big chest.

he looked down at you with a blank look and a steadying hand on your hip that you immediately swatted away. instead, you hurried down a corridor in the opposite direction of where Turner’s men had been headed, and felt an increasing annoyance when Konig started following you.

you turned to snap over your shoulder, “go away.”

the quiet thuds of his footsteps faltered and then picked up again and you huffed with annoyance.

turning fully to him with crossed arms and your revolver still in hand, he stopped a marginal distance from you with a hurt look on his face.

“what?” you asked, and his frown only deepened.

“let’s make an agreement, little lady.”

“why should i do that?” you asked honestly. “you’re a criminal and an assassin.”

the blank look he gave you only pulled you into self-reflection. technically, you were also a criminal, and mere steps away from a self-employed assassin.

“you want to kill Turner,” he said, and you jolted when more gunshots only got louder, maybe mere hallways away, but he continued without so much as a blink, “and i want to kill Turner for money. let’s make an agreement—i will let you kill him if you let me lie to my superiors and say that it was in fact i who killed him. otherwise, i will have to kill you for getting in my way.”

your stomach curdled at the easy way he said it.

when a smug smirk twisted his face, you winced at the sinister nature of it. “besides, you need me. i am very good at my job, no? my name is Konig for a reason.”

you mulled over his offer. what he proposed was reasonable and made perfect sense. although you didn’t know what Konig meant, you assumed he earned the name for a respectable talent in his profession. killing people.

but could you trust him?

you looked over the relaxed nature of his body, smug and arrogant and cocksure you would take up his agreement. you could trust him just as much as the devilish outlaw who earned his name for murdering without a trace—Ghost.

“alright, Konig,” you said bitterly, “let’s see how much you can offer me.”

his smirk only grew. “i can offer you a lot of things, little lady,” he sang, that arrogant look on his face only inflating as he turned on his heel and headed directly towards the gunshots.

faltering, you fell close in step behind his massive body and felt a panic when the gunshots and shouts sounded closer. he sent you a smug look and turned sharply into a different hallway, your head on a swivel for stray people as he led you into an immense library.

“why are we here?” you asked, turning in a circle to take in the multiple levels of the place.

he didn’t answer you, only walking up to a case of books on the far edge of a book-filled wall, and reached far back into its shelves where he searched around for something with a face of concentration. you watched with unease, looking over so often at the entrance of the library with your revolver in hand.

something clicked in the wall. your eyes widened in amazement as Konig stepped back and the bookcase shifted with a squeaking grown, slowly pulling pack and screeching to the side. behind it was a narrow, dim stone corridor lit with electric bulbs.

“see?” Konig offered, hand reaching out to you, “i can offer you much more than murder, little lady.”

rolling your eyes, you took his hand and scurried down the corridor quickly for fear of the vulnerable exposure in the immense library. Konig led you down the path blanketed with a thin layer of water, the corridor dripping water overhead, and a musk, dank smell in the air. his big back was the only thing you could see in the dim lighting of the narrow hallway.

you tried to quell any lingering thoughts of anxiety coursing through you—what if Konig had taken you down here to kill you?

what if he was actually one of Turner’s men posing as a hired assassin?

that almost stopped you in your tracks, and when he sent you a confused look from over your shoulder, filled with nothing but focus on the task ahead, you scurried forward again, closer to him than you had been before.

through the never-ending winding corridors, Konig seemed to maneuver them with an eerie precision and ease, sometimes stopping to observe the halls with a sweeping glance, and then continuing ahead without so much as a word.

soon, the winding path tracked into a sharp incline until you reached a dead-end. Konig searched over the surface of the stone wall with his gloved hands and pressed around till there was a soft click and the thing stuttered open with a groan.

he gave you another victorious smirk and helped you through the entrance with a polite hand that you took begrudgingly. you entered into a bedroom this time—one that looked untouched and picked clean.

probably a guest bedroom, you realized, then jumped forward with a start when the entrance of the corroder began sliding shut behind you. it was a bookcase like before, and you watched in awe as it dragged shut backwards into its nook, settling with a cloud of dust.

Konig waved at it with a cough and strode forward to open the bedroom door and into the hallway. you followed him quickly.

peering down the empty and deadly silent hallway, you spotted a carved wood banister of a staircase at the end of it and realized that you must’ve been on an upper floor now.

“we are near Turner’s bedroom now,” Konig said, and you cocked a brow at him.

“how do you know all of this?” you pressed, and he shrugged.

“i memorized the blueprint.”

you resisted rolling your eyes, and instead with a tinge of sarcasm said, “impressive.”

he puffed up with pride and a strong nod. “i know.”

you allowed yourself to roll your eyes.

creeping along the hallway, Konig neared a grand set of carved double doors and gold handles that no doubt looked to be the primary bedroom.

“how do you know Turner will be here?” you whispered, a sudden creeping apprehension coming over you. your hands twisted around the gun to ease a heavy feeling in your chest.

this felt rushed and not right at all.

you hadn’t even prepared yourself.

you swallowed hard. how were you going to kill this man when you knew him better than the others you had killed? more than Charles and his associate and Turner’s lackey who had chased you and John down on horseback?

“i don’t,” Konig said, placing a gloved hand on the handle, sending you a smirk, “just a good guess.”

he began to turn the gilded handle of the door when a loud gunshot ricocheted through the hallway, shattering a vase by your side as a bullet whizzed past your shoulder.

with a shriek, you scrambled back against the wall, seeing a dozen of Turner’s men rushing down the long, long corridor of the hallway, and suddenly the bedroom doors were kicked open, three guardsmen bursting through.

Konig was quick to move, shooting one in the face and the other in his leg, taking the third beneath his arm and crushing his neck in a quick jerk that had him falling limp to the carpet.

the man with the shot leg screamed in pain, clutching at his own leg and hobbling near you with a scrunched expression. you bit back any feeling of sympathy and wound up your good arm, punching him straight in the face.

he fell to the ground with a thud and Konig gave you an approving, crazy laugh, reloading his revolver and shot down the hall—two men fell in his wake.

“go,” he urged, jerking his head in the direction of Turner’s room, and its doors that were swung wide open, “i will take care of these men, little lady, you just remember our agreement!”

“wait—” you called with an outstretched arm, a gripping uncertainty wracking you, but Konig was already gone.

at the conjoinment of another hallway, more of Turner’s men poured into the vicinity, and you heard Konig curse loudly as he rushed forward, before a new slew of people flooded into the opposite side of the hallway.

you recognized a broad, blonde male as Ghost and another smaller blonde form as Kate, Soap, John, and Gaz somewhere in the fray, and with Alejandro and Rudolfo and los vaqueros added to it, it looked like the real war Ghost had promised you days ago.

is this why he had left you at that brothel this morning? because a full-drawn out war would happen right here in Turner’s mansion? knowing you would refuse to stay away from the bloodshed if he hadn’t lied to you last night?

even now, with all his lies, you had refused to stay away anyways.

you clutched at your own chest, trying not to sink down into the floor and stay there forever, and pushed yourself from the carpet, heaving yourself up onto the handle of the doors and slamming both shut behind you quickly.

with heavy, panicked breaths that forced through your choked up throat, you fought back any tears that brimmed in your eyes as you pressed your forehead to the cool surface. you felt lightheaded and eerily light. you wanted Yue-Yi’s tight grip on you to ground you again. or Ghost’s arms to wind around you. or even the mean pinch of your mama’s fingers on your skin.

tears fell down your cheeks.

Ghost—would he be okay? alive?

even Konig, who you had just met, who had been so willing to help you, for no good reason, mirroring the way he seemed to work without much reasoning at all, had you doubled over with nauseating worry.

the soft click of a gun behind you had you stiffening.

slowly, you turned from the door, grip tight on your own revolver that you hid from sight behind the wide berth of the skirt of your evening gown.

you were met with the sight of Turner, standing poised and indigent, revolver trained on you. you didn’t miss the shake in his hands.

he looked so much less pronounced in person. graying and old and aging and just as wrinkly as you remembered him to be, but less sinister than your mind painted him. average and normal and face stricken with the same sort of roiling panic you were feeling in the moment. you took him in with a new ease.

despite being the west’s biggest gang leader, he seemed diminished in such a close proximity.

“you,” he hissed, lip curled with disgust, “i thought you were dead.”

you swallowed hard, tight throat and unable to produce a single sound.

behind him, you saw his wife cowering in the corner with his small daughter trembling in her embrace.

you narrowed your eyes at them and Turner stepped forward sharply in threat.

you found your voice, steady and strong, “where are my daddy and mama?”

he scoffed, looking away from you briefly before brandishing the revolver around at you. it only reminded yourself of when you had been scared and inexperienced with a weapon.

“afraid i killed them?” he asked with a sinister smile, and a roil of annoyance wrung through you.

you trained your gun on his wife and daughter who shrieked, the little girl shaking with sniveling cries. Turner stiffened.

“you wouldn’t,” he said, voice low and rumbling with a ferocity, and you just nodded.

“i wouldn’t, so i’ll let them leave before i kill you.”

his eyes flashed, lips twisted into a menacing scowl.

“fine.”

his wife and daughter skirted out the room, crumpled down and low to the floor as they scurried past you out the double doors of the room. as soon as you shut the entrance behind them with a shaky exhale, tuning back to Turner, he lurched towards you with a strangled shout.

you reeled back, back slamming against the doors as he swung for you, and you ducked, scrambling over the floor with a shriek. he grabbed a fistful of your dress and pulled you back towards him across the carpet, wrestling you down to the ground, and you punched and shoved at his face, rolling across the carpet and trying to squirm out of his tight grip. his hands found your neck and crushed down on your throat with a strength that pushed all the air from your lungs.

you jerked up your knee, hitting him straight in a sore spot that had him hissing and grip going slack, just enough to shove him off you with as much strength as you could muster, and he skidded away, landing against the floor with a thud.

you gasped for breath, light-headed but vision sharper than ever as you raised the revolver, just before Turner was reaching for something across the carpet—a small white box.

your eyes widened. you recognized it as the one Yue-Yi had gifted you—wreak havoc, she had said, and you watched with a curl of panic as he struck a match and threw it to the edge of the room, a blooming fire bursting forth with a rush of shocking heat that had you crossing your arms over your face with a scream.

you scrambled back from the fire that consumed the room with a terrifying speed, revolver trained on Turner’s crumpled figure sprawled over the floor a marginal distance away.

he picked up his head and gave you a sinister look.

“your daddy and mama are dead.”

a strangled, animalistic sound clawed through your throat, and you screamed as a sob wracked you, aiming your revolver and shooting him right in the knee.

he screamed, shifting away from you, the pristine white carpet pooling with a new crimson puddle and singing at the edges with an ominous black.

you struggled to breath in the room, the air tinged with a thick smog and flickers of strewn ash that felt hot when they landed on your skin.

“i doused this entire mansion with gas,” he rasped, coughing through the smoke, “if you try to kill me, you’ll burn with me.”

he laughed, body shaking violently when more coughs wracked through him, blood splattering across the carpet and painting his lips with an unnatural red.

slowly, you made your way towards your knees with a great effort, your exposed skin flushed painfully from the heat of the surrounding fire, a portion of the canopy bed behind him crumbling, fire spreading across the carpet with hot, swelling licks.

you tried to scream but couldn’t through the tight swollen soreness of your throat, edging from its path as it skirted around you.

you forced words out, a searing raw pain in your throat, “why would you do this?”

all of it? you wanted to scream, why would he try to kill you? your daddy? your mama?

then, you coughed, hand pressed to your mouth as the motion shook you to your core, tears spilling down your cheeks to dispel the smoke, and his smile only grew.

“i own you,” he whispered, barely audible over the loud crackle of the fire, curtains melting away from the windows as the carpet peeled up from the floorboards.

“i won’t let that bastard Simon Riley take you from me.”

you almost snarled at him, tempted to aim your revolver at his head and just put a whole round into his brain. but that felt rushed and not right at all.

you wanted him to suffer. painful and slow. the thought gave you a sliver of sanity.

you hissed out, “i won’t kill you.”

his eyes flashed, twitching against the carpet like he was going to tackle you again, but the stiffness in his bloody, soaked pant leg prevented him from moving.

you smiled—so wide that it cracked your dry lips.

“i’ll leave you to burn in hell,” you said, clambering to your feet, swaying in the open air, dizzy and nausea wringing through your head, because you just couldn’t really breathe, and Turner let out a strangled cry.

“you can’t leave!” he said, voice tinged with a ferocious desperation as he clawed forward suddenly, and the quick motion had you reeling backwards and tipping back to the world swung in front of your eyes.

you fell back down against the carpet, face narrowly missing a ring of fire, more furniture crumpled chunks of ash and blackened wood just beyond it.

“i own you,” he snarled, voice a throaty sinister rasp. his hand closed around your ankle and a new curling disgust bloomed from deep within your gut.

you looked down at him and thrust the tip of your revolver against his sweaty, red forehead. his eyes blew wide, bloody lips parting with a new fearful sort of shock that twisted your stomach in the most pleasant ways you didn’t know that you could feel.

“i choose who owns me,” you whispered, and you knew he heard you from the way his eyes just stretched further, and you blew straight clean through his forehead.

he fell completely limp against the carpet, lifeless and void of the crawling desperation you had just seen mere moments before.

more tears came pouring down your cheeks and you shoved your knee into the side of his face, biting back a scream when you saw the gaping, bloody gouge of flesh in his forehead and the cool, empty placidness of his blue eyes.

you killed him. his warm grip was still around your ankle.

scrambling back away from the dead body, you gasped when the exposed skin of your arm was enveloped with something unbearably hot, wet, and rippling in undulations.

pulling your arm away from the fire, you stared in horror at the new char of your skin and the way your silk gloves had half-melted into your arm with a goopy liquidity.

the scalding pain sharpened your senses, and you hauled yourself towards the double doors, raw skin flush to the carpet, and you strained up to the handles of the doors, fingers just wrapping around it when the door opened from beneath you.

you fell forward with your eyes screwed shut, trying to push yourself off the ground, and gentle hands hoisted you towards a broad, strong body low to the ground.

“princess, princess, princess—”

lips were against your ear and you immediately curled into his touch, eyes fluttering open to see his warmth and inviting just mere inches from your own.

face maskless and bare.

you had never felt so much relief.

“Simon?” you squeaked, voice meek and quiet and half as strong as you had forced it to be the whole day. you melted into him, muscles going lax with weakness.

he hissed when you leaned against him, and you pulled back slightly to take in the charred material of his suit stuck to an oozing wetness beneath it—sopping red with blood.

you choked on more sobs but he just shushed you, stroking a hand through your hair before pressing his face to your neck, then your hair.

“it’ll be alright, princess.”

you had never heard his voice so weak before. he leaned back against the ground, the walls still up in flames around him, and you watched his body fight to stay up before sliding slowly to the ground.

you pulled yourself forward, fighting back coughs as you laid next to him.

“you need to get up,” he rasped, pushing you away with a hand. the movement just made you hiss in desperate frustration.

“no. m’staying right here,” you said, curling closer to him, and he let you, face soft and relaxed as the entrance to Turner’s bedroom crumbled just beyond your feet.

you took in the curves of his bare face—the age and lines and scars that reflected only a shimmering honesty in the fragile moment.

with great effort you craned over him to kiss that silvery scar on his upper lip, and when you pulled back he only gave you a weak smile.

“you never listen to me,” he whispered, voice throaty and wrung through, and you could only smile back.

“never,” you agreed, intertwining your fingers with his.

“i was late this morning,” he rasped, nosing through your hair, “and when i arrived you were gone.

“i thought you finally came to your bloody senses and ran away—” he was cut off by a series of wracking coughs, and you pressed your forehead to your intertwined hands, shaking with sniveling tears.

“i thought you had abandoned me,” you whispered.

he kissed the crown of your head. “never.”

you melted into him.

he sounded stricken with anger. “i’ve lied to you.”

“i know,” you said, brushing a finger over the lightness of his lashes.

“you were supposed to run away,” he said weakly, “you were never supposed to stay. since the beginning, you were supposed to run away.”

“is that why you were late this morning?” you croaked, and he nodded against your hair.

“i was relieved when you were gone,” he said, “but i think it killed me.”

with drooping eyelids and a swirling smog clouding your senses, you distantly remembered how you felt that morning. like you had left behind your shattered heart in that brothel. like you had died in that room and you left behind your body and you were floating as a ghost through the san francisco streets.

“leaving killed me,” you said softly, through rough coughs, and he only pulled you closer.

“you weren’t supposed to be here, either,” he muttered, breaths shallow and weak in your ear.

you craned your neck to look up at him, taking in his face fully, and the droop of his tired eyes, before thumbing over the scars along his jaw.

“anything else to confess to me?” you asked, soft and he nodded.

“i lied to you.”

your brow pinched, another cough rippling from your throat. “i know that.”

he shook his head with a weakness that had your heart crumbling. “long time ago. that night on the train.”

the breath died in your throat and he pressed his forehead against yours, warm and solid.

“i said i bedded you for revenge. i lied.”

the floor fell away from beneath you and you felt like you were floating.

“why?” you croaked, and his smile was wistful.

“so full of questions.”

“always,” you said, pressing him further, but his eyes closed, breaths growing with a louder rasp now. a violent panic crawled up your chest and you nudged him, relieved when his eyes cracked open again.

“in time,” he whispered, and the strangled, frustrated sound that left your throat that only made his smile grow.

“i’m sorry i didn’t take you on that date,” he said, and you shook your head, the tip of your nose against his.

“i know why you didn’t,” you insisted, and he frowned.

“you’re supposed to be mad at me.”

you frowned back. “stop telling me what i’m supposed to be.”

at that, he only smirked, looking strangely satisfied as he stroked a thumb over the exposed, hot, raw skin of your neck.

you took a shaky deep breath, only swallowing down more smoke that had you coughing with a grimace. “just…”

his dark, swirling eyes that were so familiar now were dimmed but just as warm. you took your charred hand, ignoring the searing pain of it, and brushed it over his blonde hair. he closed his eyes at your gentle touch.

“please kiss me,” you whispered, and his eyes fluttered open, lurching forward with a stiff clumsiness at the awkward position, and suddenly his warm lips were pressed to your own.

you didn’t know what you were doing—just that the rhythmic movement of his soft flesh molding against yours had a honey warmth dripping through your chest and fluttering down your spine.

you tried to match him, flushing at the feeling of his every breath melding into your every exhale in a never-ending steady pulse. your hands snaked into his hair and gripped softly, and a low noise left his throat.

your head spun with the lack of oxygen, and more heavenly moments stretched on until he pulled back, licking over his lips like he had by the railway yesterday. like he was tasting you.

“not bad, princess,” he whispered, eyes fluttering close with a weakness. you pressed against him, unable to fight the droop of your own eyes anymore, a pleasant muffle filling your head, and a purpling black, splotchy glaze dancing from behind your eyelids.

the last thing you felt were his lips against your cheek, the sound of the fire consuming the splintering, crumbling house with loud crackles, distant shouts, and Simon’s soft breaths against your skin.

okay okay i know that this chapter doesn't have smut or much fun stuffff but i hope you liked konig's appearance LMFAO but i can confirm that next chapter there will be 1. the do 😵‍💫 like fr this time 😵‍💫 2. JEALOUS GHOST SDLFJSLEIFJ 3. and yea less angst pls and thank you

i love all of you. please have a wonderful weekend <3 next chapter will be uploaded tuesday (ON TIME TOO)!!

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

957 notes · View notes

diorsluv · 5 months

Text

feather , part 1

“ not another take ”

series m. list next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, markestapa, luca.fantilli, and 78,682 others

yourusername after 19 years of being my brother, jamie still takes the worst photos

view all comments

jamie.drysdale I WAS TAKING 50 PICS PER SECOND.

→ yourusername AND I WASN’T READY FOR ANY OF THEM.

→ jamie.drysdale you’re so ungrateful

→ yourusername love u too

trevorzegras is he ruining your trip?

→ yourusername oh my god he’s been annoying me nonstop for the past theee days

→ jamie.drysdale stop spreading rumors

→ yourusername YOU WOKE ME UP AT FOUR IN THE MORNING TO ASK ME IF I WANTED MCDONALDS FOR LUNCH

→ jamie.drysdale THE EARLY BIRD GETS THE WORM

username4 ur so stunning

username66 MY IDOLLL

markestapa come back to michigan we miss you 😞

→ yourusername YOU miss me????

→ markestapa good lord HE said he misses you a lot

→ yourusername idk who “he” is markie, ur gonna have to specify 🤔🤔

→ edwards.73 he’s WHINING

→ dylanduke25 he just collapsed onto the ground

→ mackie.samo i can hear him crying from the other side of the yost

→ jamie.drysdale WHO IS “HE”??? yourusername DO YOU KNOW WHO “HE” IS??? WHY DOES HE MISS YOU HELLO?

→ yourusername calm ur tits bro ✋

username1 what’s going on in mark’s replies..

lhughes_06 when are you coming back 🙏

lhughes_06 leave cali and come back 🙏

lhughes_06 imysm please come back to michigan 🙏

lhughes_06 i’m so lonely without you i need you to come back 🙏

lhughes_06 THOSE COMMENTS WERE NOT ME I SWEAR

→ yourusername awww i can’t believe you missed me that much

→ lhughes_06 NO PLEASE RUT STOLE MY PHONE YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME

→ rutgermcgroarty dude i’m deathly sick rn i physically cannot have stolen his phone

→ jackhughes aw moosey long distance isn’t working?

→ lhughes_06 WHY ARE YOU TARGETTING ME WHAT DID I DO

_quinnhughes are you flying up here when we play the ducks?

→ yourusername YOU KNOW IT

→ jamie.drysdale i’m trying to convince her not to i promise

→ yourusername i wouldn’t miss a chance to spend time with my huggy wuggy bear

→ _quinnhughes blocked.

username29 jamie’s an amazing photographer

liked by jamie.drysdale

username93 LUKE’S COMMENTS LMAOOO

→ yourusername he wants me to clarify that it “wasn’t him” (you shouldn’t believe him)

yourusername

liked by adamfantilli, lhughes_06, _alexturcotte and 92,177 others

yourusername guess who’s who??

tagged: edwards.73, markestapa, luca.fantilli, rutgermcgroarty

view all comments

mackie.samo how come i wasn’t invited 🙁

→ yourusername I’M SORRY THEY KIDNAPPED ME SO I COULDN’T INVITE YOU 💔💔💔

→ mackie.samo it’s okay we can still have our annual cookie baking session

→ rutgermcgroarty COOKIES?? CAN I JOIN

→ mackie.samo NO it’s us two only 😠

→ yourusername mack’s the boss, sorry rut

username47 tag yourself i’m the skeleton mark’s hugging

→ username22 how’d you know it’s mark wtf

→ username90 i’m the yellow glasses ethan’s wearing

jamie.drysdale of course you go and do this as soon as you get back

→ yourusername DON’T JUDGE

adamfantilli luca’s the second right one on the right photo isn’t he..

→ yourusername YES HOW’D YOU KNOW??

→ adamfantilli i could smell the stupidity

→ luca.fantilli WOAH WOAH?? WHAT DID I DO?

→ yourusername FANTILLI FIGHT ⁉️⁉️

→ adamfantilli mom got mad at me because YOU left the house messy before we left to catch our flight

→ luca.fantilli your room was the only messy room in the house stop lying

username65 friend group goals

liked by yourusername

username7 wtf i wanna do this with my friends

username74 FASHION ICONS

trevorzegras come back and watch us play lil drizzy ❤️

→ yourusername first of all never call me lil drizzy again

→ yourusername second of all i’m going to the nucks game when you play BE PATIENT 🙄

next chapter notes ) this was actually so fun to make im excited to make moreeee 🫣 also the official nickname is drizzle i’m calling it rn bc drysdale=drizzle=drizzy=drizz AND I KNOW IT SOUNDS STUPID BUT I SWEAR YOU WILL COME TO LOVE IT

#umich hockey #luca fantilli #adam fantilli #ethan edwards #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes fic #mark estapa #mackie samoskevich #cole caufield #quinn hughes #jack hughes #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #jamie drysdale #dylan duke

390 notes · View notes

kimsohn · 8 months

Text

it takes 2 to mango

pairing . beomgyu x gn! reader (ft. yunjin of le sserafim) about . 12.2k words, fluff + angst warnings . cursing, a lot of food mentions, kissing, mentions of murder/dying (it's all jokes), y/n is in denial half the time (about beomgyu and mangoes), it took me like 2 months to write this so it may be all over the place i'm sorry in advance

synopsis . after your parents drop you off at your aunt's, leaving you with your whole life packed in bags, all you can do is wonder when you'll finally be able to get back to your old life. except, of course, when a brown-haired boy makes you wonder if staying here isn't so bad after all. note . literally after 2 years of delay and many plot changes it's finally here!! happy (late) birthday @urmelo, i told you i would write it and it's here (albeit two months late but wtv). also i literally wrote this whole thing based on this image but halfway through i realized he's sitting in a classroom so my whole broadcast idea was stupid 😞 and this is slightly inspired by all of us are dead and f4thailand! i stole the mango pun from google tagging . @invuwrld @tocupid @mmmsvnts @seung-scrittore

You have never loathed mangoes more than this moment.

It’s only been a couple of hours since your parents dropped you off at your aunt’s house, your whole life packed into suitcases and a Hello Kitty backpack you’ve owned since fifth grade, and you’re already sick of this situation. You don’t even understand your parents’ thought process, because who would even leave their whole life behind to start a mango supply business in Thailand, and you’re even angrier at your aunt for encouraging it. Now, you’re forced to leave behind the comfort of your old life and start anew in the four walls of your new house, miles away from your parents and old friends.

You even hate the stupid smile on your mom’s face when you agreed to their plan. At least you’ll be somewhat rich when your parents decide to come home, however long that might take (hopefully it’s within the next five minutes or so).

“Y/N, let me know if you want to paint your walls, okay? Your uncle loves interior design, so he’ll be happy to organize your room.”

In your old house, your walls were a bright, cheery yellow. Now they’re a boring beige, reminiscent of the hospital walls you’ve always hated. It’s okay though, because now yellow will remind you of mangoes, and you’re just about ready to hurl something at the mere thought of the fruit.

“It’s okay Auntie,” you respond, tracing your finger across the indents of the walls, “I kind of like the beige.”

Your cousin Yeonjun snickers from behind your aunt, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Yeonjun is definitely the type to hate beige because even his personality shines a bright red flag. Even now, he’s on his phone, probably flirting with (code word for annoying) some poor soul.

“Okay, honey. Yeonjun can help you finish unpacking, and then he can take you to school so you can find your classes. Tomorrow is your first day, after all, I don’t want you to get lost.”

With that, she closes the door behind you, leaving the two of you in your drab room with no personality. Instead of helping you unpack, Yeonjun sits on the chair in the corner, typing away with no care in his mind.

“I thought you were supposed to help?” you huff, though it’s not angrily.

Even though you and your cousin were friends, at first forcibly due to your family relations and later willingly because he’s actually quite interesting, you know that he won’t hesitate to note whatever he can to have leverage over you. Already, he’s taken a picture of your backpack, and if he helps you unpack, he’ll definitely find the shark plushie you brought for the sentiment. It’s not out of malice; it’s just the way your relationship is, however annoying it may be.

“Like you need my help,” he scoffs, crossing one leg over the other as a means to get comfortable, “just let me know when you’re done.”

You survey the mess of your belongings scattered across the bed. It’ll probably take hours, if not days, to sort out properly, and even you are itching to leave this stuffy room and get some fresh air. You’ve sorted out what you need for the next few days, so you might as well revisit this mess later.

“Actually, we can go now. I kind of need a break anyway.”

“Goody-two-shoes Y/N needs a break? Are you in your rebel era?” he jokes, but he opens the door and sticks a leg out, leaving it open for you to walk through.

You smack him on the shoulder as you walk to his car, sitting shotgun and itching to put your feet on the dash. You’re an average kid and you do average things, but you’re not in the mood to argue and correct your cousin.

“Just shut up and drive.”

You kind of wish you stayed at home because even mangoes wouldn’t survive in this environment.

Actually, there’s nothing wrong with your new school. It seems even more modern and spacious than your old one, and it has way more amenities than you could even imagine. You can see yourself fitting in here quite well, and since Yeonjun is popular, it’ll be easy to make friends.

The only problem is that the air conditioner isn’t working today, which means it’s extremely hot in the building. The hot sun outside paired with the lack of cool air means the whole building could resemble the Sahara Desert, and you wish you’d worn something more fitting for the weather, like the tank top Yeonjun has on right now (although, he seems to have other motives for wearing it). The sweat beads trickle down your forehead, and the only thing saving you right now is the popsicle your cousin was kind enough to buy for you. Unluckily, the gas station only had the mango flavor left.

“Yeonjun, are we done yet?” you ask, although it sounds more like a plea as you trudge along the hallways.

“Actually, no. We still have the science hallway, and the math hallway, and—”

A shrill noise fills the air, and you cover your ears shut and watch Yeonjun’s popsicle fall from his hands. Startled, the two of you find stability against the wall as the sound disappears and is replaced with crackling noises.

“Fuck, my popsicle!” Yeonjun exclaims, looking extremely disappointed as he grabs a tissue and cleans the mess up.

“Forget the popsicle, what was that? It’s a Sunday, who’s playing with the speakers?”

“It’s probably the media team preparing for the week’s announcements. Come, I’ll show you the broadcast studio.”

Yeonjun’s flip-flops squeak across the floor as you two walk, and in a matter of minutes, you reach a bright blue door next to the auditorium. Big block letters indicating which room it is are engraved on top, and Yeonjun knocks on the door repeatedly until it opens.

“I knew it was you,” a blue-haired boy answers, “you’re the only one annoying enough to knock that many times.”

“Hey! You should’ve answered faster.” Yeonjun protests as you giggle, glad you’re not the only one who finds your cousin annoying.

The boy pouts as he lets you two inside, and immediately you feel like you were cast into a recording studio. Shelves of CDs and books fill the sides, and behind the glass panel, a room full of microphones and levers peeks through. You feel like Radio Rebel in her bedroom, only intensified, and as you check out the large computer screens that line the walls, you find yourself imagining sitting in the center and being a part of whatever goes on behind the scenes here.

Your eyes cross over a brown-haired boy sitting at the table, headphones covering his plush hair and a teal highlighter in his hand. He’s looking down at a piece of paper, probably a script, and unknowingly you’re leaning forward to get a better look at his face before Yeonjun taps your shoulder and you straighten yourself.

“Y/N, this is Soobin,” Yeonjun gestures to the blue-haired boy, “and that over there is Beomgyu,” he continues, pointing to the boy at the desk.

Soobin smiles warmly, shaking your hand awkwardly as if this was a courthouse and not a classroom, but your eyes are more focused on Beomgyu. They’re focused on the way he taps the highlighter on his lips when he’s deep in thought, or when he adjusts his headphones when he’s satisfied with something. Yeonjun moves to interrupt him, probably to introduce you, but you hold him back so he can continue his work.

“Are you interested in joining?” Soobin asks, handing you a flyer, “we could always use more people.”

“I’m not that much of a speaker,” you respond, taking the handout anyway.

“You don’t need to be. We do more here than just talk, you know?”

As Soobin waves you goodbye, you take one last glance at the room, particularly Beomgyu, before you step out. You don’t know for sure whether you’ll join the club or not, but you have a feeling that you’ll be seeing him around pretty soon.

You might hate your alarm clock more than you hate mangoes, but at least it’s useful.

It’s the first day at your new school, but you’re not really jumping for joy. School is school wherever you go, and you don’t really feel the excitement or jitters someone would usually feel after transferring. You’re just about ready to pass through the rest of the year as smoothly as possible and hopefully not gain unwanted attention as the resident new kid. You’re already suffering enough by joining after a whole semester; you don’t need to bring any more trouble to yourself.

“Y/N, are you ready?” Yeonjun yells from outside the house, revving the accelerator so you can hear his annoyance.

“Coming!” you yell back, grabbing your bag and rushing out the door, holding a half-eaten piece of toast and a glass of orange juice.

Yeonjun likes to go to school a little early so he can talk to his friends, but this was a fact you didn’t know until five minutes ago. In an ideal situation, you wouldn’t have been rushing on your first day, but your cousin never makes things easy for you. At least he didn’t drive off without you.

Yeonjun attempts to lecture you about your lateness in the car, but you tell him to pay attention to the road and stuff the toast in your mouth. One thing you won’t let your cousin disturb you about is food, so you’re glad he calms down and lets you enjoy a peaceful ride to school.

You’re finishing your orange juice as he pulls into the student parking lot. He has a spot reserved for him, apparently, and the fact seems to be true as he parks in the space with “YEONJUN” decorated in bright red spray-paint letters. He puts on sunglasses as he exits the car, and you’re extremely glad he doesn’t have fans swooning over him in front of his car because you don’t know how much more you can take. Who does he think he is?

Thankfully, the air conditioner seems to be working this time around because as soon as you enter through the front doors, a blast of cool air hits you in the face. It’s only January, but the sun outside doesn’t seem to be taking a break this week, so you’re grateful for the human wonder that is A/C. Yesterday’s empty halls are now filled with students, and already Yeonjun is dragging you off to introduce you to some new people. You’re just glad he has pink hair because otherwise, you would’ve lost him.

By the time you reach your first class, your mind is riddled with names of people you’ll probably never talk to again. You’ve met at least three Jaehyuns, a Yunjin and a Yujin and another Han Yujin, two Jisungs, and many more students you definitely won’t remember. If you were on your own, it would’ve taken you a whole year to talk to this many people, but with a semi-superstar by your side, it only took ten minutes. You’re just glad your presence seems to be well-received.

Your first class is math, and already you find yourself falling asleep. A stack of books finds its way onto your desk, a textbook for everything you could need, and you can foresee yourself sleeping in to skip this terrible class. The only good sight about this class is Mr. Kim, who’s nice and tries to be entertaining, but there are only so many ways you can make numbers and formulas fun. At least the girl sitting in front of you, Yunjin from earlier, helps you pass the time by doodling her number on the margins of your notebook.

Bored and half asleep, you trudge your way to your second class, history. You’re grateful your cousin helped you find your way across the school yesterday, because your class is across the school in a corner you wouldn’t have even known existed. Unlucky for you, Mrs. Jung isn’t as nice or entertaining as Mr. Kim, but just before you can succumb to slumber, the intercom buzzes.

The morning announcements play, but instead of Soobin’s voice, you hear someone unfamiliar.

“Hey everyone, happy Monday! It’s the beginning of the week, which means we have a long road ahead, but I believe in each and every one of you to get through it. We’re only a couple of weeks from break, which is an exciting thought to look forward to…”

You realize halfway through that the voice is Beomgyu’s, and you don’t know what it is about his voice, but it seems to be perfect for starting off the announcements. He seems to be tasked with maybe a desperate attempt to cheer up the student body on a dreary Monday, but they seem to be doing the job because you feel much lighter than before the announcements. Others seem to feel the same way too, because the atmosphere in the once stale, cornered history classroom is now bright and jolly. You honestly wish you had listened to the full script he had prepared, but either because of your previous fascination or his soft, honeylike voice, you find it hard not to be lulled to dreamland.

After, he's followed by Soobin, who talks about the daily updates and the weather, and you wonder how he manages to sound so upbeat and cheery this early in the morning. He then passes the mic to a boy named Taehyun, who voices important announcements and leads the school pledge before the mic crackles off.

You can’t stop thinking about Beomgyu for the rest of the class period, so when he slides into the empty seat next to you halfway through the lesson, you think you must be imagining things. It’s like he’s glowing, as if a dreamy filter spans across his face. You stare at him until he stares back and raises an eyebrow, a quirk to show his feelings of confusion. He throws a rolled-up piece of paper at you, and when you catch it, you realize he’s very much real.

Bit by bit, you unfold the paper, and in scratchy handwriting, he’s written ‘Am I that interesting?’ in all caps. Your face feels like it’s on fire, and you tuck the paper in between the crease of your notebook, filled with doodles of Beomgyu’s name. You quickly shut it, hoping he didn’t see it, and avoid his gaze for the rest of the period.

Unluckily for you, fate doesn’t seem to be on your side because as soon as the bell rings, Beomgyu is reaching out to grab your elbow. You think you’re utterly and absolutely fucked, and you’re even more mortified when he links elbows with you and leads you out of the classroom.

“What’s your next class?” he prods, and you only answer after he asks a second time because you’re too embarrassed to register anything.

“English, with Mr. Yoon. Look, I’m sorry about before, I thought I was dreaming—”

“Dreaming? Are you in love with me or something?” he asks, and even though the question is accusatory, his smooth voice makes it sound like music to your ears.

“No!” you exclaim, a little too loudly that you have to apologize to the teachers standing in the hallway before continuing, “Look, I was falling asleep in Mrs. Jung’s class, okay? Since the seat next to me was empty beforehand, I thought you were a random daydream that I was making up to distract myself. I genuinely didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with my staring or anything, I just didn’t know you were real until you threw that ball at me.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” he responds, his features softening at your explanation, “her class is pretty boring anyway. You’re new here, right? Yeonjun’s cousin? I’m Beomgyu.”

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. You’re a little weird, you know that?” he remarks, laughing as he walks you to class.

You look down at your linked elbows and his goofy skipping. His observance is contradictory, but somehow, his weirdness is a little endearing to refute.

“Yeah, but you’re a little weird too. We cancel each other out, I guess.”

As soon as you step into the production room, you’re cast with the smell of mangoes. Seriously, those damned fruits seem to be following you, and you can never seem to escape them.

“Y/N! Hi! Welcome!” Soobin greets, ushering you into the room and grabbing you a seat, “We’re so happy to have you.”

It’s the next Thursday, a week after the dreaded daydream incident, and you’ve decided to show up to the broadcast meetings. You’ve been toying with the idea of joining ever since you walked into the room on Sunday, but it was Beomgyu’s insistence yesterday that really pushed you over the cliff of uncertainty.

“We have a lot of fun there. You don’t even have to speak on the morning announcements to be a part of it! We do much more than that, like run the newspaper and manage the yearbook. There’s a place for everyone, Y/N, you won’t regret joining.”

Even now, he waves warmly from the seat next to you. You’ve been talking frequently these days, partially because he’s in quite a few of your classes and partially because he’s part of a group chat Yeonjun added you to. He’s interesting to talk to and he always makes you laugh, and being around him makes you feel warm and fuzzy. Like your initial observance, he’s a little weird and goofy too, but it makes him all the more delightful.

You’re not crushing on him, of course. He’s a nice person to pass the time with during and after school. Besides, your friends at home are much better; he’s just a placeholder.

“Have some cake, Y/N!” Soobin insists, pushing a plate toward you, “It’s mango flavored!”

You smile hesitantly as you pick up the spoon and take a bite. It tastes good and you hate admitting it because mango is a good flavor; you just don’t like being reminded of the sentiment that comes along with it. You gaslight yourself into thinking it’s strawberry and finish the plate quickly, downing your water bottle straight after.

“Was it good?” Beomgyu asks, his voice a little hard to hear due to the conversations of next week’s script being tossed around behind him, “I got it from a bakery near my house. We actually have a snack at every club meeting, and this week was my turn to bring it.”

“Yeah, it was good. I’m just not really fond of mango,” you respond, already cringing at the words coming out of your mouth.

“You don’t like mango? Who doesn’t like mango?” Beomgyu voices, responding exactly how you expected him to.

“Me. I just don’t.”

Beomgyu drops the topic at your insistence and talks about the club instead, introducing you to some of the members. Taehyun, the boy from the announcements, is president, and Soobin is vice president. You learn that Beomgyu does a little bit of everything, and you try not to smile as he blushes when his friends list out his talents.

“Is Yeonjun not part of the club?” you ask after he’s introduced you to one of the many Jaehyuns part of the management team, “you guys seem to be good friends.”

“He was initially, but he has modeling lessons on Thursday so he can’t make it. He’s more like an honorary member, to be honest, but he helps us out a lot.”

You hum in agreement, meeting another Jaehyun (why are they all so attractive?) and rounding the corner to talk to Taehyun.

“I’ll leave you with Tae. He’ll help you figure out which team you’re best suited for.”

Taehyun pulls out a chair for you as Beomgyu walks away, and you can immediately see why he’s president. He’s a little reserved but he’s domineering, and he seems perfect for managing things behind and in front of the scenes.

“So, Y/N, did you have anything in mind when you were joining?”

“No, not really. I’m not very talkative though, and I don’t know how to handle a camera.”

“Yeah, Beomgyu also mentioned those things. I think you’ll be a good fit for the newspaper, based on first impression. Editors mostly work on the scripts and I think you’ll find it interesting. Come, I’ll introduce you to the head.”

He introduces you to Yunjin, the girl from your math class, and she helps you get the editing software and drive set up. Yunjin tells you that she’s the type of person who has a lot to say, and writing is a powerful outlet for her because it allows her to explore topics she’s passionate about. You don’t exactly know if you relate to her thought process, but it does make you feel a little excited.

“Is Beomgyu also part of the editing team?” you ask, mainly out of curiosity because you saw him revising the script on Sunday.

“Ah, kind of. He floats around between everything so I guess I could say that he is. Would you like to read some of his work?” she asks, pulling out a newspaper article from a stack in the corner, “Last issue, he wrote the front page spread dissing the school lunch menu. It might seem silly, but it was actually a huge hit, and honestly, the food has even gotten better since.”

You skim through the newspaper, and the interactive, colorful parts draw your gaze in. Elements like the pie chart, bolded words, and quotes make the article worth reading, and you can already tell from skimming the text that Beomgyu is a good writer. You flip through the rest, reading the story headlines and noting that some are serious, some are current, and some are merely just for entertainment. Even throughout the rest of the spreads, you can tell the writers put effort into making sure the newspaper is actually catered to the student population, and you can already imagine yourself publishing an issue of your own in the near future.

“Since you’re new, you can help Beomgyu out with his new piece. Let’s take things slow, okay?”

You nod, turning to face Beomgyu. You don’t know what’s going on in that fascinating mind of his, but you’re excited to find out.

It’s been a busy few weeks since you’ve moved here. Unfortunately, school doesn’t slow down time for you, so you’ve had to handle piles of schoolwork on top of adjusting to your new environment, at school, and at home. Your aunt, for one, is double the amount of hyper your parents were, and it’s taken you a while to get adjusted to her presence. At least you’ve had Yeonjun to help you out.

The one thing that you’ve actually looked forward to at school is the broadcast club. Taehyun was right about you fitting the editor role, and you’ve grown to fit in quite well with the other members. Mainly, however, you spend most of your time with Beomgyu, often looking over his shoulder and bouncing off ideas he has and grammatical errors he needs to fix. The issue is a little satirical, making it fun to read, and you’ve enjoyed helping him out because he actually values your input and your experiences.

It's the reason why he invited you to come to school on Sunday. He thought working in a quieter environment would help you two brainstorm better, and you agreed. You’ve been busy all week working on collecting student opinions for him, and today, he hopes you two can get a significant portion of the article complete.

Unlike the first Sunday you were here, the air conditioning is actually on now, but you still feel a little sweat prickling at the top of your forehead. You’re nervous because this is the first time you’ve actually been alone with Beomgyu, without anyone else nearby to mitigate your nerves. You’re scared about screwing up in front of him, or even worse, floating off into dreamland, but hopefully, you’ll be able to concentrate on your work and keep your thoughts at bay. If anything goes wrong, you can just blame it on his sweet voice.

You’re at least thankful Yeonjun hasn’t caught wind of how you two met, because he would never stop holding it over your head.

You knock three times on the blue door and Beomgyu pulls it open, wearing a bright grin on his face. He’s in a hoodie and sweats, a little bit more casual than his school attire, but somehow it just makes him more attractive. Combined with his dimples, he resembles a teddy bear, and you’re honestly surprised he hasn’t joined the modeling industry like your cousin. He’d make so much money as a loungewear model, you just know it.

“Hey, come in! I just got here, so I’ve been working on some scripts for the next week. You can get your stuff sorted while I finish.”

You nod, pulling the papers out of your bag and opening your laptop. Your mission for the week was to interview students regarding the article. You don’t know if he’ll like them, but hopefully, you’ve got some good anecdotes for Beomgyu to include in his writing.

Or, apparently not.

“Beomgyu.”

“Hmm?” he asks, looking up from his paper.

“I accidentally grabbed Yeonjun’s bag. I left the data at home, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe how stupid I am; how could I even forget something this important?”

“Hey, Y/N,”

“I just knew something was going to go wrong today, and I was so scared I was going to fuck things up and I did, and—”

“Y/N!”

You stop in your tracks, eyes wide and close to tears. You’re usually not this sensitive at all, but this means a lot to you, working with Beomgyu means a lot to you, and you don’t want to lose all of this over your stupidity and inattentiveness. However, Beomgyu looks far from angry, and he has his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them to calm you down.

“It’s okay. You’re all good. We have so much more time until the deadline, so don’t beat yourself up, okay? We can just hang out and have fun. Look, I even brought you some mochi from the corner store!”

He shows you the packet, and the bright yellow color is enough to have you burst into tears.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, looking at the packet, “it’s mango flavored. Oh! You don’t like mango. I’m so sorry, it slipped my mind. Forgive me?”

You sniffle, bringing him into a hug. The mochi wrapper crinkles between you as you put your head on his shoulder, clutching onto him as a means to calm you down. Beomgyu stills for a moment, probably out of shock before patting your back, albeit awkwardly yet reassuring.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I didn’t mean to have a breakdown like that. I just didn’t want you to hate me. And I’ll eat the mango mochi, don’t worry.”

“I could never hate you, Y/N.”

“You’ve only known me for a couple of weeks; how could you say that?”

“Because even in the short time I’ve known you, I can tell how much of an amazing person you are. You’re bright and talented, and I love spending time with you, so stop apologizing, okay? It was just an accident.”

“Okay, I will,” you whisper, stepping back, “So, what now?”

“We could finish the mochi, for starters.”

You nod as you open the wrapper and take a bite. It’s tasty, so much so that you hate it, and you’re honestly five seconds away from letting go of your stupid grudge just to enjoy some fresh mango. However, your parents have plagued you enough with the fruit on their phone calls, which seems to hold your desires back well enough.

You stand to your feet as Beomgyu beckons you to follow him, wanting to show you something. He lets you in through the small door leading to the glass panel room, and you’re immediately illuminated by the huge screens around you. So much technology surrounds you, from microphones to switches to headphones, but you’re more intrigued by the feedback noise that emits once Beomgyu twists a knob, similar to the one you heard when you first got here.

“Does it usually make that noise when you turn it on?” you ask, walking around the room.

“Yeah, it’s a little bit annoying. That’s why we have to keep it turned on before school starts.”

“I figured. I heard it when I came here with Yeonjun before my first day.”

Beomgyu turns to you with an expression of mild surprise.

“I think Soobin and I were here that day. You should’ve visited us.”

“We did. We talked to Soobin, but you were working on something so we didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Is that why you thought I was in your daydream the day after?”

You feel like you’re on fire, and you look away from him. You didn’t expect Beomgyu to be this perceptive, but it was probably your fault for walking straight into this.

“Umm. Yeah, kind of. It’s embarrassing,” you say, covering your face with your palms.

“It’s not,” he responds, tapping your shoulder, “it’s actually kind of cute. Now that you’re in this room with me again, will I be in another one of your daydreams? I loved feeling like a celebrity.”

You mentally shrivel in humiliation, cringing when he lets out a laugh. If Yeonjun is a tease, then Beomgyu is most definitely a menace.

You are extremely close to falling asleep.

Currently, you’re sunbathing on one of Yunjin’s many beach chairs. They’re colorful and the sun shines ever so gently on your face, so the setting is perfect for you to take a nap. Too bad you’re at a pool party and not in your backyard, and Yunjin just might murder you if you drift off to dreamland after all the hard work you’d put into setting things up.

It’s spring break, which means one whole week of warm sun rays and well-needed rest. The newest issue of the magazine was published yesterday, and particularly this time around, it seemed to be quite popular amongst the student population. The group decided to throw a party to celebrate all the hard work that’s gone into publishing, and what other location would it be at than Yunjin’s gigantic mansion?

You’re particularly proud of Beomgyu’s hard work because his spread was absolutely stunning, but he merely brushed it off and thanked you for helping him when you thanked him earlier. He can be calm and graceful like that at times, like a soft breeze. Now, however, you turn to your side to see him sipping a mocktail on the chair next to you, donned in sunglasses and shark-decorated swim shorts, the farthest thing from serene.

“What flavor is that?” you ask, your voice tinged with sleep, “Actually, never mind. It’s probably mango.”

He laughs, and it’s so, so pretty. If you had to pick one sound to hear for the rest of your life, you’d take your chances on that.

“It is, but it’s kind of watery. I’m gonna save it for later though,” he starts, turning to face the pool and pointing at Taehyun.

“What about him?” you ask, craning your head to see him lounging in the pool with a duck floatie.

“If I cannonball into the pool, just how drenched do you think he’ll be?”

Your cries are practically unheard as you watch Beomgyu jump into the pool, absolutely obliterating not only Taehyun but also poor, unsuspecting Soobin next to him. Ten minutes later, after receiving a well-deserved scolding from Taehyun and issuing apologies, Beomgyu slogs his way back to the chair on your left with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“That was definitely worth it.”

“It definitely was not,” you counter, sitting up and leaning against the back, “you’re literally such a nuisance. If I had known you were this terrible, I would not have become friends with you.”

“I mean, you technically didn’t choose. You can’t really help who you daydream about, right?”

You’re glaring daggers into him, but he’s cruel enough to still find the situation funny. You can’t believe he’s trying to hold back laughter even in this situation, but you probably shouldn’t have expected any better. Seriously, how did he go from the sweet-talker broadcast boy to the literal devil?

“Watch your words, or I will slice you up as I did to all the mangoes in Fruit Ninja last week.”

“Woah, chill,” he starts, putting his sunglasses back on and taking a sip of his watery mocktail, “why do you even hate mangoes? You talk about them as if they were your exes.”

“My parents left me here to start a mango business in Thailand,” you say, picking at the skin next to your thumbnail and wincing when it hurts.

Beomgyu spits out his drink in alarm, but you kind of saw it coming. You’ve noticed that he tends to exaggerate things a lot, but you guess it’s just part of his personality.

“Wow, that genuinely sucks. I’m really sorry; I shouldn’t have prodded.”

“It’s okay. I don’t tell people because it’s only temporary. I might not even be here next year.”

Two months ago, you would’ve been happy at the thought. Now, however, even mentioning it brings a pang of sadness to your chest. You’ve known your time here was momentary all along, so why do you feel guilty?

“Are you happy?” he says, his voice a lot quieter now, “I mean, would you want to stay here or go back?”

You want to tell him what you think is logical, and logically, your old home was much better than here. You practically grew up there, and the place suits you so well that you’re meant to be there. However, the words that rush out of your heart speak differently.

“I honestly don’t know. I like it here, but I like it there too. I’ll just enjoy my time here before I leave. I still have a while anyway.”

Beomgyu flips to the other side, away from your gaze before he speaks. If you weren’t listening carefully, you might’ve not been able to hear his words.

“I don’t want you to leave. I like it when you’re here.”

He sounds so soft and clingy that it almost makes you cry. Instantly, you know that no one has ever cared enough to share the same sentiment back at your old house.

Home. You should’ve called it home, but it doesn’t feel right anymore. You used to think that home was a physical feeling, a place where you were raised and nurtured. Home before was the walls of the building you spend the most time in, but now, it feels a little different.

No, home isn’t your old house. It isn’t your new house either, even if the beige has grown quite well to your liking. Home is sitting here on this beach chair, surrounded by your closest friends, and the feelings of warmth that surround you all. Home is an emotion, something you’ve never felt in the past years of your life until you moved here. Home is being surrounded by people who want you, just because you’re you and not because it would be convenient.

“I like being here too,” you whisper back, and although he has his back turned to you, you can still feel his smile.

“Then just tell your parents you want to stay here.”

You can’t tell him that your mindset has made you feel that this is all temporary. Ever since you moved here, you’ve felt like a ticking bomb, waiting for a single phone call to determine your fate. Once, you would’ve been able to answer that it’s where you belong. Now, you seem to question if it’s merely just an obligation.

“It’s not that simple, Beomgyu.”

He sighs, and as he turns back around to face you, you drape an arm over your eyes. You don’t want to feel the intensity of his glare, but even without your vision, you feel his eyes shooting daggers into your abdomen. If only life were as easy as being able to sense Beomgyu’s responses, for you would’ve been sipping margaritas on some island with your talents.

“Isn’t it? Or maybe, just maybe, you’re overcomplicating it.”

You sigh, unwilling to answer, and the conversation falls to a standstill. You hate thinking, especially about this, but eventually, Beomgyu’s words are going to catch up to you. Whatever the implications of this conversation are, you’re sure you won’t enjoy them.

Not one bit.

You’re walking home with Beomgyu a couple of days after break has ended, an unfamiliar scene for you. Usually, Yeonjun drives you home in his shiny car, but he had to stay back for some tutoring today and you were left ride-less. Thankfully, Beomgyu swooped in to save the day, saying he’d keep you company since he knew the route. You’d accepted quite freely, definitely because you didn’t want to rely on Google Maps and not because you liked spending time with him.

Spring is in full season, which means the walk home is filled with greenery and a lush breeze. You feel like something out of a Studio Ghibli movie, but as you turn to look at Beomgyu, you realize he’s more aptly fitted for the scenario.

His hair is fluttering slightly through the wind, and his side profile is so perfect that only an animation artist could’ve crafted it. Beautiful is the only word to describe him, and each glance you take becomes increasingly hard to look away from.

You like him. It’s not a realization that’s come from this moment, but rather a million moments beforehand. Whenever you try to pinpoint an exact moment, your mind runs blank, as if you were pre-programmed to have him in your heart since the beginning of your existence. You’d just been so immersed in convincing yourself that you didn’t that you never really accepted you did.

“Y/N,” you hear from his lips, “are you going to the spring dance?”

The spring dance is next week, and it’s all everyone has been talking about lately, especially Yunjin. Honestly, if the Jung Jaehyun asked you out (yes, you can finally differentiate between the multiple Jaehyuns), you wouldn’t shut up about it either, but you don’t have any interest in it otherwise. The only updates you hear are when you don’t tone out Yunjin in math (there’s only so much you can hear about his features), and you’re growing quite sick of the talk.

Mainly though, you’re just annoyed you have to go without a date. A certain someone always pops up in your mind when you think about the event, but you’re too shy to ask and he seems to be preoccupied with other things. Even if it’s going just as friends, you’d take the chance, but it doesn’t seem in your cards for the near future.

“Yeonjun is forcing me to. I’d much rather spend my Friday nights with a show, but it is what it is.”

“Oh, come on!” he protests, shaking his head, “it’s always super fun. You won’t regret coming.”

“I guess, but I don’t really know who to go with. Yeonjun has a date, and I don’t want to be a third wheel.”

Beomgyu fishes something out of his pockets and holds it out to you. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s a rectangular mango drink, and you raise an eyebrow.

“I know, I know, but it’s still driving me crazy that you hate mango. I want to be the person that changes your opinion on it, okay? Whenever you think of mango, don’t think of your parents, think of me!”

You roll your eyes as you grab the drink and punch the straw in. You don’t want to admit it, but the gesture is sweet, and already your negative thinking is rewriting itself to include positive memories with Beomgyu.

“Whatever,” you say, attempting to take a sip out of the straw only to find it stuck, “is there something wrong with your straw? Mine isn’t working.”

“No, there isn’t,” he replies, confusion settling across his face, “is it blocked? There might be something inside.”

Sure enough, you peek through the hole to see something white stuck in the straw, and you try your hardest to pull it out with your fingers. The texture is a little rough and thin, almost paper-like, but sadly you fail to get it out.

“Can you actually not get it out?” he asks, looking worried.

“Yeah, but it’s not that big of a deal. I’ll just get another straw after I get home.”

“This cannot be happening right now.” he mutters, grabbing it from you and trying his hardest to squeeze out the object, “Of course I fucked this up.”

“Beomgyu, it’s okay. Relax. It’s not that big of a deal,” you respond, trying to calm him down after seeing him get this worked up, “it’s just a drink.”

“But it’s not! Ugh,” he says, frustrated as he pulls out his phone, “you were supposed to be able to pull out the paper.”

“What are you talking about?”

He passes over his phone to you, and there’s a picture of a small piece of paper on it. When you zoom in to get a better look at the writing on it, you gasp.

“It takes two to mango, so will you be my partner?” you read out loud, looking at Beomgyu.

He smiles awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders.

“You’re asking me to be your date for the dance? Oh my god, yes!”

You hug him tightly, pressing your head into the crook of his shoulder. You don’t know if his intentions behind this are friendly or romantic, but the mere thought of being together, even just for a night, has you reeling. You feel so, so giddy as if you’re already on the dance floor and swaying in his arms.

You feel him sigh in relief, hugging you back.

“I’m so sorry I fucked up everything. It was supposed to be super cute—”

“Don’t worry about it. Even if you just asked me the question, I would’ve been happy. It was so creative though; how’d you come up with it?”

“I, um. I searched it up,” he replies, and you hear the bashfulness in his voice, “I just wanted it to be meaningful enough to us. I know that it’s unoriginal, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Even just you researching to find something this creative is meaningful to me.” you answer honestly, “I’m saving that straw forever, I swear.”

He laughs, and you feel his chest vibrate against you. It’s a comforting feeling, one you’ll hopefully experience at the dance next week.

“I’m so excited. I can’t wait,” he whispers, pulling you in a little tighter.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, holding onto him, “Me too.”

The dance is a little lame, but being here with Beomgyu makes it worthwhile.

Seriously, if you’d come alone, you probably would’ve ended up sitting in the corner and munching on the brownies (they’re actually tasty, you can’t even deny it). However, Beomgyu has made it his personal mission for you to have fun, which is why he pulls you onto the dance floor to vibe with the beat of the song.

“This is so high school,” you mutter, feigning annoyance, “what song even is this?”

“I think it’s ‘Good Boy Gone Bad’ by TXT.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“Who cares? Stop being a downer and let loose a little.”

Contrary to your dislike, you do end up dancing. The song has a peppy beat and the two of you lose yourself in it, but even as you forget all of what occupies your brain, Beomgyu still remains in your head.

You’ll never forget the sparkling expression on his face when he saw your outfit as he picked you up from your house or the way he turned up your favorite song as you sped along to the venue. You would pay a million dollars just to relive that moment again, laughing at each other’s singing and enjoying each other’s company, but you realize that you don’t need to experience past moments with Beomgyu when he constantly makes better memories with you. With Beomgyu, you like living in the present, and he makes you forget about special days in the past you had coined as ‘the best day ever’ because nothing could compare to the feeling of being by his side like this.

The song ends, leaving you all woozy and excited, but the feelings quickly shift away when a much slower beat starts playing. You don’t even have to ask for the song name, because Beomgyu is already whispering it into your ear.

“’Fairy of Shampoo’ by the same artist. They’re pretty good, right?”

You move to nod, but the action is long forgotten as Beomgyu wraps his arms around your waist. He’s staring you in the eyes, a silent request for permission, and your response is wrapping your arms around his neck in a similar manner. You sway, and Beomgyu follows your lead, but this time around, the only thing you’re losing yourself in is his eyes.

The soft, angelic singing and chatter around you are muffled as if everyone in the room has disappeared except you and Beomgyu. You’re in a trance, with the perfect feeling of his arms around you as if they were always meant to be there. It’s so easy to will yourself away from everything to focus his gaze that you should be concerned, but one look at his eyes can confirm he’s in the same boat.

Maybe friends can ask each other out to dances. Maybe friends can slow-dance together. However, you find it hard to believe friends can look each other like this in the eyes and pretend they don’t feel anything.

Before you know it, the air grows hazy, and the only thing that makes your vision clearer is leaning in closer to Beomgyu. Or maybe that’s what’s making you crazy in the first place, but you don’t care because you’re trapped in the magnetic pull he emits that drives you closer, and closer, and closer. You’re close enough to notice the small moles on his cheek and the faint cologne he wears that smells like jasmine. You can’t even tell if you’re moving anymore because the only action you’re focused on is the fluttering of his eyelashes and the pursing of his lips.

It takes your brain a while to register what he says next because his voice is husky enough to be covered by the music, but the mere fact that his voice dropped three octaves has your mind spinning.

“Do you want this as badly as I do?”

Your throat is so parched you can’t even speak, but you don’t need words to imply what you want. You nod, the tiniest nod that if he wasn’t so focused, he wouldn’t have seen it, but his eyes are solely on you and that’s enough confirmation for him. The last thing you see is him leaning dangerously close before your eyes flutter shut, but the moment is ruined as your phone rings from your pocket and startles you both.

You fumble with the device as he clears his throat, leaning back, and with wide eyes, you see that it’s your mother calling. You’re cursing her mentally for calling at the worst possible time, but one look at Beomgyu has him motioning you off the dance floor.

“Take it; it’s probably important. I’ll be right here.”

You smile tightly before rushing off the dance floor, finding a place near the entrance that’s much quieter than the center. From this position, you have a straight view of Beomgyu in the middle, but you’re blocked by a sea of people surrounding him. It reminds you just how many obstacles you have between each other, and you mentally berate yourself for being so careless and almost kissing him before answering the phone.

“Hello? Mom?”

“Oh honey, hi! Your Auntie told me you were at some school dance, are you having fun?”

“I am,” you whisper back, just now realizing how much you miss your parents sending you off to these dances, “but I miss you a lot.”

“Actually, I called you about that!”

“What do you mean?”

“Our business here is doing so well that another company wants to buy us and give us a huge amount of shares. This means we can move back home and still make a profit!”

Your mom goes on about the logistics, but all you hear is white noise ringing through your ears. You knew this moment would creep up on you, but you just didn’t expect it so suddenly, especially after sharing such an intimate moment with Beomgyu. God, Beomgyu. How can you even begin to tell him?

“Mom, I have to go.”

“Of course, you must be busy! I’ll call you later, okay?”

Your fingers shake as you cut the call, tears brimming at the corner of your eyes. The room feels hazy once again, but this time, it feels suffocating. Your cheeks feel hot and you have no idea what to do, and all you can feel is Beomgyu’s gaze staring at you from across the room, boring into your eyes. All you can think is that he knows, and he hates you, and he’s going to feel so betrayed—

“Y/N? Are you okay?” you hear, and Yeonjun steps in front of you, blocking the connection between you and your crush.

“I- I need to go home. Please.”

You’re glad Yeonjun knows when to not be a nuisance, because all he does is nod wordlessly and clasp your palm, leading you to the car. You’re thankful that your cousin is actually a nice person deep down because he’s ditching his date and dropping his many it-boy moments just to take you home and let you cry on his shoulder. You try so, so hard not to look back because you know you’ll break down, but you can’t help what your heart wants. As you turn and make eye contact with Beomgyu, you see his confused and betrayed expression as he pushes past the people on the dance floor, but the crowd is too large, and he’s stuck between the masses. It’s bitter how these people once reminded you of obstacles, and now they’re exactly that, but you’re thankful because you’re sure you won’t be able to stop the tears if he talks to you right now.

As Yeonjun whisks you away in the dreary night, all you can hope is that Beomgyu remembers only the good moments between you, and not the worst. Maybe one day, just one, you hope he’ll forgive you, even though you know that you’ll never forgive yourself.

You have no heart to even attempt the history homework sitting on your desk.

It’s only been a week, but you feel like you went through five years of trauma from it alone. If it weren’t for Yeonjun, you would’ve locked yourself in your room the whole week and finished a bucket of ice cream. Instead, you showed up to class every day, draped in an oversized hoodie and making no means of eye contact with anyone. Any time you encountered Beomgyu, you tried your hardest to avoid it, even going as far as bargaining with your teacher to switch seats in history.

The only person you even talked to this week was your cousin. He was the only person you could confide in, probably because he was the only one who truly understood your current predicament. It’s silly, depending so much on the person who could use this as blackmail at any moment, but you have to say you’re a little grateful for him dragging you to school in the morning instead of leaving you to allow in the four walls of your bedroom.

However, even the motivation from Yeonjun can’t stop your bleeding heart. You feel like you’re going through hell and back, and with exams coming up your mind just isn’t in the right place. How long are you going to keep your homework sheets sitting on your table void of pencil markings? Even the mere act of reading the instructions has you tired, and all you can do is rest your head against the table and try not to let your thoughts drift off.

Even this homework reminds you of him. It reminds you of how you would goof off during your lectures, texting each other through the crevices of your desk, or how you would sit for long hours in the library and attempt to study, kicking each other’s feet beneath the table. Even now, you can hear him knocking on the door, asking you to open up and talk.

“Y/N, it’s Beomgyu!”

Okay, maybe that part isn’t your imagination.

Why is he even here? What business would he even want with you after you’ve wronged him so much? Your mind has no idea, but the only thing you’re listening to is your heart as you pull open the door and take in his presence.

He looks beautiful, like always. His existence is something that you want to cuddle into a ball and put in your pocket, yours to keep and cherish forever because he is simply the word soft personified. Today, however, he sports dark circles under his eyes and a paler shade of skin. What has made your teddy bear so sad? Is it your doing?

“Hi,” you whisper, and your hands itch to reach out and wrap him in a tight hug.

“Yeonjun told me what happened. I wanted to give you some space, but it’s torture without you.”

Now you’re confused. Why is he showing up at your door and giving you comfort? Isn’t he the one who has been wronged this whole time?

“You mean, you’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be? It’s not your fault you need to move back. Sure, I’m sad about it, but this isn’t something you can control, right?”

Now, nothing stops you or your conscience as you wrap your arms around him, furrowing into his familiar scent as tears escape your eyes. You’ve done a lot of hugging recently, but this time, it feels like an eternity has gone by. You never want to let go of him or this moment, and you can even feel your mind memorizing every aspect of this moment.

You guess Beomgyu makes you feel that way. Mind and heart combined, with no conflict.

“You always know what to say,” you point out, sniffling.

“I’d hope so; I have to do it every Monday.”

You laugh, although it’s choked and dry from your crying, but as your head moves, you hear a crinkle from his back pocket.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, um,” he starts, grabbing the object out of his pocket, “they’re mango popsicles. I was going to try and bargain with you if this didn’t work out.”

“Hmm, well, I’m not really convinced yet,” you joke, motioning him to follow you and sit on your bed as he rolls his eyes.

Silence ensues for the next couple of seconds as you both open the wrappers and enjoy the delicacy. The flavor doesn’t even bother you anymore, because now when you think of mango, you think of Beomgyu. You think of his sweetness, his humor, and his bright sunshine personality that matches the color of the delightful fruit.

“Oh, Y/N, you have some juice dripping down your chin,” Beomgyu notices, pointing to the area.

“Where, here?” you ask, patting the left side and feeling its dryness, “or a little higher?”

“No, I- here,” he says, leaning closer with his thumb and brushing off the liquid.

You want to thank him, but as you look up into his eyes, you realize how imperceptibly close you two are. Suddenly, you’re thrust back to a week ago when you were in his arms, leaning into each other until you could feel his breath upon yours, but this time, there’s nothing stopping you. No phone, no crowd, and most importantly, no insecurities come between you two now, and your mind is clear as you lean in and latch your lips upon his.

If you were unsure of what mango meant to you before, you’re definitely sure it will remind you of Beomgyu now, because all you can taste is the mango on his lips. It’s like your mind has gone into overdrive as you move closer, and you can vaguely register him using his free hand to palm the back of your head and tilt it up. The atmosphere doesn’t feel hazy anymore; instead, it feels shy and awkward, as if you were two lovers learning the world together. Like everything with Beomgyu, it feels right, just so right, and you never want to leave because you are his wholeheartedly, and he is yours.

Until you register what’s happening, of course.

You pull away quickly, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Beomgyu’s lips are puffy, and you’re sure yours must mimic a similar appearance, but that’s the least of your worries.

“Beomgyu, I—”

“I love you,” he breathes out, and his voice is light and airy as if he can’t hold in the words anymore, “I love you so much that it kills me you’re leaving. I don’t know how to fix this pain, but what I can say is that I’ll try my hardest to be by your side. Every day I’ve spent with you has been the happiest I’ve ever been in my life, and being without you this past week has made me realize how much light will disappear from my life if you leave. I’ll take you in any way you’ll let me, even if it’s through late-night calls or sparse texts. Please be mine, please.”

He's begging you now, holding your hands within his and clutching tightly, but even the words you want to say are trapped in your throat. You can’t do it to him. You can’t force him to love you thousands of miles away and look forward to you when he has a whole future ahead of him. You may be burdened by the ghosts of your past, but he isn’t, and you can’t deprive him of the one thing that makes himself him: his sunshine.

“I’m so sorry Beomgyu. I can’t put you in that position.”

Even the tears that once hesitated to fall now escape freely as he nods, cradling your cheek. After all that’s happened, he’s still so understanding, and even though he has a tight smile on his face, he keeps on a brave front for you.

“I knew you would say that. It’s okay, we can just enjoy the last of our days together.”

“Don’t hold yourself back for me, alright?” you whisper, wiping the stray tears that you don’t want him to see.

He notices the tear stains on your cheeks anyway, wiping the wetness with the pads of his thumbs. You notice he doesn’t respond, but at this point, he doesn’t need to. Even though you’ve warned him against it, you know without a doubt that he’ll always be waiting for you, even with all your uncertainty.

The last bell of the year rings, but as your classmates bustle around you with joy and laughter, you don’t know what to feel.

Moving is a funny concept. You leave behind everything you know just to start anew, but unlike most people, you’ve finally gotten the chance to go back to the past. Your old friends, your old family, your old life. Months ago, you would’ve jumped for this opportunity, as many others would in your situation, but now you’re experiencing a bittersweet emotion. You can’t even deny it: this place has had a tremendous impact on you through the experiences it put you through, the people it made you meet, and the emotions it caused you to feel. Even just thinking about going away leaves a pang in your heart, but you suppose life is about these occurrences, whether they’re sad or happy, and you’ll just have to persevere through it like you always do.

You’re walking out to the parking lot when Beomgyu joins you. You’ve still been talking even after the dreaded incident weeks ago, especially since you studied together for exams, but your relationship since you rejected him hasn’t been the same. It’s like you’re tiptoeing around with each other, waiting for one another to break, but you’ve already broken before so you don’t know why it feels so fragile. Maybe it’s the tension in the air around your departure or the lack of definition within your relationship, but either way, it feels suffocating.

At least you’re grateful he hasn’t shut you out yet.

“So, how was your last day of school?” you hear, but this time you focus your eyes on the ground instead.

It feels too weird to look at him. It’s like you don’t have permission to admire his beauty anymore, so you rarely ever make eye contact with him. Instead, you focus on the gum he’s chewing, the one you know is mango-flavored but always so bitter. Maybe it was a sign you two were never meant to be.

“It was good. You know, tiring as always, but I’m glad it’s over.”

“Yeah, I get it. Are you going back home soon?”

Honestly, your parents haven’t been super transparent with you, but from their calls, you assume that you still have well into the summer before you move out. They sound busy wrapping up things, and they haven’t given you an exact date, but they have promised you they’ll be here soon. Like all things in your life, even your parting is uncertain, and that’s what you tell him.

“So, what I hear is that I can still terrorize you over the summer.”

You laugh, but it’s forced and uneasy. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife, but honestly, you’ve gotten a little too used to it by now.

“I guess you could, Gyu.”

He stops you in your tracks by stepping in front of you.

“Look, I know we’re a little awkward right now, but I feel like I have to say this, or I’ll never get the chance. I’m so honored to have been your friend, and I’m going to miss you a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I’m sorry for putting you in so many awkward situations, but I hope you can remember the good parts when you think of me.”

You sigh, patting his head. If you were on good terms with him, you would’ve gifted him a hug, but you hope the small gesture can do your feelings enough justice.

“I’m gonna miss you too. A lot a lot,” you mimic, watching him smile, “so text me often, okay? I’m sorry for making things awkward too.”

He shakes his head, willing to argue in your favor, but before he can even start a car horn sounds from the parking lot. You crane your head to see a familiar vehicle, one that’s accompanied you throughout your lifetime, except this time, it’s adorned with a painted mango on the side.

“Mom? Dad?”

Your parents step out of the car, and your legs are moving you towards them before you can even register it. Video calls don’t do their beautiful faces any justice, and it feels so surreal as you stop in front of them, waiting for them to just be a figment of your imagination.

“Hey, sweetie,” your dad says, and that’s all it takes before you’re leaning into his touch, burrowing yourself into him as you would often do when you were a little kid.

You forgot how much pain you felt when they left you here. All this time, you’ve suppressed it, and only at night when you were in your room, half-asleep and overthinking, did you let your tears come to bay. You wanted to be strong for them because everything they did was for you, but it was hard not to lose sight of their eventual return and get lost in the lifeless emotions associated with their disappearance every waking day that passed. It took every ounce of strength in you to pick yourself up every day and pretend like you were fine, but although there were many factors that helped you mitigate those feelings, none of them could truly ever make the ache ebb away.

“Why are you here? I thought it would be a while,” you ask after you’ve calmed down and properly reunited with them, “are we moving back soon?”

“Actually, about that… we’ve changed our minds a little bit.”

Your mom holds your face in her palms, pinching at the skin on your cheek ever so slightly.

“Your aunt told us how happy you are here, and how you’ve grown so much from moving here. I know that losing your parents so suddenly must’ve had a huge impact on you, but if this place helped you with those struggles even just a little bit, then it must be worth staying here. We thought that you might like it if we stayed here permanently. What do you think?”

You can’t believe it. It’s as if the world has deafened and all you can hear is the ringing echoing through your ears because what they’re saying sounds too good to be true. Moving here? Permanently? Is life playing some sort of cruel joke on you?

“You aren’t joking, right?” you whisper, and all your parents can do is laugh as they shake their heads.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes as you die, but right now, all that flashes through your eyes are the memories you’ve made in your seemingly short time here. You remember sitting shotgun in Yeonjun’s car as he annoyed you on the way to school, texting Yunjin during math while you two try not to fall asleep, and teaming up with Taehyun while wreaking havoc on poor Soobin.

However, most importantly, you remember Beomgyu. From the curve of his lips to the rings on his fingers, from the walks home you’ve shared to your first and last kiss in your very bedroom, he’s always been with you wholeheartedly. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since that very first day when the boy with dark curls caught your watercolor eyes, and for the foreseeable future, you don’t think you’ll be able to stop.

When you turn to look back at him, he’s there. He’s always there, waiting for you no matter how far you go. Even if he is just a speckle in the distance, just the size of an atom, you are his nucleus and he revolves around you, chasing you until he breaks down into a black hole of nothing. Even now, as you stare at him from the parking lot, one look at you tells him everything he needs to know. He’s here, here before your eyes in a matter of seconds, and as your parents ask him who he is, you know that only the most perfect boy would respond with such a beautiful answer as he directly addresses you.

“I’m whoever you want me to be.”

You shake your head, unable to hide the smile that flits across your face. After a long, long time of shying away from Beomgyu, you’re finally ready to embrace the feelings he brings you, whether tears or smile lines.

“This is Beomgyu, my lover.”

Your bedroom is still bare with your whole life packed into boxes once again, but at least this time around, your walls are painted yellow again. However, instead of a sunny yellow, they’re more of a mango color, your mom going even as far as to say it’s the exact same hue as the mangoes they grew in Thailand, fresh and ripe. Honestly, you’re just glad you’re not sitting within the depressing beige color again, because why did you even convince yourself it made you happy?

What’s not fresh is the old carpet you and your boyfriend are sitting on, but sometimes you can appreciate the old things too. In fact, it’s somewhat comfortable as you lie in his arms, sprawled across the carpet with no looming future dangling over your head. It’s just you, your other half, and nothing more, enjoying your well-deserved summer break weeks after school has ended.

“I’m not ready for school,” you complain, liking the feeling of being illuminated by the bright sun peeking through your blinds, “I like sitting around doing nothing. Imagine how hectic it would’ve been if I actually moved back.”

Your statement is only half-true though, because there are many things awaiting you once school starts that you’re actually very excited for. For starters, you get to have your own article published in the newspaper, and you have a slight inkling as to what it’s going to be about. Also, you have many wonderful friends who will make your life a lot easier, so even though school is school, at least you’ll have amazing people by your side. Really, you’re just complaining for no reason.

“I’m just glad we won’t have to throw you a farewell party. I don’t think Taehyun or Soobin would’ve let me near Yunjin’s pool again.”

You smack his chest lightly, and he laughs, curling in closer to lay your head against his chest. You really should be unpacking your things, at least, that’s what you told your parents you’d be doing, but you can’t pass up the chance to cuddle with Beomgyu every time you get it. You both have been pining for each other for far too long anyway, so why waste any more time?

“Y/N!” you hear from outside the door, “I brought you food!”

You get up to let your mom in, but Beomgyu is already five steps ahead of you. Your mom gives him a warm smile because seemingly, your parents seem more smitten with him than you are. You can’t really blame them though; who doesn’t like Choi Beomgyu?

“Thank you for the mango, auntie!” he responds, and of course, the endearment has her reeling.

“I thought you two would be hungry after working hard,” she says, leaning over to peek through the gap between him and the door, “but it seems you two have done nothing at all. Oh well, you can eat it anyway. You have all the time in the world.”

You two really do, because as you make yourselves cozy on the carpet once more, bowls of mango in hand, it feels like time has taken a pause after all the misery it has put you through. You eat the slices wholeheartedly as you think, with Beomgyu brushing off the juice that escapes your mouth occasionally when the piece is too big. You’re glad that time is moving slowly because you want to savor every moment you have with him. He deserves it, and so do you.

“We should really start setting things up,” Beomgyu starts, “How long are you going to sleep with just four yellow walls and no decoration? That would be so depressing.”

“Hey, at least it’s less depressing than beige walls,” you grumble, “but even just being here makes me content enough to fall asleep. I have nothing to worry about this time around, especially when you’re just five minutes or a phone call away.”

Mere seconds pass before he’s leaning in to place a kiss on your lips, and of course, everything about him tastes extremely mango. Your malice for the fruit is far gone now, far, far gone because not only are your parents back, but also because Beomgyu is the only thing you think about when reminded of the flavor. However, your rollercoaster feelings for the fruit are the last thing on your mind as you lean in closer, placing the mango bowl beside you.

“You still hate mango, baby?” he whispers between kisses, and it takes everything in you to pull him back, reminding him that you two are supposed to be unpacking and not making out.

“Answer the question,” he whines, a cute little pout on his face that makes you five seconds away from forgetting your very own warning and kissing him breathless again.

“No, I don’t,” you finally answer, grabbing his hand and interlacing it with yours, “I love it now.”

He grins, and you decide to succumb to your desires, forgetting all sense of rationality when it comes to him as you press a kiss to his lips again.

“I love mango just as much as I love you.”

181 notes · View notes

honeybleed · 17 days

Text

series masterlist

content & warnings: fem!reader, karina is completely ooc lmao, drug consumption, kinda focuses more on reiner x jean this chapter, masturbation (m.), voyeurism

author’s note: i did not abandon this series i promise 😞 i really do have it planned out but i suppose i lost motivation due to the drama last month and lack of feedback. but hey! here we go. mdni banner credits to @/cafekitsune

word count: 5.5k

A soul-crushing flight that left some sort of crick in your neck that no matter how much you moved and stretched would not go away.

And a cranky Jean Kirstein who for some reason brought his aged and yellow-paged, cracked spine Lord of the Flies copy from middle school.

You remember when he made you get a copy of the book from the library since he adored it and you told him it gave you the creeps.

Then he teased you relentlessly about you getting upset about Piggy's death because in Jean's words "He sucked and he deserved to die."

The both of you dragged your luggage into the sprawling mansion, where you were greeted by the butler of the estate.

The butler stopped with your suitcases, leading you down a large hallway.

The regal family crest adorned the entrance as well as the curated collection of ancestral portraits lining the hallways along the winding staircase.

One, in particular, of Reiner's grandfather. He looked just like Reiner. Strong jaw, intense brown eyes with a piercing gaze.

You were astounded by the vastness of the estate. The groomed lawns and grounds stretched as far as you could see.

Stunning gardens full of vivid flowers. Sound of water pouring from the fountain in the centre.

You could see Reiner waiting in the foyer of the estate, causing you to break out into a smile and bound over, throwing your arms around him.

"Rei!" You squealed.

"Hey there, pretty baby." He beamed as he engulfed you into a bear hug, sweeping you off your feet. "You missed me?"

You nodded.

"I'm so pumped to be here!"

Despite your full gaze on Reiner, it was difficult to shake the feeling of Jean burning lasers into the back of your head.

"Yo Horseface!" Reiner chuckled as he let you go, heading towards Jean and giving him a heavy pat on the back, the unexpectedness causing Jean to splutter. "Flight was okay?"

You smiled as you looked up at Reiner. He was in a forest green Lacoste polo shirt with his arms folded, showcasing his perfectly toned biceps and broad chest.

He gave you a wink as he caught you ogling, causing heat to creep up your cheeks.

"Nothin' special." Jean grumbled, wincing at the memory of the baby who was bawling all night. "Got here in one piece, that's all that matters." With a stiff nod.

"I think he's just jet lagged..." You said with an uneasy chuckle.

Suddenly a looming figure emerged from the shadows, a vision of glamour and sophistication. Dressed in luxury clothes that adhered to her surgically enhanced curves. She oozed timeless beauty despite her age.

"Reiner, darling, you didn't tell me you were bringing such a handsome friend home!" Karina purred, her gaze lingering on Jean with unsettling intensity.

"Mother, this is Jean and Y/N. They'll be staying with us for the summer." Reiner said with a smug smile.

Karina's eyes sparkled with a predatory gleam as she stepped closer to Jean, her perfectly manicured hand reaching out to caress his angled jawline.

"You remind me of an old flame of mine, Jean. Such striking features." She murmured, her voice dripping with a honeyed charm.

He gave a bewildered glance at Reiner, who offered no reassurance. His indifference only added to the eerie atmosphere that surrounded them.

"Mother, don't sleep with my friend. I don't need another repeat of last year."

Your eyes widened as you looked at Jean who shared the same sentiment.

A repeat?!

"Oh lighten up, darling. It wasn't my fault little Bertie wanted to keep me company." She said with a wink.

You watched the exchange, your intuition sensing the weird tension between the mother and son. You discreetly nudged Jean, silently urging him to remove himself from Karina's grasp.

Jean couldn't shake the feeling. Karina's advances left him feeling unsettled, and he could not for the life of him stop fidgeting.

You both were shown to your rooms in the large estate, but Jean was being prickly with dry responses. It annoyed you to no end. As the butler took his leave, you immediately ripped into Jean after you shut the door behind you.

"You've been acting like a jerk since we got here!" You fumed.

"Yeah, well what do you expect? You know how I feel about that asshole!"

"So why would you still agree to come along?!"

"What, so you can come back knocked up?"

"What the hell?! Reiner would not knock me up!" You barked as you hurled a cushion at Jean's head, him swiftly dodging it. "He invited us over, the least you can do is try and be fucking polite!"

"Oh please. He invited us here? The only reason he invited you here was that he wanted to plow you into the mattress! And wants to mock me!"

"Mock you?!"

"You know exactly what I mean." He grumbled as he flipped on his side and curled tightly in a ball.

"Now, why the hell are you sulking?" You snickered, amused at the sight of such a large man like Jean acting like a toddler.

"Go away!" He hissed as he buried his head into the pillow.

An idea popped into your head.

He yelped and jumped with a squeal when you lunged at him, beginning to tickle his sides. Rolling around on the bed, attempting to cover his stomach.

"N-Not funny! Get offa me!"

Jean would've rather have died before anybody apart from you knew how deathly ticklish he was.

He tried to grab your wrists in an attempt to stop you, and as he failed miserably, his body jerked about wildly.

Your fingers trailed to his armpits, stomach, chest and torso. His shirt rode up, exposing his happy trail and the taut muscles of his abdomen.

"You can't escape from me!" You grinned as Jean squawked and shrieked like a child, his body twitching from the tickle onslaught.

His mouth was open as he struggled to catch his breath, face reddening as he gasped for air. His face scrunched up as he desperately tried to grab your hands to stop.

"Will you tell me what's wrong now?" You cooed.

"I said it's n-nothing!" He protested, still wriggling, turning his body, his back now exposed.

He was squirming under your fingers. His breathing fast, sweat trickling down his forehead.

"Look I'll stop!" You said as you quickly withdrew your hands.

Silence hung in the air only accompanied by Jean's labored breathing. It was an awkward position, you were straddling him on the bed as he struggled to meet your eye.

"Now tell me what's wrong." You said, sternly.

"Leave me alone." He murmured, but it was hard to miss the way his voice cracked.

"Jeanbo~."

"Don't call me that." He groaned, wiping the tears with the back of his hand. "Just makes me feel worse."

"Are you worried about your Mom?" You asked, voice tender as you cupped the side of his face and forced him to meet your eyes.

"...Yeah." He said after a little pause.

He knows he can cope. But when she passes, it'll make him spiral. She's all he ever had apart from you. And as much as she insisted on leaving it in the past, it haunts him.

"Come here." You instructed, wrapping your arms around him.

His body relaxed as he leaned his head onto your chest. The sobs came deep within him, wracking his body, he was struggling to find the right words.

"She told you to enjoy your summer." You whispered as you smoothed the back of his hair down. "Try and enjoy this holiday. It's only two weeks for you anyways. Call the hospice when it's evening and be wary of time zones. Okay?" You said, trying to be as reassuring as you could.

He sidled up to you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

"We gotta get ready for dinner, y'know." You snickered at his action.

"Don't care." He said lowly, eyes still shut. But he eventually untangled his limbs from yours after your nagging and trudged over to the ornate mirror that was above the chest of drawers.

As he observed the tear tracks down his cheeks, the red swollen eyes, and the red-rimmed nose, he sighed heavily and raked his fingers through his sandy brown tresses.

"Will you stop being so cranky now?"

"Can't guarantee that. What kind of dinner is at 5:55 on the dot? That has to be a bad omen or something."

"Angel numbers will not kill you." You chuckled, relieved Jean was returning to his snarky self.

"Angel numbers...that star sign crap...it's always something with you."

You snickered.

"For me?"

His cheeks were flushed pink, he was trying to be stern but was failing miserably to maintain his composure.

"Yeah. For you..I guess." He said with a bittersweet smile, voice still hoarse from weeping.

You were confused when one of the maids told you to wear a dress. It was a beautiful dress but you had no idea why you couldn't have worn something of your own.

Nevertheless, you didn't put up much of a fight. The dress was one of the most elegant pieces of clothing you'd seen in all your years of living.

Gazing in the mirror after the timid maid exited the room, you marvelled at it.

The bodice seemed tailored to accentuate your curves.

The skirt billowed out from the waist in a cascade of luscious folds, gathering around your feet to form a sweeping train that swept the floor. The endless layers of gathered tulle and silk chiffon adding volume and dimension to the skirt.

You made your way down the stairs where Reiner was in formal wear like you, waiting expectantly.

"You look breathtaking." Reiner smiled as he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. The feeling of his lips on your skin sent a jolt of electricity down your spine.

So naive.

That glimmer in your eye is all too familiar. He dangles some attention, vague compliments that could apply to any pretty girl and you fall hook, line and sinker.

You mustered out some words of gratitude. You can't be shy around a man you were so intimate with yet in this setting...being at his family home. You couldn't help but be so anxious.

All the while Jean wanted to stab his eyes out with the fancy silverware as he watched the two of you take seats. He didn't know who he was more angry at. He hated Reiner already but you fawning over that meathead was nauseating.

You met Jean's gaze. He didn't even bother to button up the collar and the bowtie was slung around his neck. From the way he was slouched on his chair, he looked hungover.

Your words went in one ear and out the other. But there was a part of you that couldn't help but smile. Jean was so handsome to you. Even in a dishevelled state.

It was a flurry of staff changing and switching plates. You noticed Karina giving Jean the eye which made him pull a face.

Regardless, she was still somebody's mother. So he braced himself and gave her a pained smile.

Jean stared at the appetiser in front of him.

"What is this supposed to be?"

The butler leaned towards Jean's ear.

"This is a Riesling poached pear salad with Black Forest ham." He responded.

Jean pointed at the garnish, face stuck.

"That is toasted walnuts and crumbled blue cheese, my good Sir."

"Why can't you people eat normal food?" Jean muttered under his breath.

"Jean!" You hissed, frowning at him.

"Ignore him.." You said with an awkward giggle. "We've been living off instant ramen for months."

As you bit the inside of your cheek, it was hard to deny the eerie atmosphere. You figured of course there'd be a strange feeling looming considering the fact this was an estate that survived all the events of history.

If it had been passed down generations, it surely had some ghosts. Just the mere thought of blood spilling on these grounds made a shiver go up your spine.

You quickly recomposed yourself and turned your attention to the fancy food. Jean was right. This was not real food at all.

Reiner and Karina seemed to be discussing things in their mother tongue after she did an interrogation on Jean, chockful of questions that crossed boundaries about his personal life.

"...You don't have to answer them if you don't want to, Jean." You said firmly as you glared at Karina.

Jean was a little relieved at you sticking up for him. It's not as if he was incapable of doing so.

On the contrary, Jean could be as cutting and venomous if he wanted to, however, insulting somebody's mother was not his prerogative.

"It's fine, Y/N. I'm an open book." He chuckled.

"A boring one." Reiner added which earned a glare from Jean and shrieks of laughter from Karina.

"Yo." Reiner called out as he saw Jean staring out the bay window absentmindedly, sat on the plush seating of it.

The rest of the estate had all gone to sleep, it was rather unnerving the deafening silence in the colossal estate.

Jean turned to face Reiner, then gave him a curt nod.

"That's funny. Usually that vein in your forehead starts throbbing if I come anywhere near your vicinity." Reiner chuckled as he folded his arms and leant against the wall.

"Being pissed at one in the morning just makes me look like a dick." Jean muttered as he rubbed his neck.

"You hungry?"

"I ain't eating that rich people crap." Jean said flatly as he turned away to look back out at the pitch black sky.

"Relax." Reiner snorted. "I get it. But if you're hungry, there's a burger joint I think you'd like. Their loaded fries will make you forget hunger is a thing."

"I'm holding you to that. I think my body is still running off those airline salted peanuts." Jean grumbled as he begrudgingly lifted himself off the seat and followed after Reiner as he guided him to the massive parking lot.

“That why you so grumpy?”

“Oh ha ha.”

He shifted his weight on the neatly paved asphalt, the frosty air nipping his skin. The rows of vehicles parked in orderly fashion, each gleaming under the moonlight caused his eyes to widen.

"You driving?" Jean arched his brow as he looked over the Mercedes-Benz S-Class. He knew Reiner's ego was already big, so he bit back to 'sweet ride' that on the tip of his tongue.

"What? You can't drive, Kirstein?" Reiner teased.

"I ain't that confident on foreign roads." Jean shrugged. "It'd probably do some spoiled heir good to be the chauffeur for once."

"And that'd make you a passenger princess, eh?"

"Aren't I pretty?" Jean goaded.

It was merely a joke, but Reiner felt a little taken aback as he looked at Jean. His mouth going dry as he took in Jean's appearance in the quiet hallway.

Jean's sharp, jutting jawline, adorned with a rugged stubble was the first thing he'd noticed when he first set eyes on him during orientation, as well as the way he was one of the few people that were around Reiner's own towering height, Jean just a little more taller by a few more inches.

"Jeez, don't jizz your pants, Braun." Jean said airily as he pulled the car door open. "Pick up your jaw and show me. I don't exactly have high hopes since this is German cuisine.

"Oh, shut your trap." Reiner burst into hysterics. "All those additives in that slop and you think you're some culinary expert."

"Like the pretentious crap your family eat is any better." Jean jabbed, earning a scoff from Reiner.

"Can't argue with you there."

"Is Y/N asleep?" Jean asked as Reiner swapped gears, the gravel driveway crunching beneath his tyres.

"It's cute how you're always mothering her." Reiner chuckled.

"You jealous?"

"Maybe. It'd be nice to experience maternal nagging." Reiner chuckled.

Jean felt a pang in his chest as he remembered his own mother once again. He balled up his fist in his lap, fingers digging into his palm.

The entirety of this stay, he'd been doing his best not to think too much of her. He wanted to respect her wishes but it was just hard to.

"Eh?"

Reiner shrugged as his hands gripped the steering wheel, facing the road as they finally exited the iron gates.

"I barely remember shit about her. She's just my birth giver in a sense."

Heavy silence blanketed the two, practically suffocating.

Reiner cleared his throat.

"Jeez man, I'm sorry. That musta been awkward for you to hear." He said, voice uncharacteristically shaky for him.

Jean swallowed thickly.

"Don't be." He cleared his throat. "I had a gut feeling when the two of you interacted. So, no surprise."

"Y/N told me you were real close with your mom."

Jean let out a sigh as he rubbed the nape of his neck.

"She seems to think so. But I was a real piece of shit when I was younger. I'd feel pretty disingenuous if I ran around pretending I was a Mama's boy when I gave her hell most of my life."

"You feel bad, I guess that's gotta count for something." Reiner replied.

"Oh god. The last thing I need is for you of all people to start pitying me." Jean said with a pained laugh as he threw his head back.

"Alright, alright!" Reiner paused to think. "Okay then. You're a piece of shit and your mom deserves better."

"There we go." Jean grinned as he squeezed Reiner's shoulder.

It was strange. Reiner knows he enjoys spending time with you. However, being with Jean was exhilarating.

As Reiner drove down smoothly, the cool night air hit him as he rolled down the window. He and Jean shared occasional bursts of laughter or glances at anecdotes after they stuffed themselves silly.

"Okay, you won me over. The burger place was alright but maybe it's cos that paper mache they put on a plate didn't even make a dent in my hunger."

"That shit was heavy!" Reiner protested. "Maybe you just got a carnivorous appetite."

Reiner Braun wasn't the piece of shit Jean Kirstein thought he was. He was used to the big man on campus. And he would've rather died before admitting it, but deep down he wanted what Reiner had.

The way all the girls on campus fawned over him. The way all the guys wanted to be him. He was a little envious of the way even you had fallen for Reiner.

This massive estate, the adoration from other students when he scored a touchdown. Reiner was the type of guy who'd go down in history. His name would live on whilst Jean would probably remain insignificant.

Reiner knows he shouldn't have done it. But he couldn't help it. The way Jean was looking at him whilst he was lost in the middle of a train of thought, it made sense. The moment Jean froze as their lips met, he was regretting it.

"I'm-"

Jean grabbed the sides of Reiner's face, crushing his lips against him and the two began to move in sync, tasting each other.

Jean let the kiss linger for a moment.

Reiner tentatively slid his tongue between Jean's lips and into his mouth, savoring the taste and texture of his tongue. His breathing quickened, lost in the feeling of their mouths dancing together.

However, the accidental brushing of Reiner's hand against the crotch of Jean's pants emitted a soft gasp from Jean's lips.

Jean's eyes wrenched open, in absolute horror when the reality sunk in. He was making out with Reiner in a car. Just like all the other girls on campus.

Breaking the kiss immediately, Reiner was startled by Jean's reaction.

"Shit..! Sorry, I didn't mean that-"

"The kiss or you groping my dick?!" Jean barked, on edge and flustered as his lips tingled.

"I ain't a creep, I wouldn't do that unless you let me..!" Reiner shot back, paralysed in fear at the idea that he accidentally went too far.

Jean's ground his teeth as he clenched his jaw. He could not believe Reiner had him whimpering in his mouth like a little bitch.

"Just...drive us home and pretend this never happened." Jean settled on, averting his gaze.

A painfully awkward drive back, Jean marched out of the car leaving Reiner alone with his thoughts.

Reiner always had some sort of attraction to Jean. But he figured it was something insignificant in his life. Attractive people are everywhere.

But he doesn't even remember a time where somebody he was sticking his dick in even bothered to talk to him the way Jean did.

Wracked with guilt, Jean's chest caved in. He descended down the winding hallways and headed over to your bedroom.

He let out a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him, comforted at the sight of your figure in the bed.

As he clambered into your bed and wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin on the top of your head. It wasn't meant as a romantic or sexual thing.

Even if Jean was a mean kid, whenever the two of you spent the night as youngsters it was something he became accustomed to.

He stopped when you both hit puberty and he began to push you away. But now he needed your comfort more than ever.

"Is that you, Jean..?" You murmured, voice heavy with sleep as you smelt his familiar woody scent.

Jean blinked a few times as he let out a sigh and pulled you close against him.

"Yeah, it's me."

"We haven't hugged like this since middle school.." You giggled as you turned to hug him so the two of you were chest to chest.

His heartbeat quickened as he felt your body pressed against him. Holding you tight, he buried his face into the nape of your neck. Shame still weighing on him.

"Will you always love me?"

"Love you how?" You replied, eyes still shut as you nestled further into his broad chest.

A long pause settled over the two of you.

Jean wanted to say how he truly felt, but the words simply couldn't come out of his mouth.

"Whatever way you may love me, will you always love me?"

"I promise." You murmured as you drifted back to sleep.

Jean was absolutely thrown off when he woke up. The first thing that played in his mind and hit him like a truck was Reiner kissing him.

How the hell did that even happen? He knew good and well he would never in a million years make the first move on Reiner of all people.

He loathed him.

Right?

"She's just my birth giver in a sense."

Jean immediately groaned as he pulled his pillow over his head, and yelled into the mattress, voice muffled.

Why was he feeling sorry for this dickhead?!

And how much of a manwhore was he? How could he like two women at the same time? And then along came stupid Reiner Braun.

Did Reiner even think of how awkward kissing him would've made this trip? It would've been easier if it was just the two of them hating each other's guts and fighting over you.

Now Jean's mind was a whirlwind.

He leaned down to tentatively sniff the pillow you had rested your head. Letting out a sigh of relief as the fabric was still tinged with your shampoo that had an airy floral fragrance.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty!" Reiner called out as Jean approached the both of you in the garden.

Usually Jean liked to apply pomade in his hair but he arrived outside with serious bedhead after a shower.

This entire estate was unnerving him and he had horrid sleep. Tossing and turning, waking up almost every hour. He had no clue what had gotten into him.

He felt slightly relieved to see you, even though you ran off with Reiner this morning.

"Eat shit and die, Reiner." Jean grumbled as he flopped on the deck chair, lowering the sunglasses to obscure his face.

"Hey, Jean. Reiner was just showing me how to throw axes."

"And why on Earth do you need to know how to throw an axe, Xena Warrior Princess?" Jean snorted.

"It's a test of strength." Reiner chuckled as he tossed the mini axe in the air spinning and caught it. "You want a go? You got some guns on you."

You snorted.

Despite Jean making it clear he hated Reiner and did not want to be there, Reiner never shied away from showering Jean with compliments. Which only seemed to piss Jean off even more.

The rest of the day went fairly slow. There wasn't much to do despite the estate being massive. You and Jean received a small tour from Reiner but even he barely knew what all these grand rooms were for.

Jean was a little confused as to why Reiner had returned back to his douchebag self. In the car when he had freaked out, Reiner seemed genuinely apologetic.

Now he was acting as if nothing happened. Nevertheless, if Reiner was going to pretend that it never happened, it worked splendidly for Jean.

How the hell would you have reacted if you found out he kissed Reiner?

Evening fell and Reiner decided to bring the both of you a little outside of the actual mansion.

"We own tonnes of land. Most of it just kinda was just forgotten about." Reiner chuckled.

The heat was a lot more relentless in the evening, prompting the boys to go shirtless with baggy shorts with the material you'd see for swimming.

You had an inkling Reiner wanted something that would look painted on since the man loved to streak whenever there was a party but it wasn't worth the chafing.

"Yeah, totally relatable." Jean snarked as he nudged your shoulder.

Your hands brushed against the tall stalks of grass as you admired the wildflowers. Even though you still couldn't rid the sinister feeling, being in nature soothed you a little.

Reiner laid down and patted the space beside him.

"No way." Jean snorted.

"You're such a spoilsport. What's wrong with laying in the grass?" You shot, as you followed Reiner's instruction and settled down, crossing your legs.

"What if a centipede crawls up my ass?!" Jean barked.

"Just be real cautious." Reiner chuckled as he rested his head on top of his arms. "You been so uptight this whole time. I know just the thing that'll cheer you up!"

Reiner fumbled around the pockets of his shorts and brandished out a packet of tabs.

"No way. I am not dropping acid, are you crazy?!" Jean exclaimed as his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

You were on board for most of Reiner's antics but even this made you a little cautious as you peered at it.

"Oh don't start getting all Mormon on me. I seen you hotboxing enough times at my parties." Reiner chuckled.

"Yeah, some bud! What the hell makes you think I'd jump to acid straight away, you lunatic?!"

"Look, the worst that could happen is a bad trip alright? And if that happens we'll take care of you, right baby?" Reiner grinned as he slapped his hand onto your bare thigh causing you to squeak.

Jean's eyes slit at the interaction.

"Are you taking it?" He questioned you. His sternness made you shrink under his gaze.

The urge to cave in was overwhelming for him.

"...Yeah."

"Fine. But if I start seeing things and freaking out, I expect you to be my anchor because I don't know what the hell I'm doing." Jean muttered.

"Attaboy..." Reiner chuckled, pleased with himself. "Open up."

"You trying to make it weird?" Jean said as he quirked an eyebrow, not exactly scrambling away at the small pill on the pad of Reiner's thumb sliding along Jean’s own tongue.

"Shit was already weird, buddy."

"So...I just swallow?"

Reiner nodded.

"Yup. Just swallow."

"Jeez, get a room." You burst into hysterics.

“If only you knew.” Jean grimaced as that thought flashed through his kind.

The drug ran through everyone's bloodstreams, and the tenseness seemed to fade away. Jean began to doze off onto you.

Reiner couldn't help but notice the worry etched into your features as Jean's head rested on your lap. His breathing was even, and the whites of his eyes were showing as they were half lidded.

"He's fine, okay?" He said in a reassuring tone as he rubbed your shoulder.

"Does it makes you sleepy?" You questioned.

"Depends on the person." Reiner shrugged. "Some get hyper, some get mellow."

There was a twinge of jealousy at how much concern you were showing towards Jean. Or even the fact he wanted Jean on his lap.

He was hurt by Jean acting as if nothing happened last night. But there was no way of addressing it without it being awkward.

What was the end game of it all? The three of you were ensnared in some sort of web of complication. Two guys crushing on a girl isn't hard to understand. But the intentions were muddled.

Reiner sleeps with you. You were doing it out of spite but had a soft spot for Reiner but now Reiner is starting to view Jean in a completely different light. And if it was possible, he wants to continue it.

How would you react if Reiner dropped the bomb he kissed Jean? It'd probably hurt you since he knew you had feelings for Jean and in a way, Reiner convinced you that he was somebody you could rely on.

Sighing, he shook his head. Opting for small talk to distract himself for the conundrum.

"How you likin' everything so far?" Reiner finally asked, in an attempt to move the question away from Jean.

"It's a little fun."

"C'mon, you don't gotta lie to me. Why'd you think I brought guests?"

"Alright, it is kinda boring. But I get it. I'd wanna live somewhere like here. Warm n lotsa grass." You murmured as you basked in the sun rays.

Jean awoke to a start in the pitch black room, practically sinking into the plush mattress. The only light was slivers of moonlight and the shadows of trees rustling, which did little to calm him.

His heart was hammering, and goosebumps and hair had risen all across his arms and legs. When he had swallowed the tab, he remembered being drowsy.

He rememberd resting on your warm and plush thighs. You and Reiner's conversation seemed to be warbled to his ears. His throat was like sandpaper, the only thing on his mind was the thirst.

As he rose up, he immediately let out a deep groan as he clutched his head. The swirling colors and distorted shapes in his vision were making him dizzy and disorientated.

He was still high, it hadn't worn off.

Gripping the bed post, he steadied himself, feet beginning to drag as it took all his might to push the door without losing balance and hurling himself across the wooden planks.

He staggered through the mazelike halls, his footfall booming like distant thunder in the immense emptiness of the mansion.

The sole thought on his mind was how relieved he would be when water slid down his throat, reminiscent of parched riverbed, cracked and barren.

The air was heavy with suffocating silence, broken only by the faint sound of his own ragged breaths echoing through the tremendous halls.

Figures flashed and danced about the edges of his vision, their contorted forms twisting and contorting in a hideous pantomime of insanity, causing him to rush around like a skittish animal.

He froze when he heard water trickling.

The door was slightly ajar and Jean was blasted to the sight of Reiner in the tub. The warm candles glinted off the bathtub's gleaming porcelain surface and gilded clawfoot legs.

His eyes were transfixed onto the scene unfolding in front of him.

The blond's head tilted back as grunts fell from his lips. His hand stroking his shaft. And for some reason, Jean could not look away.

The beads of sweat trickling down Reiner's neck, the deep and guttural grunts from deep within his chest. The sounds caused Jean to fall into a state of confusion.

Why was this making his own cock stir?

He bit his tongue as if to anchor himself. This is creepy. This is wrong.

What would happen if Reiner caught him watching like a creep? If it was before everything, he assumed Reiner was the average neanderthal meathead jock. Probably would've pummelled him.

But this was after. After the heart to heart in the car. After the kiss. He wanted to join. He wasn't sure what had happened but somehow Reiner winked at him and instantly vanished.

Now Jean was on his knees, skin soaked from the left over droplets and suds. Thick, slimy fluids down the drain.

It would quench his thirst, as he lowered his head, tongue gliding across the ceramic surface and the salty remnants of Reiner's lust coated his tongue.

Jean hated that he could not hate that pretty boy.

author’s note: did he…really do that? 🫣 up to your interpretation tee hee but i needed to put the infamous scene from the movie HA

#aot x reader #aot smut #reiner braun x reader #jean kirstein x reader #aot x female reader #aot x y/n #aot angst #⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ nara scribbles #snk x reader

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iloveslllycatss · 1 year

Note

accidental confessions with the inarizaki boys 🥺

(I turned my autocap off for this request <3)

𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝘢��𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨?

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 : 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘢, 𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘶

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘢𝘯 : 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘤 𝘺𝘬, atsumu 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘺𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 😞 (anon I actually love u for the autocap thing.)

r. suna ↴

✫ ok so for this you basically r watching the team practice (u r friends w them) and during the water break u decide to give ur good friend suna a call thinking it’s your best friend, ghalya (my irl best friend btw 😉).

this whole day you’ve been thinking about one thing. whether u should or shouldn’t go watch your crush practice. the obvious answer was yes because you were friends with all the second years on the team, but in the back of ur mind you were rethinking the decision. so you decide to ask your best friend.

“bruh yes wth r u thinking ofc u should go 😐”

ghalya looked at you as if you were the dumbest person in the world for letting the thought of not going cross your mind. “okok fine ig I will” you sigh, but then u get a idea “what if… YOU CAME WITH.”…. only to be answered with a

“no. I’m not ab to go to a practice for ppl idk 😨.. and even if I wanted to I cant, I have to study for my exam next week”

as if you ever study 🤨 is what you WANTED to say, but instead u settled for a “fine”.

when u got to the practice the first person to notice your arrival was atsumu. “OMG Y/N HIII” he waved with a smile, gaining the attention of his teammates. after they all greeted you, you sat down watching them. your eyes constantly rerouting onto one person… suna. if you were being honest, your crush on him was FAT ASL. u were head over heels for this boy; not that you’d ever tell him.

during their water break you looked at him again, sweat dripping down from his hair as he drank his water, you kept looking at his hands. his pretty pretty hands, his long slender fingers and his short kept nails. as you started to examine his face, suna looked at you. after maintaining eye contact for a couple of seconds you looked away, flustered. his eyes were beautiful, a perfect shade of grayish yellow. they were practically glowing. so you did the normal thing to do, bother your best friend about it.

you had taken your phone out of your pocket, opening the phone app and calling the 4th recently called person instead of the third.

“hello??” you start, leaving no room for response. “ghalya emergency. im FR ab to punch suna rintaro. why? u may ask. THIS MF. WITH HIS PRETTY ASS SELF DECIDES TO LOOK AT ME FOR A COUPLE SECONDS. like im already I’m love w u dont play. GHALYA PLZ I NEED HELP IM DYING FR.”

“umm… l/n????”

“oh. okay. allow me to go kms.”

when I tell u that u ran out. I mean u MF RAN OUT. when you got home you called ghalya (actually her this time). and RANTED UR ASS AB IT until a certain someone knocked on your front door. u went to look though the peephole, you saw him. so you fixed your hair and dusted your clothes rlly quick and opened the door. “hey-“

“ilikeyoutoo”

that was all he said, it was so quick and he barely muttered it, but you heard it so clear. and your jaw DROPPED. (not actually) “you WHAT?” you were FR in denial. “I said, I like you too” he said, slower this time. “so, do u think we could go to a cafe this sunday? as a date?” he had a blank face but you could tell he was kinda nervous. “yeah, I’d like that….. like I’d REALLY like that” you said without thinking. he smiled

after he left, you were laying in your bed those same words repeating in your head

I said I like you too

let’s just say, you were looking forward to your sunday

a. miya ↴

✫ okok so for this one, I feel like u just r stalking his insta or sum (fan behavior/yall r friends) and then u CALL HIM instead of ur best friend AKIRA. and rant about how good he looks 😞

you were crying (not actually). not because you were sad but bc how FINE atsumu looked in his newest instagram post. you were laying on your stomach and KICKING UR FEET AND GIGGLING. u felt like an elementary school girl who had a crush on a boy. it was a selfie of atsumu after he had woke up, his bedhead was cute and all in his face, he was pouting and his eyebags were as visible as can be 😭. but somehow, he pulled it off. the picture was captioned “stupid ass brother CANT keep his mouth shut when I’m sleeping but at practice he don’t even call for the ball 😐” his comments were FILLED with girls saying things like “omg my pants suddenly fell off” or “don’t disrespect my man osamu like that!!!”….

you were jealous.

so you just HAD to call your best friend akira to talk ab it. so you called and as soon as the phone was picked up you gave no room for anyone else to speak.

“omg. akira. I’m ab to give atsumu a big fat kiss bc why does he look so good. like IK I be talking ab him to u a lot and stuff but like HOLY SHIT. HOW CAN SOMEONE LOOK SO GOOD AND WAKE UP AT THE SAME TIME. but those girls in the comments can fr die bc like back off or wtv 🙄.”

“y/n??? u think I looked good 😏”

when I tell u your heart bursted out of ur chest I mean full ass HEART ATTACK. you ended that call so quick not even the flash could outdo you.

2 minutes had passed and atsumu was spamming you with things like “Y/N ANSWER PLEASE” or “Y/NNNNNNNNNNNN IK U SEE THIS”. until one text message caught ur eye

“I like u too btw 🙄”

ONLY THEN you answered with a “thats wild”

“oh so NOW you want to reply 🤨🙄”, you smiled at this, calling him back. “omg atsumus like soooo hot and he my man fr!!” he mocked, you glared at the phone laughing sarcastically, then he added a “we should go on a date ykyk i pick u up at 6 tmrw and we go out ykyk i’ll make sure to make myself look extra good”.

“yeah that would be great actually we should”

you both talked for a little after that, talking about your days and volleyball until you say u need to gtb.

“WAIT BEFORE YOU GO, about that big fat kiss…”

“good night atsumu.”

@/ilovesillycats

please don’t copy my work 😞

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pedge-stuff · 10 months

Note

HC: like if u are dating Pedro he is protective af in public. like the man is so sweet and wholesome but i like to think that if you ever get “harassed” in public or someone tried to record you,bother you, say he can do better than you to you or him he will like get sooo mad. He would barely be able to keep it together idk and like say things that would be unimaginable for normal pedro. (idk like just imagining him yelling or being like pissy and talking back to paparazzi or smothing is just whhwiwjwbwjwowiw to me) but its like sweet af, because it shows how much he cares about you. and that u are everything to him and whateverrrrr 🥺

idea ig idk

hm i will be back !!!! 😌 with more hc!! because this man had taken over me heh 😞

-thankful anon again as always still greatful for marked universe, m/gn content and the new fluffy fic that included oscar and the edibles ooohhhh so cute i melted !!!!!

I love where your head is at. Veered left with this one, hope it went vaguely where you were hoping. Thank you for the rec! :) Come back anytime. piss yellow range rover (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked.” apparently no one comments on this app anymore but they are my favorite so please drop a line!!

tw: gay slur in the middle. trans character, trans writer.

summary: baby's first homophobia

————————————————————————

You’re surprised it took so long, really.

A full month after Pedro’s Tonight Show interview goes viral. After his SNL debut, the following week he spends holed up recovering, his begrudging return to LA for Mando press, and your reunion in the LAX Arrivals driveway two weeks later. Four full weeks— long enough that it no longer gripped teeth into the front of your mind.

Long enough that your guard was down.

Until, of course, some asshole decided he needed to be tastefully homophobic before his morning cup of coffee.

You were midway through your LA morning routine: parting with Pedro in the parking lot of the strip mall that housed his personal trainer, and timing your long run around the surrounding area with the duration of his session, such that you were back to pick up a 2-drink mobile order at Starbucks by the time he emerged.

Your very normal, palatable oat latte was balanced atop his stomach-turning 6 black espresso shots, as you watched Pedro round the corner through the window.

Sweat is beading at his temple, but he is all smiles as he trades you a kiss for his plastic cup.

It still feels like a novelty. Neither of you are usually PDA people, but the sudden lack of secrecy has brought on a second wave of the honeymoon phase. You can just do things like this, now— kiss in Starbucks or hold hands at restaurants or be seen grocery shopping together. You don’t have to take separate Ubers to the same place on date nights.

The sun is shining, your iced latte was made right, your workout is over. There is a whole day in front of you, and a handsome man beside you. A man who holds the Starbucks door for both you and the woman pushing a stroller inside— but only reaches for your hand after.

Things are actually really, really good.

Until you step off the curb:

“That is not the way. Fuckin’ fags.”

Crazy how quickly some guy sipping a green goddamn smoothie can ruin your peace. Two guys, actually, snickering to each other as they unlock their car.

Beside you, Pedro goes incredibly still. He drops your hand.

“What did you just say?”

His friend, chewing on his straw, grins as your stomach turns. A shit-eating grin. “At least it’s kinda straight, right? Dude’s got a pussy.”

They erupt into laughter.

White noise buzzes in your ear; your cheeks flush. “Come on.”

You break away, towards the car, but his feet are rooted to the ground. “Pedro. Come on.”

They are still laughing as they duck behind the tinted windows of a piss yellow Land Rover. Laughing as they close the door.

Laughing as five and a half shots of espresso splatter across their black-tinted windshield, streaking in brown rivulets down the yellow hood.

Pedro turns, finally, and stalks quickly across the lot. You have to jog to keep up. Behind you, the assholes are yelling profanities, but you don’t hear a car door open. Cowards.

The moment he settles into the drivers seat, Pedro pounds a fist on the dashboard. Hard. His fingers curl into a tight grip around the steering wheel, which he clutches like a lifeline as he draws in a handful of ragged breaths.

You can only watch from the passenger seat. Try and ignore the fact that he won’t look at you as he starts the engine and peels out of the lot.

The drive to the Hills is dead silent. Even the radio can read the room.

Silence acts as a breeding ground for your racing thoughts, which multiply like hatching mosquitos. Your ears are still ringing. Buzzing.

It’s your fault— this is a fact. This was his biggest fear, wasn’t it? The backlash? This didn’t happen before he came out. (Before you forced him to come out, though he swears that wasn’t the case. You’d just finally, maybe begun to believe it, after a month. Or not.)

This happened to you, sure. Less so in New York, or LA. It’s almost funny, that you apparently stumbled across two of the only straight people in LA this morning. Shitty people live everywhere.

You’d both disabled the comments section of your instagram for a few days, but by and large, the feedback had been overwhelmingly positive. Until today. It’s different hearing it face-to-face.

Pedro is halfway into the house before you realize you’re home. Slowly unbuckling, you debate leaving the iced latte in the cupholder; the thought of it turns your stomach.

As you greet the dogs by the door, a distracted ‘hello,’ you watch him slip out to the condo balcony. He is clutching a pack of Spirits in a clenched fist.

What are you supposed to do? There is nothing you can do, besides apologize. You pace between the kitchen and living room, chewing on your cuticles, eyes closed. The sweat from your run has now cooled uncomfortably on your skin. An apology won’t be enough, but you don’t have a solution. You can’t take it back. He can’t come un-out.

The balcony door slides open, and Pedro is still silent as he shuffles to the kitchen. He pours a glass of water— out of habit, you assume. Though you never mind, he always washes the taste of tobacco away, after he smokes. Refuses to kiss you until after he’s cleansed his mouth, lest he leave any trace of stale smoke on your lips.

Before you can really register, he has crossed into the living room, and pressed his lips to your own.

He kisses you softly, and then moves to your forehead, eyebrow, temple, along your jaw. Doesn’t go as far as your neck, which he knows you are sensitive to— these kisses are not foreplay. They’re too light, too quiet. Your eyes flutter closed.

Pedro’s chin hooks over the top of your head. His arms wrap around your shoulders. Your cheek presses against the base of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says, before weakly clearing his throat. “I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Why are you sorry?” You pick your head up. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You… handled that so well, querido. I lost my shit. I have never gotten physical like that before, I don’t know what came over me. I’m not violent. They were just… they can’t say that. It’s not right.”

It is your turn to reach up, place a kiss on the angle of his jaw. “You are not violent. You did not lose your shit.”

“It was a perfectly good coffee,” he pouts.

“We can get another,” you placate, “but I can’t get another you. People are always gonna say shit. It’s kinda nice to have something so good, it makes people mad.”

Pedro chuckles, weakly. “Yeah. I guess.”

“If it’s easier to lay off for a bit, though—“

“Lay off?” His brow furrows.

You rub a hand up and down his arm, lightly. “The PDA, doing public stuff, I dunno. I don’t want you to—“

“Are you joking?” You are given a look of sheer disbelief. “Jesus, no. Isn’t that what they want? You want them to win?”

“It’s not a competition, Pedge. I want you to be safe, and comfortable.”

“Fuck that!” His exclamation is loud enough to startle Edgar, whose collar jingles as he jumps grumpily off the couch. “I love you. We went through too much shit, to not be able to hold your hand outside a fucking Starbucks.”

Pedro’s hair is a little tousled, cheeks a little flushed. He’s maybe never looked more attractive to you.

“Okay?”

You exhale. “Of course.”

There is a pause, as the morning settles back around you. The sun is still shining, your workouts are still behind you. Plenty of time in the day to walk to a different Starbucks, for another round of drinks. Maybe you’ll hold hands on the way there. You can, if you want to.

Pedro tugs on the collar of his white t-shirt. He grimaces. “Can we shower, though? I think I smell like the ocean.”

You don’t mind.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller

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ra-2506 · 5 months

Text

‿︵‿︵..••°° ☼✴️🏵️ꁞ🏵️✴️☼ °°••..︵‿︵‿

It was a regular day for the trauma dipped kids as they were sitting in the living room of class 1-As dorm just chilling out with some watching a series on the TV, some writing down some notes in his new notebook while Todoroki was making some cold soba for lunch, uraraka watching TV with Hakeeguri, Sero,Tsu, Momo.

Uraraka was trying to catch Dekus attention, but was failing miserably😞 and Tsu and Momo could see it unfortunately it was no use when it comes to him and that notebook😔, he's just too concentrated, that was until you walked into the dorms with your fine self with natural makeup on wearing a yellow super low cut hoodie top along with a couple chains and some baggy black sweatpants and grey J4s.

Everyones attention shifted to you👀 and not that your sports bra was slightly peaking out of cropped hoodie,but that:

1)you were one of the new transfer student from America for the Support department that everyone has been talking about for the past 3 weeks.

2)You were black and you don't see that many black people in Japan in general.

3) Bakugou was walking towards you and gave you a hand shake meaning you knew each other on a personal level.

Everytime he catches himself staring at your black beauty✨ he has to manually scrub his face and push his jaw away to look at the ceiling or something cause baby girl you were fine😩👌. "Hey dumbass, you brought what I asked for or did you just what to show off the shoes I bought you?" Bakugou started while analysing your outfit, "Does it really look like I would even step on this goody to shoes hero area if it wasn't for you asking for it", you sassed back.

Everyone was still in shock that you of all people were mutual friends with the Katsuki Bakugou aka The explosive tempered blonde kid in class 1-A aka the kid the won the Sports festival aka Dynamite aka Lord Explosion Murder aka I think you get the point.

"Wait a minute can we rewind back a bit here !?", Sero shouts with a suprised and confused expression that matched with most of the students in the lounge, "What you want flex tape?!", the blonde glared in the direction of the Hispanic sitting on the couch along with you turning as well.

You had violet doe eyes that so cute and adorable yet intemidating, " I just wanted to know who this chica was?", He smirked towards your direction trying to holla at you do matched his energy, "Yeah Bakugou why don't you introduce me to everyone and maybe give me his number", you turned to the blonde for him to just roll his eyes, " Chubs meet Flex tape" he groaned in irritation and you just gave him a look through your glasses.

"Hola los nombres Y/n L/n", you walked towards Sero and he shock your hand with a big impressed smile and the kissed it, "Hi the name's Y/n L/n," you translated for everyone whilst smiling, "El nombre es niña Sero", "the name is Sero baby girl 😉", Sero winked at you his hand coressing your hand in which you winked at his charm.

However everyone interrupted the moment by introducing theirselves, and you tried to make a mental note to try and remember all of them, but when it got to Deku you couldn't hold back your gasp which caught everyones attention, even though you were the centre of it to begin with 😌✨.

"So your the same Deku that literally blasted himself in the race last year but somehow Bakugou keeps talking shit about?", you questioned with a raised eyebrow in which he shyly nodded.

"What is wrong with you?!", turned to the blonde you were surprised by the shy broccoli boy, " "The Fuck?!", He glared to your direction.

"You made him seem like such a stuck up asshole", you playfully glared at the man beside you only for him to look down at your chubby self and just pull your arm to the hallway shouting to the class that their time with you was up even though there were some protest whines and complaints.

"Wow, you really want me all to your self huh?"😉 You winked at him as you went to his room but he just rolled his eyes at your flirting charm even though he like it since it always built tension that he found adorable.

Obviously he wouldn't ever say that in front of you, but he thought it'll be better that way.

You sat on his bed and opened your bag to pull out two thick silver bracelets, " the hell are those", Bakugou observed the two massive silver bands in your small hands you roll your eyes 🙄 and sighed heavily at his bluntness.

Like how can someone so smart be so damn stupid and good looking at the same time🧐.

Its what you asked for Blondes you stepped closer you put them on his wrists but he took a step back hesitantly as if an insured wolf protecting himself from further harm. "It's okay, I just need to make sure the bracelets will fit properly and if it'll need adjustments", speaking softly as to calm his nerves and you clipped the bracelets onto his wrists with his gaze on you as if making sure you don't do anything out of the question.

Whilst finishing with his right hand you brush your fingers against his skin to adjust the bracelets to not be too tight or lose and the blonde was blushing hard at the gentle care when you touch his scars and burns from his experiences and training but as well as your concentrated form only reaching up to his chest.

Before you can lift your hands from his wrists he grabs your arm taking you by suprise and you look up at him to only find him staring right back at your amethyst eyes when you into his ruby ones and just like that he tries to let go yet he still wants to have you this close to him and he wants to be vulnerable with you since your the only other person who gets his apart from kirishima. He likes you more then he wants to but he doesn't want to experience the pain of a lose again nor does he want to lose the opportunity to make you his but doesn't want to destroy your amazing friendship, but then a sudden warmth surrounds his chest and abdomen.

Your hugging him seriously hugging him out of nowhere and then your face is buried in his chest and he huggs you back with his chin resting on top of your head where he inhales the shea butter and coconut oil from the chemicals put in it. He really wanted to confess but he pulled away quickly with him covering his blushing face but not his ears.

In which you giggled at his soft side that you were so grateful that you were able to see, but a continuous beeping sound that activated the bracelets meaning that it was working perfectly fine and that it has been switched on. So... um th-they work so I did my work perfectly as expected" you awarkardly try to regain your confidence again but failed with the maroon blush on your face as you tried to shuffle out of the room but a strong arm pulled you back to have you facing Bakugou with his eyes fixed on you.

He knew he wasn't your type, and that he wasn't worthy of you, but he would be damned that he doesn't give it a try even if he loses you for admitting this disease to you, "Bakugou?", Your voice called to him confused at his actions, "I like you Y/n, since the day we were partnered together for this damn project and we started to spend time together we really made a connection and I know that you don't feel the same way, but I had to get it off my chest even if you will never think of me in that wa-

‿︵‿︵°°••.. ☼✴️🏵️ꁞ🏵️✴️☼ ..••°°︵‿︵‿

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou x black reader #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsukibakugou #katsuki x y/n #bakugo x you #mha x reader #black y/n #bnha fanfiction #bakugou imagine #bakugou x black thicc reader #katsuki bakugou x black reader #katsuki x black!reader #confession #shy bakugou

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delcakoo · 1 year

Note

no but a dual palace with the yang and nishimura families, where Riki and Jungwon aren’t too keen on honouring and sharing the throne. however, they will honour and share reader as their town bestie WITHOUT hesitation. I picture the trio similarly to your prince!jungwon imagine, their interactions would be seen as controversial because cross-class friendships aren’t really a thing. plus the next kings just so happened to confide in someone who’s from the lowest class. I want to add more, but my thoughts are all over and I’d prefer if you would add your ideas 😭 and how you picture this trio (a lil headcanon), IF you are comfortable.

oof the tags didnt work on this one so i hope u see it still anon :(

mini part 2

ANON OMF PLS BE ONE OF MY ANONS PLSPLSPLSJDNDBJD ur so creative i love this?!? ofc i will add some of my thoughts >:D it kinda ended with 800+ words and a poly relationship so if you didnt want that just ignore the end jehdjdb 😭 tysm for the fun request ily <33

despite being a mere baker smack in the middle of town with your parents, you just happened to be best friends with the two young princes of your home

it all started when your family were assigned baking a 5 layer cake for jungwon’s 18th birthday

and as a thank you, your family was invited to join the party despite being lower class

giving you the chance to hang out with the two princes, who ended up getting along with you more than well :D

neither jungwon or niki had plans to share their crown or find any friends beside each other but !!

you guys truly became peas in a pod

your days usually went like this:

wake up, have breakfast and head downstairs to start rolling dough n’ make pastries with your parents

then at 9 on the dot, the shop opens and customers start flooding in :’)

if you were lucky, niki or jungwon would sneak out and come visit you even though it was deFinitelY forbidden for princes to be wandering around the town without at least a bodyguard 🧌

but once you were finally off your shift, you often went to spend the day with the boys anyway

the guards at the palaces entrance definitely know and love you by now

“hi y/n!” the guard you’ve come to know as taehyung waves cheerfully

“hi tae! have you seen won or niki?”

inwardly he was just shocked at how casually you addressed the princes

the boy ponders for a moment, “i think they’re playing soccer in the back garden? not sure.”

they were definitely playing soccer

and forced YOU to be their referee while they have a ridiculous 1v1 🧍

“y/n! did you see that? he literally puLLEd my shirt! that’s not allowed right?” niki barks

meanwhile you were just picking weeds out of the ground

“huh? oh uh..yeah! yellow card jungwon!!”

“what!? no fair! niki literally shoved me to the ground earlier!”

“yeah, well thats ‘cause i’m her favorite, idiot.”

jungwon gasps in disbelief, “now that’s just a lie.”

both of them look at you in desperation for an answer, only to see you off in your own world on the grass

so much for being their referee

“fine, whoever scores the next goal is y/ns favorite!”

sigh

they were menaces but YOUR menaces <3

contrary to the palace guards, both jungwon and niki’s parents have been on the verge of banning you from seeing their sons on multiple occasions, claiming you were a ‘bad influence’

if only they knew 90% of the pranks the three of you pulled were mr nishimura’s ideas 🤨🤨

however you weren’t really phased since a lot of the maids around the castle also frowned upon seeing you with their princes

you’d be absolutely rACING around the castle on niki’s back, won running next to you guys while a poor woman that you’d pranked chased the three of you down 😞

another thing

as the three of you got closer, the boys became extremely protective over you

there was a pretty town boy that had recently moved nearby, and he started visiting the bakery more and more after he was introduced to you by your mother

your poor parents just wanted you to have a friend that wasn’t literal royalty 💀

but this did NOT please either of your best friends

it made you wonder if they saw you as more than friends, considering the way they’d handled the situation:

“oh yeah, and you might won’t believe it, but i think i’m actually making a real friend besides you guys!”

the speed in which they looked at each other like: 😃😨😧😱😐😐😐

“—like no offence, you’re both my best friends still, but it’s kinda hard when—“

“who? who is this friend?” niki interrupts

jungwon looked much more calm, but he was definitely sending you a glare even harsher than the younger prince

“his name’s jake, he’s a bit taller than jungwon, brown hai—“

one of them sprung up from his seat dramatically

the other nearly fainted in jealousy at the words ‘taller than jungwon’ ☹️

“does he know i’m 6’2?” niki demands

jungwon is fidgeting like a toddler, “jake..” he mutters with a pout, “what a lame name!”

“wh— you guys haven’t even met him! why’re you being so mean?!”

you were a little oblivious

literally the day after that it just so happENEd that jungwon and niki strolled into your bakery just as jake had a few minutes ago

for some reason the two idiots are wearing their CROWNS ???

poor jake is just 🧍 as they walk over to give you a hug

which also gives you the chance to ask them what the hell they’re doing

“we’re asserting dominance y/n,” niki explains

jungwon facepalms but still nods in agreement when you look his way

jake tries his best to offer a smile “so.. who’re you guys?”

“they’re the princes of the yang and nishimura family!” you announce to him proudly

“yeah, her boyfriend,” niki wraps his arm around your shoulder, eyes squinted in intimidation

“boyfriends!” jungwon corrects quickly

jake was never seen in your bakery again 💔

this was supposed to be soft hours for 1.8k followers but jshjdnc guys send more fantasy aus like this its so fun

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ryrywrites · 7 months

Text

𝕺𝖈𝖙. 16. Hair Pulling - Sam Winchester

mdni divider cred: @cafekitsune

pair: Sam Winchester x hunter!fem!reader

description: Sam and Y/N have been at each other's throats since they met. After their most recent hunt, they're finally back at the motel but Sam's locked out of his room and Dean's out with the only key. They decide to be mature and stay in Y/N's room until Dean gets back.

warnings: 18+ mdni, rough hair pulling, slight choking, facefucking, slight dubcon, oral (m & f receiving), softish!dom!Sam, sub!reader, lil rough, pretty angsty, fluffy near the end, enemies to lovers, little bit of forced proximity, lemme know if I missed anything

WC: 3.4k (this is my first post, I'm so sorry y'all 😞)

A/N: if you've read my rules or requests, you'll know I use Y/N for your character's name but I'll be using you, your, you're . if you wanna request a one-shot or drabble, my inbox is always open. this is set around episodes 5-6, season 5. Enjoy, my lovelies! ❤️

kinktober masterlist × main masterlist

"Wipe your feet," he was tracking mud all over the carpet. "Where?" Sam countered with the same level of distaste and annoyance Y/N held in her tone. She scanned the room for a mat but remembered she was staying in a filthy one-bed motel room. "Just take them off." Sam sharply exhaled, sitting in the rustic (gaudy) yellow recliner and fumbling with his laces. He dropped the gunk-filled boots with a huff and rubbed his eyes. The rain started off peacefully but as soon as she and Sam got out of the impala, they were welcomed by a cold wind and raindrops coming down like bullets. Dean had insisted that this was the perfect weather for a six-pack and a burger so he headed out to find a dive bar that served both. He claimed he'd bring them back some burgers but the likelihood of him remembering what they wanted was little to none so they found contentment in the mini bar and turkey sandwiches.

Y/N had never preferred the younger Winchester brother in any way besides his good looks. Sam only tolerated her attitude because Dean trusted her (and because he secretly enjoyed her company). There was always a snarky remark, he was never bored with her around. Y/N, on the other hand, found his determination to irritate her whenever possible, exhausting. She often chose to overlook his aggravating side because she liked him. She appreciated his witty, sarcastic humor and the way they could come together to save lives. She admired the loyalty and love he had for his brother and the gold in his eyes. She had never seen eyes like his, she caught herself staring at him constantly. He was, though she wouldn't admit it, beautiful. Sam shared this attraction, despite their animosity towards each other. He found himself captivated by the groves on her hands, her lips, her laugh. He found her charming and so infuriating.

When they got to their rooms, Sam realized Dean had the only key to the room. He considered breaking into the room with his lock-picking set but Y/N knew she'd feel guilty about leaving him out in the rain. They were partners or, at the very least, co-workers. So, she invited him in and locked the door behind him. She grabbed two towels off the small rusted rack, tossing one at Sam's head and drying her hair with the other. He laughed dryly and wiped his face. "So," she started. "You good?" He quirked a brow at her, "What do you mean?" She looked at him for a second too long and quickly focused on drying her hair. "Since the...everything? Are you okay?" She tried not to seem too concerned, the last thing she wanted was Sam Winchester thinking...she cared? She knew she wanted one thing right then; to be there for him. Even if that meant breaking down some of their walls.

Sam knew exactly what she meant. It had been weeks since they'd last had a real conversation, since he and Dean had separated. When it came down to Sam leaving, he wasn't surprised when Y/N told him she was staying with Dean but it still stung. He was trying to redeem himself but it was obvious his guilt was eating him up inside. He had lost her trust, not completely, but mostly. When he chose Ruby over her and Dean, it felt like a betrayal. They had been working together since John had gone missing back in '05 and he still abandoned her and his own brother. Y/N had never been the type of person to judge someone based off of their mistakes but...Sam was different. If their relationship was rocky before, it was on eggshells now. She expected more from him, set him apart from his brother. Sam was someone she considered reliable but now...it would be harder to get it back to the way it was. But Sam didn't want it to go back to them bickering daily, stolen looks, the tension, those little touches they both missed. He wanted something...just something.

"I haven't seen Lucifer since that night in the motel, if that's what you're asking." It wasn't. She wanted to know he was okay, all of the bullshit they were in aside. She was convincing herself he could still do this, that he could still be the man she knew he was. "What about the nightmares?" She squeezed her eyes shut at the bluntness of the question, wishing she had self-control. "I mean," he rubbed his eyes, thinking before he spoke. He understood she was trying to help, he just felt so undeserving of her understanding. What had he'd been to her in the last couple of months? "Better." He lied. She knew the second he cleared his throat before he answered. That was his tell, she knew. And he could tell she didn't believe him. Y/N grabbed a shirt she had stolen from Sam months ago and tossed it his way, "You can change into that. Here, Dean's." She tossed Dean's sweats. "You're gonna get sick, sitting in those wets clothes." He got the hint to change and headed to the bathroom, half-heartedly swinging the door semi-shut. She crossed the room to grab his soaked towel and hang it up when she caught a glimpse into the dimly-lit bathroom.

She had seen Sam shirtless before, same as Dean. When you live around someone long enough, you see a load of things you wish you hadn't. This was not one of those times. To say he was built would be an understatement. He had the physique of a Greek god and his hands, they were three-times the size of her own. His fingers were slender and long and his hair fell perfectly, still wet, over his eyes. She felt creepy after a second of staring and just when she thought it was time to look away, they made eye contact in the mirror. Y/N panicked, trying to rush away from the bathroom as quickly and casually as she could manage in the moment. She was standing over her folded clothes, pretending to look for something to change into herself when she heard the bathroom door creak open. She didn't make eye contact, she tried to forget what had just happened by becoming more and more interested in finding adequate pajamas. She had given her only pair of sweats to Sam so the only option she was left with was a large shirt (another she had stolen from Sam) that stopped about halfway down her thighs. The rest of her clothes were in the trunk of the impala so this was the best she had.

Sam, being the flustered dorky gentleman he was, tried to make her feel as comfortable as possible by standing as far away from the bathroom, where she was changing, as possible. This made her feel a thousand times worse about peeping on him. "Fucking weirdo." She mumbled quietly to herself. When she got out of the bathroom, she felt dirty for looking at him the way she did. And even worse for continuing to stare at him while he attempted to set his clothes out to dry properly. It irked her that he was so oblivious to hanging clothes out to dry (but what really irked her was the way his back muscles flexed as he did the most simple of tasks). She nudged him to move over so she could do it for him. He watched her intently, admiring how delicate she was being with his tattered clothes. So, as their clothes slowly dried, Y/N asked Sam if he would grab her some M&Ms from the machine outside. The second he was gone, her thighs instinctively rubbed together. The tension was unbearable, she was so pent-up. It had been months since she got laid and even then, it was so bad. The guy was lame and the sex was lamer, that's what she gets for sleeping with some bartender while tipsy.

Sam came back into the room and this made Y/N jump a little bit. He eyed this and seemed convinced she had to be guilty of something to jump like that all of sudden when he came back in the room. "What's wrong?" He questioned her, closing the door with his foot. "Nothing," she tried looking unsuspecting but the whole deer-in-headlights thing didn't work on him. He brushed it off as him overthinking but his suspicions were correct. She was guilty of something. She couldn't focus on anything, not when Sam turned on the TV and settled on Family Feud. She could only shake her leg mindlessly and chew her bottom lip, fidgeting with the bottom of her shirt and staring at him. She was disgusting, this was someone she had known for years, since they were children, but she couldn't control her thoughts. Now, all she could think about, was his lips. Everywhere. On hers, on her neck, kissing in-between her thighs. She munched her M&Ms and tried to distract herself with the game show but found it impossible to think of anything but his hands gripped her hips for dear life- "Hey, you feeling okay? No stimulating conversation tonight?"

She knew he was expecting a chuckle or at least a smile but when he said 'stimulating,' all she wanted was to rip their clothes off and be shoved face first into a pillow. She scrunched up her nose and rubbed her neck, "Since when do you find our conversations interesting?" He shook his head in protest. "Didn't say interesting. Stimulating." He corrected. Any other night, this would've sparked a heated debate on whether or not 'stimulating' and 'interesting' could mean the same thing in this situation but she didn't have the mental capacity for anything but dirty fantasies involving a certain hunter and his pretty eyes. He, again, waited for a smart-ass retort but got nothing. "Tough crowd." He accepted defeat and pretended to focus on the show. Really, he was paying attention to Y/N's every movement. She was nervous, anxious...excited? Almost like she was in her own little world. Sam looked through the channels to see what was on, hoping to find a good movie. He stopped at one he didn't really care too much for but knew Y/N liked it. Prom Queen, with Jamie Lee Curtis.

At this point, she didn't give a fuck about the movie they watched. All she wanted was him, all over her. Sam knew something was off but ignored the building tension. Y/N sat up against the bed's headboard and picked at her nails, willing this frustration to go away. Sam scooted to sit next to her, accidentally grazing her thigh. He went on to talk about how Prom Queen was one of Jamie Lee's lesser horror films and how he preferred Terror Train. She would've called him crazy if she thought she could without her voice cracking. Her anxiety was through the roof and his leg was resting against hers. She wanted to hear him groaning in her ear, she wanted to feel him bite her, she needed him. "You're wrong. Jamie Lee's performance in Prom Queen completely outranks Terror Train. There's no comparison." She looked over at him, her head resting against the metal bars of the headboard. She was staring again but this time, she didn't stop herself. She wanted to see what he'd do, she wanted him to see how much she cared. He finally turned to look at her, meeting her eyes. Y/N's pupils were blown out and she felt like she was ready to explode.

Sam quickly looked down at her lips and up to her eyes. She hesitated for a split second, gathering the courage, and slamming her lips onto his, she was chasing a release. He placed both hands on her face, gentle as he could be. He didn't want to hurt her or be too rough, he didn't want the kiss to end. The kiss started slowly and quickly progressed into a full makeout. He pulled her deeper into the kiss by her neck, controlling the pace of the kiss. His hands explored her exposed skin and he caught himself completely enchanted by her taste. He traveled down to her neck and kissed every sensitive spot he could find. He nibbled and licked, making her squirm and grab at the back of his shirt. His fingertips brushed the soft skin of her thighs, never ceasing his bites. Y/N was a mess, horribly vulnerable. It all felt like heaven, so passionate and intense. She couldn't believe she was letting this happen. She was letting Sam Winchester grapple at her thighs. She hated how well he knew her body, never having felt so intensely attracted to someone. How could he resist her for so long? He was grinding so subtly, he guided her legs open to gain better access. "Fuck, Sam." Y/N was whispering his name like it was a prayer.

His fingers dipped between her thighs, tenderly rubbing her sensitive clit through her panties. Her mouth fell open in praises, "Please, Sam. Oh my-baby. So good, yes, baby." Slurring her words and knowing there was no turning around from here, she gripped his hair and clenched around nothing. This was torture, he was so gentle and loving and considerate, but she wanted a different side. She wanted the Sam that called her insatiable, she wanted Sam take her, she needed Sam to mean it. She tugged slightly on his hair, he let out a muffled groan that felt almost like a growl against my neck. In a haze, Y/N moaned out his name in a way that drove him absolutely insane. The next thing she knew, he was kissing down her chest. He lifted the night shirt above her thighs and kissed down her stomach. He didn't want to miss a square inch of skin, he was greedy and wanted every detail of her satiny skin to be his. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to steady her breath. All those hunts, all those late nights, through storms and scorching heat, she never would've guessed this would be happening. Her father always told her, 'don't get involved with other hunters, they're not long for this world.' But Y/N couldn't think that way, not anymore.

Not while his head was slowly tracing its way to the place she needed him most. Every look, every touch had led up to this moment. Sam knew that in the morning, she may want him gone and never want to speak to him again. But for that night, he would give her everything under the moon. He halted his pace and looked her in the eye, "May I?" Y/N's jaw dropped at the image in front of her. Sam Winchester, his calloused rough hands massaging her legs, his hair tousled. He looked like he needed her more than she needed him. "Please," she quietly begged. A switch flipped in Sam, he was taken over by a hunger; the need to make her feel him. He dove into her clothed clit with this hunger. He licked the fabric separating his tongue from her core, this sudden warmth sent Y/N into overdrive. Her senses were heightened, she could taste how badly she needed more. He pulled her black panties to the side and plunged his hot tongue into her cunt, sucking and pinching her clit. Her eyes opened to catch a glimpse at the pleasure he was awarding her.

His eyes were completely fucked out, he was already staring at her. Her legs were placed on his shoulders to allow him deeper access. He gave her a look and she didn't know what it meant until he had slipped a finger inside her sopping wet cunt. His fingers were so long, so much thicker than she expected. A second later, he inserted another long finger and began to curl them. He was deliberately hitting her g-spot relentlessly and licking her clit in rhythm. The room was filled with the filthy sounds of squelching and moaning. "You okay, hon?" He had a shit-eating grin on his face. "Shut up, dick." He smiled condescendingly and sat up. Instinctively, Y/N shut her legs and sat up right, trying to cover herself back up. Sam watched her squirm and realized just how much he loved this newfound power she had over him. His fingers gone from her sore cunt, she felt an emptiness. She wanted more, she felt so helpless. She could feel the hold he had on her. But then came the overthinking, why was he suddenly so interested? He didn't know what the fuck he wanted. She scoffed at her behavior, how could she be so immature? She got out of the bed and rubbed her temples. Sam was surprised and concerned, did he do something wrong?

"Y/N, wait what's wrong?" He followed her off the bed, she turned around quickly and put her hand out to stop him. She could feel the heat radiating off his chest, she wanted to ignore her doubts and jump into his arms but she knew this wasn't right. "Sam, I'm not...God." He was confused for a second but understood what she meant. "Woah, nothing else has to happen." "You need to know that this-" she pointed between them, "isn't just some small town hookup." she had worked dozens of cases with Sam and Dean and every time some small town fling came along, life went on for the boys but time stood still for the women they leave in their wake. Lisa, Dr. Roberts, Sara, Cassie... "If we cross this line, it has to be more than that. It has to be-" it was so obvious for so long, how did he not see? "I've broken every rule I've given myself," he sucked his bottom lip to keep himself from blurting out everything he was thinking. "I've wanted this for so long." She jumped into his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. Sam quickly cupped her ass and attacked her neck. He slammed them up against a wall, he needed some sort of friction. Y/N noticed his desperate thrusts and decided he deserved a thank you.

She hopped down and fell to her knees, hating the feeling of the itchy carpet against her sensitive skin. Sam couldn't believe his eyes; Y/N, the intense, guarded hunter he'd known all those years, was gone. Wearing her smile and cat eyes was a completely different person. She wasn't looking at him with her usual uninviting glare, she looked...in love. Sam brought his hand down to run his thumb over her bottom lip. "So beautiful." She could feel her face burn red. She looped her finger into the band of his sweats and pulled them to his ankles. His pupils were blown so big, his eyes looked brown instead of their usual blue-green hazel. She slowly pulled down his briefs and watched in shock as his eager member sprang loose. The tip of his cock was red and she swore she could feel him pulsing in her hand. He was biting his lip so hard, he thought he might break skin. His hands traveled from her lips to her hair, yanking her head back to look up at him. She slowly stroked his thick, heavy cock. He tensed for a moment before relaxing in her petite hand. She brought his tip to her warm tongue and licked the slit, the unexpected pressure had him jerking her head back. He gave her a warning look, she kept her smug smile hidden as best she could.

Sam began to thrust the air in anticipation, she loved teasing him so gently. She couldn't resist; she licked a long stripe up his cock, from the base to the tip. He shuddered and gripped her hair so tightly, she knew she'd have to ask Dean if he could grab some aspirin on the way home. She decided to give him what he wanted, wrapping her lips around his member and bobbing her head. She started slowly, circling her tongue around his tip. He groaned and mumbled curses under his labored breath, "Aw fuck, just like that," he started thrusting at the same pace she was sucking. "You're so sweet, angel. So good." Y/N choked on his member, tears streaming down her cheeks. Sam let her up to breathe and just then, the door opened to a shocked and horrified Dean. Sam quickly tucked himself away and helped Y/N onto her feet. Dean placed the burgers on the bed and put his hands up in defeat. "I don't even-" He walked away in disbelief. "SICK!" He shouted down the hall, they flinched. She readjusted her shirt and stood bug-eyed. "I'm gonna-" Sam started, "Yup, nope, go." Y/N agreed. "Okay, I'll be back." He kissed her passionately and went after Dean. She huffed and grabbed one of the burgers, finishing Prom Queen and wondering how much Dean saw.

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