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dulcesiabits · 1 month

Text

where the stars fall.

summary: in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, you and your childhood friend, Childe, and his little brother try to survive amidst the wreckage of a broken world. things take a turn for the worse when you meet a stranger who shatters what you think you know of the world.

notes: 11k words, author's notes, descriptions of violence, murder (specifically through the use of a gun and of an unnamed stranger), unhealthy relationships, angst with no comfort

It’s the end of the world, and your childhood friend is the only person you have left.

Glass crunches underfoot as you and Childe slip in through the broken window of an abandoned grocery store. There’s not much left on the shelves: a stale loaf of black, furry bread, a forgotten wrapper, a dusty row of cracked children’s toys. Everything good has already been scavenged by other survivors.

Like most other grocery stores you’ve scavenged, the broken fridges buzz with flies swarming rotting meat. The remaining fruits are so moldy they’ve permanently stained the shelves with their decaying juice. The smell barely registers anymore; you’ve long since gotten used to the scent of the world dying.

Childe gestures at you and then the left side of the store, before pointing at himself and waving at the right side. His meaning is clear; you nod, and the two of you separate.

You pad noiselessly down the aisles, eyes wandering over the remains of a forgotten life. You’ve ended up in the beauty section: crusted lotions, murky shampoo, eyeshadow palette spilling their candy-colored guts all over the floor.

You stare longingly at the shampoo bottles, but you can’t take any. It’s an unaffordable luxury, even though you’ve forgotten when you took your last bath. The heating and electricity in most houses is failing, and the encroaching winter means the outside water sources are out of the question.

The dry goods section is desiccated. Most of the food is gone, but there is one stale sleeve of crackers left. You drop it in your backpack, grinning at the lucky find.

You straighten, before your eyes fall on a door labeled “employees only.” There might still be something worth scavenging there. You pull out the kitchen knife you keep sheathed in your pocket, the blade glinting dully as you crack open the door.

The room is dark, save for a cracked light that flickers off and on in aimless intervals. There’s a clock on the wall, frozen permanently at 2:13am, and a table in the corner where employees must have taken their breaks, alongside a microwave and– lucky for you– cardboard boxes still piled up on storage shelves. You hurry over, pulling one down. Nothing but dust, more dust– aha! A crinkled bar of chocolate. It’s still sealed, but it would be a perfect present for Teucer.

Something groans behind you, and the hair on your arms tingle. Your heart pounds as you tightly grip the handle of your kitchen knife, whipping it out as you spin– just in time to see a baseball crack through the zombie standing over you.

Blood and rotting flesh fall to the floor in wet chunks as Childe hits the zombie until it collapses to the floor. Then he hits it again. And again. Its arm twitches, and Childe smashes the limb until the bone cracks. He doesn’t stop, even when the zombie stops moving, not even when it’s just a pile of meat and pooling blood.

Childe isn’t even breathing hard when he drops his arm. His eyes are hard flecks of ice as he stares down at the zombie. For a second, he looks like a stranger.

“You okay?” Childe whispers, his gaze melting into something familiar and warm, and the familiar concern coloring his voice brings him back to you.

The two of you try to limit communication to wordless gestures and hand signals when you’re traveling outside; noise risks attracting zombies. “I’m fine,” you reply.

Childe nods, before looking over you up and down carefully, as if to confirm the veracity of your statement himself. He takes your hand without a word, lacing your fingers together. The blood on his hand smears over your combined fingers, rust and iron seeping into the folds of your skin.

But it’s Childe. You won’t pull away. You can’t, even if you hate the feeling of blood.

He doesn’t let go of your hand the whole time the two of you carefully make your way out of the grocery store, slinking down streets, sticking to the shadows and pausing to listen to the shuffle of undead feet. You keep a grip on your kitchen knife and Childe’s hand never strays far from his baseball bat, but it’s an uneventful trek back to the hotel where you’ve set up a temporary base.

The entire first floor is a wreck, the former grandeur blighted by blood and smashed furniture, wallpaper peeling off in strips, the patterns in the carpet hidden by layers of grime and dirt. The room you’ve chosen is up on the third floor; neither you and Childe have bothered to venture farther up the hotel stairs beyond that.

The electronic locks and elevators have long since broken, and the door of room 302 creaks open easily. Inside, Teucer is fiddling with a radio in his hands, a ratty blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a flashlight shining like a beacon next to him, huddled by the foot of the farthest of the two beds in the room. He looks up at the two of you, his eyes bright and expectant.

It’s not until Childe securely closes the door behind him that Teucer finally launches himself at his brother, arms clinging tightly. “You’re back!” Childe barely has time to ruffle his hair before Teucer tears himself off and falls into your arms instead.

You pat his back, and a crackled voice emanates from the radio in Teucer’s hands. You can just barely make out the broken words; it might as well be a broadcast from another planet.

“... Gov… Facilities… North… Repeat…. North… Nat… tate of… gency… Repeat… Govern… North…”

Nothing you haven’t heard already. The radio has been playing the same message, over and over, for the past few months. After all, it’s only the promise of potential safety and protection that drives you and Childe to travel so far north. That, and resources are dwindling with each new city and town the three of you encounter as you follow the voice promising safety.

“I have something for you,” you say, and fish the bar of chocolate out of your bag.

Teucer’s eyes light up as he unwraps the treat. “Oh, wow!” He pauses, staring at you and then Childe, and breaks the bar into three uneven pieces.

He offers a chunk to you. You hold up your hands. “Teucer, it’s okay. That was for you.”

Teucer pouts. “Well, you gave it to me, so it’s mine now, and I get to do what I want with it. And I want to share it with you.”

You hesitate, before accepting the chocolate with two fingers. It’s softening already, leaving soft smudges on your hand. When you pop it into your mouth, it melts like a dream, flooding a sweetness into your system you haven’t tasted in months. Maybe you’ll never taste this sweetness ever again.

“Anything happen while we were gone?” Childe asks casually. Teucer fiddles with his radio again, illegible voices warbling in and out of focus like ghosts from a distant plane of existence.

“Nope,” Teucer chirps. “Just a few zombies passing by when I peeked out the window, though.”

“Teucer, I told you not to do that. What if one of them sees you?”

“Why not? I was careful, and I wanted to see when the two of you were going to come home.”

“Well, we’re home now, and Teucer is safe. Everything’s fine, so no arguing. We need to head out tomorrow, anyways,” you interrupt gently. “I think we’ve stayed here long enough.”

The two brothers nod at your words, and when they do that, Teucer looks just like an echo of Childe. Same messy hair, same freckles, same mischievous gleam in their eyes. You head towards the bathroom. If you’re lucky, there might be a trickle of tap water left if you turn on the sink.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to play something today?” Teucer chirps.

“I’m not…”

“You always said a good violinist should practice everyday so their skills don’t rust,” Childe adds. “Come on, aren’t you a professional?”

“The noise might draw an entire hoard of zombies to our door,” you say.

“The walls are soundproof,” Childe says.

“Just one song,” Teucer says. “I’ll even let you choose which one!”

You let out a little sigh before moving towards your violin case, snugly hidden by the side of the bed. It’s an unforgivable vanity, you know, to carry this with you. An extra weight, when you should have a bag full of rations or cold weather supplies instead. But when you were fleeing your home, facing threats from the undead and other desperate survivors alike, it had been Childe who shoved your violin into your hands. The electricity was failing. The water was tainted. Food was running out. And yet, Childe had handed you your instrument.

“We can’t take this with us,” you tried to reason with him.

“Don’t leave it behind,” Childe said curtly. “You love it, don’t you?”

You had grasped the instrument in your hands, a lifeline in the rising tides.

It’s not as if the world has any rooms for violinists now, no matter how good you are at playing. Bach and Tchaikovsky can’t save you from dying, and all the concert halls have turned to ash.

But when you fling open the lid, the glossy wood gleaming in the low light, when you tighten the bow and reverently run the horsehair along your amber rosin, when you attach your shoulder rest and bring it to your chin, it doesn’t feel like a mistake at all. Your violin slots under your chin perfectly, right where it belongs.

You pluck at the strings, turning the little knobs, listening, adjusting the pitch, and then you raise your bow letting the first few sweet notes sing in the air, before you launch into a short, bouncy waltz.

It almost feels like it used to, in a way that it hasn’t in a long time, and you’ll never feel again: you, and Childe, in Childe’s own living room. You force him to listen to you practice, something you’ve always made him do, even if he can’t even name all the notes on a sheet of music. Teucer is on Childe’s lap, too young to really pay attention, blinking sleepily in the afternoon light, which shines on you like a spotlight. It’s a poor audience, but this audience of two has always been your favorite, even if you dream of sold out stages and prestigious awards.

The memory is painful, and you shove it back down, with everything else you can’t bear to think about. There is no past for you. There’s only here, and now. There’s Teucer, smiling, old enough to finally pay attention. And there’s your friend– the one who knows you best– Childe. He’s listened to you from the beginning, and he’ll listen to you until the very end.

Childe watches you, the same way he’s always done: face turned towards you, rapt. He’s listening to you play, but it feels like it’s you he’s paying the most attention to, not your music. As if in this dying world, you’re the only one who can save him.

The three of you steal out of the hotel in the blue light of dawn, the cold a bitter chill as you creep down the stairs and make your way to the highway again. You have a map, but following the local highway is the easiest way to proceed to your location, a manmade road marking your path to safety. Cars bead the roads in one long necklace of crushed metal and metal corpses.

The cars are the remains of panicked people who tried to leave town as fast as they could, but the sheer flood of people meant the roads had easily jammed and cars idled in place. The lucky ones, who got out quickly, rode their cars until they ran out of gas before abandoning them. The others discarded their trapped cars to idle and rust as they fled on foot. And the unlucky ones, like you, Childe and Teucer, have no choice but to run as far as your legs could carry you.

Teucer is sandwiched between you and Childe as the three of you walk in silence. The world is so quiet now, a silence that has its own weight and texture. Nothing works, and there’s no one to talk to. You can’t even speak to your companions unless you want to risk the attention of zombies or other survivors.

Teucer’s portable radio hangs limply in his hands, and he lets out a raspy little cough. Instantly, you turn to him, a hand on the top of his soft curls.

Teucer shakes his head, and gives you a thumbs up. You and Childe glance at each other, before Childe sweeps Teucer onto his back. Teucer digs his heels into Childe’s sides as a protest to be let down, but Childe continues resolutely forward.

You let out a little sigh. It’s a familiar sight; ever since Teucer was a baby, Childe was always reaching for his brother with his chubby hands, holding him close to him like a treasure. You like Teucer, but you’re an only child; you can’t imagine what it’s like to have a sibling you love so much.

The road is long, winding and endless in front of you, but even the monotony of your travel can’t stop you from pricking your ears, listening for the shuffle of feet, or a long, winding groan. It’s not safe out in the open, and unease prickles your skin.

You pass a car, and a zombie slams its hands against the window, rotting fingers leaving stains on the glass as it claws at you, eyes sunken. Your stomach shrivels, and you bite your lip to prevent your startled cry from escaping. You can guess what happened here: someone was bitten by a zombie, escaped in a panic, but had turned before they could get very far. Still, the eyeless face turns your stomach. That could be you, if you’re not careful enough.

In the next moment, Childe takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. You look at him questioningly, but he simply smiles in return. Maybe it’s a habit from the time you’ve spent together, but Childe is always reaching for your hand. To reassure you, to reassure himself, or just to comfort you.

Childe takes care of you. He knows your moods before you do, valiantly throws himself in front of any perceived threat to you, and wants to solve all of your problems. When you were little, when he sensed you were upset, Childe used to throw rocks at your bedroom window until you let him in. He reminds you a little of a dog, but if you tell him that, he would only grin.

You sigh, but before you can even signal your thanks, a low, broken shout pierces the air. Instantly, both you and Childe tense; you grab your knife and jerk out of his grasp as you run towards the voice.

There’s a young man lying against a car, a snarling zombie snapping its jaws at his face. The young man is holding it back with his gloved hands, but he’s quickly losing purchase. There’s a gun a few feet away from him; he must have been caught unawares.

Before you can think, you dart towards the zombie and angle your knife through its neck and into its brain. The zombie howls; the noise isn’t good. It could attract more of them– but then the zombie’s voice cuts off abruptly. It totters and slumps over, and then you see why: the young man has somehow shoved a knife within the zombie’s mouth.

“Fuck,” the young man mutters. He’s still slumped over on the ground.

You hold out your hand. “Are you okay?” you mumble.

The young man looks derisively at you, before slowly rising to his feet. “Yeah. I had it under control.”

“If you say so,” you say doubtfully.

“Hey, is everything okay?” By now, Childe has caught up with the two of you, his baseball clutched tightly in his hands. Teucer is trailing behind him.

“Yeah,” you say. “This guy was in some trouble, but it’s okay now.”

Childe kicks the body of the zombie, and you flinch at the weight of the sound. “Okay, great. Let's move on, then.”

“Wait.” You turn back to the young man. “Do you need any medical treatment? Did the zombie get to you in any way?”

“Are you asking me if I have a zombie bite?” the young man says contemptuously. “What would you do if I did? Going to stick your knife into my throat?”

“If they won’t, I will,” Childe says, his smile still pleasant. “They saved your life, so the least you can do is verify that you’re not a threat to us.”

“I just want to know if you’re okay,” you persist.

“I said I’m fine,” the young man says. “You know, do you want to draw the zombies to our location? Why don’t you both just shut up, and then we can all move on, hm?”

“We saved your life,” Childe says. “You don’t think you owe us for that?”

“They saved my life, not you,” the young man interjects. “And I don’t owe you anything for sticking your nose in my business.”

“Why don’t you come with us?” you suggest. Childe and the young man both look at you like you’ve sprouted a second head. “I did save your life, and there’s safety in numbers. You’re heading north, too, right? To the government shelter? We could help each other out.”

“Don’t just assume my plans,” the young man mutters. His mouth puckers, as if he’s swallowed something sour. “Fine. If you’re so desperate for my assistance, I suppose I can accompany you for a while. We can call it even that way. But don’t expect any favors from me after that.”

You nod. “Okay. What’s your name?”

The young man eyes you distrustfully. “I suppose… you can call me Scaramouche.”

After introducing yourselves to Scaramouche, who makes sure to collect his gun, the four of you set off. Scaramouche lingers a bit behind your group. Childe, for his part, keeps a tight grip on Teucer’s hand, who keeps trying to look back at the stranger. Neither men look particularly happy.

Maybe this is a bad idea. Still, even if Scaramouche does become a threat, he’s easily outnumbered; he can’t risk using his gun without drawing in zombies with the sound. Besides, if you just left him to wander by himself after a zombie attack, you’d worry over him. This is for your own peace of mind.

The next town descends into view before sunset, a place whose name was lost when all its inhabitants fled. A town without people isn’t really a town at all. Crumbling buildings, deserted cars, broken windows and overflowing trash on the streets: every place looks the same now. This might as well have been the place you left this morning.

A few zombies prowl the streets. The four of you avoid main roads and storefronts, and it’s at this point that Scaramouche leads your little group. He must be familiar with the area, because it’s not long before you reach a residential district, and Scaramouche nods his head at a nondescript house, with intact windows and a sturdy door, which you go up to open.

The lock is stuck, but you strike at it with your knife until it loosens. The three of you step into what looks like someone’s living room: leather couches, bookcases, widescreen television. The books are dusty with disuse, game consoles lying lifeless on the ground.

You, Scaramouche, and Childe sweep the premises, but there’s no zombies– or other survivors– in the place. It makes sense; most people fled as soon as they could, when the weather was still favorable. You, Childe and Teucer are part of the stragglers, the last few people still on the road. Other survivors aren’t common to encounter anymore, and those that are left are quick to look at each other with suspicion and hostility, if not aggression.

Scaramouche’s reaction is normal, all things considered. To him, you’re probably the odd one out. The world has turned to shit. It takes some measure of courage, tenacity, cunning, or even selfishness to survive. You can’t fault anyone for what they do to live.

But still. You can’t imagine completely turning your back on other people. After all, you and Childe have been supporting each other all this time. Neither of you could have made it this far without each other.

“I’m taking a bedroom upstairs,” Scaramouche says abruptly. “Don’t bother me unless you need me.”

“Get some rest,” you say. You set your violin case carefully down onto the floor, but Scaramouche pauses to watch you as you do.

“What the hell is that?”

“My violin,” you say simply.

“Really?” he says, scowling. “A violin? Do you think this is a school field trip? Are you going to subdue the zombies through music?”

“We could also subdue the zombies by tying you up and throwing you to them as bait,” Childe says pleasantly, stepping in front of you so you’re hidden from Scaramouche’s view.

You can still see him, though, and Scaramouche rolls his eyes at Childe’s words. He must not be in the mood for a fight, because he disappears up the stairs without another word.

“Gov… north… natio… state of… gency… repeat…” Teucer is fiddling with his radio again, cross-legged on the living room, and the sound echoes in the small space. He coughs as he adjusts the antenna, wiping his running nose with the back of his sleeve.

“Are you sure you want him with us?” Childe says quietly, so that Teucer can’t overhear.

You lightly grasp his hand, and Childe curls his fingers around yours. “He could be helpful. We can at least stick with him for a few days.”

“Got it. We’ll do what you want to do. But if he ever tries to hurt you or Teucer, then I’m going to take care of him.”

The way Childe says it leaves you no doubt that he’ll make good on his threat the second he perceives Scaramouche has turned his back on your group. Even when you were younger, you always thought Childe was like a pack animal: friendly and warm to anyone in his inner circle, but unrelentingly distant to anyone outside of it.

You remember the zombie that had almost attacked you at the convenience store yesterday, and the way Childe hadn’t stopped hitting it, not even when it stopped moving.

Childe relishes violence in a way you can’t understand. He was quick to pick up a weapon the second the zombies started showing up, and hasn’t put it down since.

He’ll make good on his threat. You can read it in his eyes alone. Hopefully bringing Scaramouche along isn’t a mistake.

Over the next few days, as the four of you continue to travel north, you’re still trying to make sense of Scaramouche.

He has a sharp tongue, and he’s not sociable whatsoever, but he never ignores your questions, even if there’s a scathing reply on his tongue more often than not. He pulls his weight, finding his share of supplies and sharing them with the three of you. And more than that, he dispatches zombies with ease. Scaramouche moves as fast and merciless as Childe, smashing brains into the pavement and aiming bullets directly at undead hearts and spines that cause the corpses to crumple to the floor, his silencer muffling all sound.

Maybe you’re the odd one, because you can’t stop thinking about how these zombies used to be people, with hopes and dreams dashed before they knew what happened to them. Still, there’s no time for regret; you have to do what you can to protect the people you love.

Overall, it’s nice to have another person around to hunt for resources, to watch your back when you’re out, or to have someone back at your makeshift bases to help look after Teucer.

And, surprisingly, it’s Teucer who Scaramouche seems to get along with the most. He’ll listen to Teucer ramble on, and spend more time with him than either you or Childe.

“He’s a nice guy,” Teucer tells you simply, when you ask him about Scaramouche. “I don’t think he’s really that mean. Sometimes he looks a little lonely, though.”

One night, Teucer’s radio breaks, the voices sputtering to a stubborn halt. Neither you nor Childe have any experience with machines, and not even Teucer’s crestfallen look can will the two of you to bring it back to life.

“Maybe I should just hit it a few times,” Childe mutters, turning the machine over and over in his hands.

“Are you an idiot? Give that to me,” Scaramouche snarls, snatching the radio out of Childe’s grasp.

The three of you watch as Scaramouche doctors the radio, unscrewing the back and checking the wires. A second later, sound crackles through the machine, a faint voice mumbling words you can’t hear.

“These things wear out easily,” Scaramouche barks at Teucer. “Try to keep it from overheating.”

“Thank you!” Teucer throws his arms around Scaramouche, who keeps his arms dangling awkwardly in the air before patting Teucer once, his hand gently curling around his head. He seems familiar with children, and it makes you wonder if he has– or had– a little brother before.

“That was sweet of you,” you say to Scaramouche, when he passes by you and Childe. Teucer is adjusting the radio’s buttons again, trying to find any sort of signal.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he says, scoffing. “I would hate to see that brat crying, that’s all. It would attract the undead.”

“Sure,” Childe breaks in easily, smiling. “You’re big brother material, you know.”

“Shut up,” Scaramouche snarls.

Scaramouche is an enigma, but he’s an asset. It’s only when Childe quietly murmurs that he hasn’t noticed any signs of zombie bites or symptoms of infection on Scaramouche that you can bring yourself to trust in him a little more.

“I still think he’s bad news,” Childe tells you in a quiet voice, when Scaramouche is busy entertaining Teucer in the room over. Teucer’s laughter drifts through the wall. “There’s something off about him. The sooner we ditch him, the better.”

“Teucer likes him,” you say.

“Teucer is young.”

“Are you sure you’re not jealous of him?” you tease, elbowing Childe in the side.

He shakes his head. His eyes are distant, staring at somewhere far away from you, some place you can’t join him in. Childe has that look often these days, and it’s the same one he has whenever he sees a zombie and his hands flex on his baseball bat.

Maybe it’s the apocalypse, or maybe it’s always been a part of him. But it’s frightening, because he’s never been unreachable to you. If you just whisper his name, he’ll usually come running straight to your side. But when he gets like this, you wonder if your voice will reach him at all. You take his hand instinctively, as if to ground him back to your reality, and Childe squeezes your hand in return.

He’s here. He’s here, even if the rest of the world falls to ruin, and he’ll always take your hand.

“I just have a bad feeling,” Childe says.

“We’ll be careful,” you promise.

Childe closes his eyes, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Okay.”

Maybe he’s trying to ground himself with your touch, too, so the two of you stay in that position for a long while longer, where you simply soak in each other’s presence, lost in your own thoughts.

As you travel over the next few days, the temperature turns frigid and the ground icy, and the four of you stick to camping out in empty buildings. If you’re lucky, the houses might have an indoor fireplace to huddle around. If not, then you make do with thick, lonely, faded blankets forgotten in closets. If you can’t make it to town, there’s always cars to break into and huddle in for the night. It’s been easy to avoid zombies with the cooling weather; frost gathers in their joints, and they move more slowly. On cold enough nights, you can’t see any at all.

It’s in one of the countless abandoned homes you pass that the four of you stop by for the night. You’re huddled by a fire pit, blankets curled over your shoulders, having pushed the couches closer to the hearth to trap the heat. There are framed pictures over the mantelpiece, of a blond family: two daughters, one with a ponytail and another with pigtails, a mom, a dad. You wonder if they’re alive. Then you turn your head back to the fire, flames flickering in a slow dance, and makes it hard to think of anything else.

Teucer is asleep, his head on Childe’s lap. You’re curled up on Childe’s other side, shoulders touching. Scaramouche sits farther apart, his shoulders hunched, legs folded under him.

“Okay, spit it out. Are the two of you dating?” Scaramouche says suddenly.

“What?” you hiss.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? All the touching? And he–” Scaramouche jerks a thumb at Childe– “Keeps acting like the two of you will die if you’re apart for a single moment.”

“We’re not dating. We’re just friends,” you say defensively, even as Scaramouche raises an eyebrow. “I’ve known him since I was born, okay? We grew up next to each other.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “Oh, how sappy.”

“Are you interested in us?” you challenge, annoyed. “That’s a weird thing to bring up all of a sudden.”

Scaramouche lets out a short barking laugh. “Hardly! You two were just so annoying to watch. I needed to know for sure.”

“Well, now you know,” you say tersely. “We went to the same school all our lives. Our families were friends. But we’re not dating.”

Teucer lets out a series of coughs, stirring in his sleep. His coughing has gotten worse over the last few days. If it doesn’t get better, you’ll need to stop and look for medicine. All of you freeze, and Childe strokes Teucer’s head softly.

“You guys can talk, but try to keep it down,” Childe says. Under the shelter of your blanket, hidden from Scaramouche’s gaze, his pinky grazes yours. You link them together. There’s something intimate about the gesture. Maybe it’s because you’re doing it in secret, right under Scaramouche’s nose.

Scaramouche stares into the fire, unblinking, his gaze reflecting the flames. “So you’ve known him your whole life.” His voice is quieter now, and you try to match his low tone.

“We went to different colleges, though,” you say. “I was majoring in musical performance. Childe and Teucer were visiting me during spring break at my apartment when…” Your voice trails off. There’s no reason to look back to the past. It’ll kill you. It’ll kill you if you stop moving forward, if you think about the family you’ve lost, the stage you can never return to.

“Yeah, we were visiting them when the apocalypse broke loose,” Childe interrupts easily, continuing for you. “We waited a while before fleeing, and we’ve been traveling ever since we heard about government shelters in the north.”

“And what if those communications are lies?” Scaramouche says. “And there’s nothing up there? Or what if it’s a trap?”

“Then we’ll make do,” Childe says. “We’ll survive.”

“It’s easier if we’re together,” you add.

Scaramouche scoffs. “Sure.”

“What about you?” you ask. “Where did you come from?”

“Nowhere,” he says tersely.

“Sure. You just popped out of the ground,” Childe says. “No family? No friends?”

“No one worth talking about,” he says. “Everyone is dead or gone.”

You nudge Childe’s hand with your own, signaling him to drop the issue, and Childe falls silent. There’s no point in pushing Scaramouche about things he doesn’t want to talk about. No one has a happy story these days.

Scaramouche’s eyes drift to your violin case, positioned snugly on the couch. “I can’t believe you’re still carrying that thing with you. You might as well use it for scrap wood,” Scaramouche says.

“I am not doing that! It’s important to me. I know it’s inconvenient, but I can’t just leave it behind.”

“That’s just sentimental drivel,” Scaramouche snarks.

“Maybe it is, but it’s my decision to live with, not yours,” you reply evenly.

“It’s nice to have a little music sometimes,” Childe breaks in. “Not that I know if you understand what it’s like to do things that make you happy. Do you do anything other than glower and scowl?”

“Shut up. You act just like their dog. You’re both hopeless.” Scaramouche stands, still clutching the blanket tightly around him. “I’ve had enough for tonight. Don’t bother me.”

When he stalks off, you lean your head on Childe’s shoulder. “Thanks, Childe.”

“That’s what family and friends are for,” he says lightly. “We look out for each other, especially now. I’m always here for you.”

You really don’t know what you would do without him. Scaramouche’s words stung, not the least because you used to have a crush on Childe when you were younger. Everyone has always teased you about how the two of you were going to wind up dating, but those childish ideas have no place in this dying world. Romance is an embarrassing indulgence, worse than your violin, and love doesn’t seem like the right word to describe what the two of you mean to each other.

It’s like there’s a string, knotted somewhere in the hollow of your heart, tying you to Childe. And everytime his heart beats, you can feel the tug of that string, a reminder of someone who’s more of you than you yourself are. If either of your hearts were to stop, then the string would snap, and the searing pain of that loss would kill you.

No, love isn’t the right word at all.

“You can sleep. I’ll keep watch,” Childe whispers, and your eyes drift close. You can almost feel the ghost of lips brushing against your forehead, but you’re too sleepy to tell for sure.

The next day, Teucer wakes with a fever burning his skin and shortening his breath. You help Childe carry him to a spare bedroom and pile up the blankets against the chill, but it’s not enough. You melt ice and snow outside into water which Childe uses to dip rags into and cool Teucer’s forehead.

The two of you have been by his side for hours, trying to coax water and stale crackers into Teucer’s mouth, but he only turns away. At some point, Scaramouche has come to hover wordlessly by the door. There’s a tight, almost worried, expression on his face, but you don’t have time to pay attention to him and his shifting moods.

“The fever might still go down,” Childe mutters, but he’s talking more to himself than he is to you. “It’s not that bad yet.”

“We’ll need medicine,” you say. “I’ll go find some. You should stay here and look after him.”

“By yourself?” he says tersely.

“No, Scaramouche will come with me,” you say resolutely.

“I never agreed to do that,” Scaramouche says, the first words he’s said since he’s shown up.

Childe stands, grip tightening around the rag in his hands to the point his knuckles turn white. “I don’t have time for you right now. Teucer is sick, you asshole. You can either help us or keep your shitty opinions to yourself.” Scaramouche holds Childe’s gaze in one long, hard unblinking moment. You tense, wondering if you’re going to need to shove them apart.

Scaramouche is the first to duck his head. He glances at Teucer’s prone form, then glances away again, too fast for you to decipher the emotion in his eyes. “I’ll go. He needs the medicine. Besides, they–” he jerks a thumb at you– “Would probably die without someone to look after them.”

You bite back all your complaints at his tone. There’s no time for fighting, not when more important things are on the line. “Fine. Then we’re going to head out right now to look for supplies.”

The wait to grab your gear and trek outside is short and tense. The air is bitterly cold, causing your breath to cloud in the air as the two of you slink down sidewalks and alleyways, scanning for any sign of zombies. Snow and ice slick the ground, and the sky has a sickly gray pallor to it, like unhealthy skin.

The nearest grocery store is a half an hour walk away. In the silence, you’re acutely aware of Scaramouche next to you. This is the first time you’ve been alone with him since he started traveling with you. His steps are surprisingly elegant, his posture graceful. Something about him doesn’t strike you as a typical college student; maybe he was a dancer? It wouldn’t surprise you.

But Scaramouche’s past, which he clearly doesn’t want to share with you, isn’t important right now. What is important is Teucer.

The grocery store, once you arrive at it, is as dilapidated as all the others; they were some of the first places to be scavenged. This place reminds you a little of the one you had explored with Childe, almost two weeks before. You shrug off the thought and gesture to the left side of the store, pointing at yourself, and then the right side of the store, pointing at Scaramouche. He nods, and the two of you separate.

Your heart beats an anxious rhythm in your chest as you peer at the shelves, looking for the telltale glint of plastic bottles and wordy labels. You need basic fever medication, or, hell, you would even take an over the counter painkiller. Anything to relieve Teucer’s pain. Without a doctor or proper supplies, if anything were to happen to him… no. You don’t want to think about it.

You browse the shelves, stepping over fallen merchandise, dirty stuffed animals and books with their pages splayed open like ribs. Nothing. Maybe you would make your way to Scaramouche’s side of the story instead; you’re clearly in the entertainment section, and the medical supplies might be further off.

You round the corner, and run right into a man in a puffy winter coat. You stumble backwards, hands already reaching for your knife, when the man throws his hands up.

“Whoa, take it easy,” he murmurs.

Despite his words, you keep a hand firmly on the hilt of your knife. You’re close enough that if he makes any suspicious moves, you can easily threaten him or disarm him. The man must realize this, because he backs away a few short steps.

He has winter boots scruffy with snow, and days old stubble around his neck. His eyes are red and heavy with dark eyebags, his face drawn with exhaustion, and his hair is greasy. You probably don’t look any better.

“Who are you?” you ask.

“Just someone trying to survive,” he says lowly. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Well, it’s the same for me,” you murmur. You can’t sense any signs of aggression or hostility from him.

“I’m not a threat,” he says again. “Don’t be hasty, stranger. Please. There’s no need for violence. Look. I don’t have any weapons.” He waves his hands again, keeping them spread in front of him.

“How do I know that for sure?”

“Because I’m tired of fighting with every other person I’ve run into. I know the world is shit, but we don’t need to treat others so poorly,” he says, and there’s a creeping edge of genuinity to his voice.

You let out a little breath, then sheaf your knife. Still, it’s close enough that you can grab it if the man turns out to be dangerous.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Looking for supplies. Same as you, I presume?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. You’d be a fool just to trust him based on appearance and kind words alone, as much as you want to believe in his good intentions. It’s probably better not to clue him in on the most vulnerable member of your team.

“Are you by yourself?” the man asks. “Hey, so am I. If you want, we could–”

A soft click of the gun echoes in the air. Both of you tense. “Too bad for you, but they aren’t alone.” Scaramouche digs his gun against the back of the man’s head. His posture is loose, casual, even, as if the man in front of him isn’t trembling like a rabbit.

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“Something you’re too stupid to do,” Scaramouche says disdainfully. “Really, I can’t believe you would lower your guard when there’s a threat in front of you.”

“He isn’t a threat!”

“He just wants you to let your guard down,” Scaramouche reasons. “You have no idea what he’s planning to do.”

“I wasn’t planning anything! I just thought– if they were alone, we could just team up– I didn’t have any other intentions!” the man insists, voice shaking. “I won’t do anything to you two, okay? I’ll leave the two of you alone. I promise. Just let me go.”

“And why should I trust that?”

“I’m just trying to survive! Come on, man. You know how it is these days.”

“I know exactly how it is these days,” Scaramouche says, and pushes his gun against the man’s head again.

“Scaramouche,” you say tensely. “Leave him alone.”

“Why? So he can turn around and betray us?”

“I won’t do that. I promise I’ll just go,” the man pleads. “If we see each other again, I won’t even talk to the two of you. Promise. Come on. Just cut me some slack.”

No one breathes. The moment stretches out, distorting before your eyes, stretching into an agonizing infinity. You might have always stood here, watching Scaramouche and this stranger, rooted to the spot, as civilizations rose and fell with a roar in your ears.

“Scaramouche,” you whisper, trying to plead with him again.

Scaramouche momentarily links eyes with you, his gaze as hard as his gun, and the man slowly reaches his hand down– towards his pocket? You can’t tell– you don’t know what he’s doing– and then – before you can say or do anything at all– Scaramouche’s trigger finger flicks and, in the next instant, the man is falling, blood spraying from his head in a wine-red arc, and it’s sickening how graceful the spill is, how the calm the man looks as his eyelids flutter and his mouth slackens, and Scaramouche is quietly slipping his gun back into the holster on his belt.

You couldn’t hear the sound of a gunshot at all. His silencer must have been on. And that’s the worst part, really, how easy it is. How quickly death passes, in seconds, like a butterfly alighting on a branch before flying away again.

This is the way the world is, and you want to cry or laugh or scream, but nothing comes out of your throat at all.

There’s blood. Warm and wet. Spreading in a pool by your feet. The man has fallen down, face first, and his wounds gapes open at you. You don’t even know his name.

Scaramouche crouches down by the man, digging into his coat pockets, before pulling out a switchblade. He flicks the blade out, his smile ghostly in the silver reflection.

“Knew it,” he whispers. “This fucker was reaching for this.”

The moment breaks, and you grab Scaramouche by his jacket, slamming him against a metal shelf. Your breath is heavy and fast, and you can feel the pounding of your own blood through your veins, resounding in your head, louder than thought. You can see the reflection of your own wild animal eyes in Scaramouche’s.

His eyes are dark and reflect nothing, not even his own thoughts, like a sheet of black glass you can only pound your hands against, over and over.

“What the fuck,” you spit out. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he drawls. “You should thank me.”

“He was innocent,” you say quietly. “You don’t know if he was reaching for his knife or not. He was just lowering his hands.”

“Really? Be honest with yourself,” Scaramouche says. “What else could he be reaching for?”

“Maybe he wasn’t reaching for anything at all. You don’t know that he was going to grab his knife. You had a gun to his head!”

“People do desperate things in desperate situations. You’re naive,” he says, spitting out the word like a curse.

“And you’re a bitter asshole.”

You could tear his throat out right now. You could slam his head against the wall until it bleeds. You could do anything to Scaramouche right now, but it wouldn’t matter. A stranger is dead, and you will never know what he was really doing in his final moments.

For the first time, you understand what Childe feels when he raises his weapon against a zombie.

“Are you going to threaten me all day? Don’t you have more important things to worry about?” Scaramouche says.

Scaramouche is worse than any undead threat. Childe is right. Bringing him along is a mistake. But no matter how you feel, there’s more pressing matters at hand. You clamber off of him, and he dusts down his winter jacket, before throwing something at you.

You catch it with ease. It’s a bottle of fever medication for children, orange pills encased in thick plastic, happy fruit shaped mascots dancing in front of the packaging.

“I found that. So let’s go back. The noise might have drawn zombies near us,” Scaramouche says.

Before you leave, you manage to cover the corpse with a ratty white blanket that you found shoved in the corner of the grocery store. It’s not much, and you can’t give him a real burial, but the idea of leaving his open body to the air feels wrong.

The silence is suffocating on your way home. Neither you nor Scaramouche speak much to each other. There’s nothing to say.

Back in the house, Childe is still crouched over Teucer’s bedside, holding his brother’s hand and speaking soothingly to him. He probably hasn’t moved since you stepped out of the house. You don’t know where Scaramouche went when you both returned. You don’t want to know.

“You’re back. Are you okay?” Childe asks.

He knows something is wrong without you saying anything, like some sixth sense or an animal’s intuition. When you sit next to him on Teucer’s bed, he lifts a hand to cup your face. He scans you carefully, as if looking for any sign of visible wounds.

“Childe. If there was someone who we didn’t know was a threat or not, what would you do?” you whisper.

“Easy. I would do what you wanted to do,” Childe says cheerfully. “And you’d probably want to help them.”

“But what if I was wrong?” you press. “What if I trusted someone I shouldn’t have, and then you and Teucer got hurt because of it? Would it be wrong of me to have done that? Should I just have left them alone?”

“I don’t know,” Childe says. He’s stroking soothing patterns on your cheek now, his fingers dancing across your skin. “We wouldn’t know they’re dangerous until they betray us, right? And it would be their fault for betraying you, not yours for trusting them. Besides, if anyone hurt you, I would just kill them.”

“Is it really that easy?” you ask. Killing others, being killed. Trusting others, distrusting them.

Childe shrugs. “Why wouldn’t it be? We take care of each other, right? If you mess up, I’ll cover you. And if I mess up, you’ll do the same. Why? Did Scaramouche say something to you? Want me to punch him?”

You let out a shaky little laugh. “Sort of. Something happened, but I can’t… talk about it right now. I’ll tell you later.”

Childe lets go of your cheek, and before you can react, softly kisses your forehead. His lips are dry and cracked, but what surprises you most is how gentle that single touch is, how cognizant he is of every inch of you. He handles you like you’re more precious than gold, more rare than diamonds.

“I’ll watch over Teucer, so get some rest. Thanks for getting the medicine for me.”

“I’ll take over in a little bit,” you say.

Childe waves a hand in return, and you stumble down the halls. You touch your forehead, where the kiss burns, marking you forever in some intangible way.

Maybe Childe is your salvation, as much as you’re his. You believe in him more than any god out there, anyways, and if you are to pray, it would be to him. Childe is the only one who will answer your prayers.

By the next morning, the medicine has reduced Teucer’s fever somewhat, but there’s still no point in traveling when he’s too sick to move. For the next two days, all of you are stuck in that house. You and Childe take shifts watching over Teucer. You don’t know where Scaramouche is; he hasn’t shown his face in a while.

In fact, you’re starting to wonder if he’s left permanently. You’re absently polishing your violin in the living room on a slow afternoon, when Scaramouche walks right through the doorway. He’s wearing a backpack, his jacket buttoned tightly to his throat.

“Do you still plan on bringing that thing with you?” he says.

“Yes. There’s no reason not to. Besides,” you add, “It’s not your business what I decide to bring with me or not. It doesn’t affect you.”

“It’s going to weigh you down,” he says.

“No more than anything else I bring with me,” you say evenly. “It was my dream, you know? To play at a concert hall. To become a famous musician.”

“You’re foolish.”

“What’s your problem?” you ask. “If it bothers you that much, you don’t have to come with us. We can go our separate ways. There’s no reason for you to stick with us anymore.”

“You want to know why? It’s because I knew someone who was just like you. A foolish idiot, who was abandoned by his mother, and then fell into a group of people who he thought he could trust. He thought he could trust them because they saved him, because they were kind and believed in the goodness of others. There was a little kid with them, too, who that boy really cared about. But then they all ended up dying because they trusted the wrong person, and that idiot was left all alone. That’s why I can’t stand you. I can’t stand anyone like him,” he spits out.

“But it isn’t the boy’s fault for trusting the others,” you argue. “It’s terrible that all of that happened to him, but the one who betrayed him is really at fault.”

Scaramouche laughed. “Well, that’s just the way the world is, and it’s semantics to argue otherwise. The stupid boy shouldn’t have trusted anyone in the first place, and he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. It’ll be best if you learn that before long, instead of clinging to your stupid dreams. Everyone will leave you eventually, you know.”

Something about his phrasing prickles in your mind. Scaramouche, you notice, is wearing boots indoors. He usually takes off his shoes before entering rooms.

Something clicks in his hand. It’s his gun. The silencer is off. For a single moment, you hold your breath, wondering if Scaramouche is going to shoot you in cold blood, right here and right now, and you’ll end up like the stranger in the grocery store.

But no– he doesn’t even look at you. Instead, he heads towards the front door. You don’t even close your violin case as you follow him.

Unease weighs down every step. “What do you mean? Scaramouche? What are you doing with that?”

He doesn’t bother replying before he opens the door, a gust of cold winter air swirling around you. The night sky is bitterly black and cold, like the bottom of the ocean. “You know, I always hated your fucking attitude. Oh, the world is a good place! Oh, you can trust others! Oh, Childe is always going to help me out!” he says, but there’s something gentle about the cruelty in his voice. Like he’s really doing you a favor. “Someone has to put you in your place.”

“Scaramouche–” Your words are cut off as he raises his gun and fires it into the sky. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound richots off the houses around you and into the depths of the neighborhood, like the toll of a church bell.

And then– groaning. Faint groaning and shuffling, carrying over the wind. In the distance, darkened shapes lurch toward your door, lumpy shadows that are too numerous to count. Congregants, summoned by Scaramouche’s call.

Scaramouche has summoned a zombie hoard to your location. The knowledge hits you just as Scaramouche leaps out the door, giving you one last smile. There’s something bitter curling along his grin, but you don’t have time to interpret the meaning before he waves his gun in a single farwell.

“Good luck,” he says mockingly, and vanishes into the night.

You slam the door closed, heart pounding. Oh god. What are you going to do? The backyard– that’s your best option. You can escape out the back. But, shit. Teucer. Teucer is still recovering. You can’t move quickly with him still sick- and the cold weather could make him worse.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Someone pounds down the stairs. Childe is by your side in an instant, grabbing your shoulders.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” His eyes are wild, and his fingers cut into your shoulders. “Where’s Scaramouche?”

“He left,” you say numbly. “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. It’s just–” Something slams against the door, a wet thud that echoes into your bones. Multiple bodies are beating against the door, and Childe peeks through the peephole. He glances away, his hand around his mouth, and you look, too: it’s an endless sea of corpses. Scaramouche must have summoned the entire town to your door.

“Fuck. Did he do that?” he whispers. There’s an odd edge of elation to his tone, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit quite right in your current circumstances.

“Yes,” you say, and Childe takes your hand, pulling you along, up the stairs.

“Focus!” he hisses, grabbing onto your face, pulling your gaze up to him. In this moment, the only thing you can focus on is Childe’s eyes, pure and open, like the endless expanse of the sky. “I know he did something shitty, but focus! We have to survive. We have to make a way through this. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“I’m here. I’m here for you.”

“You’re here,” you repeat, and Childe lets you go. You slap your cheeks, shaking your head. There’s no time to regret, to mourn, to scream. There’s no choice but to keep moving.

For the next few moments, you and Childe pack two backpacks, shoving them full of whatever supplies you can carry.

You head into Teucer’s bedroom next, where he stirs weakly. “What’s going on?” he mumbles.

“Emergency. We have to go now,” Childe says lightly. Teucer holds out his arms obediently as Childe helps him into his jacket, tenderly shoving a hat on his head, tucking it around his curls of hair.

“Can you walk?” you ask Teucer.

“A little.” His speech is still slurred with fatigue and illness. He’s in no condition to move, but you have no choice.

“I’ll carry you if you get tired,” you say. “Childe and I can take turns.”

He nods, and Childe picks him up. Teucer curls his head into Childe’s shoulder. You grab his radio off the bed stand, and Teucer grips it tightly, close to his chest like a heart.

“You need to put on your jacket, too,” you whisper to Childe. “What, are you going to run out like that?”

Childe smiles. “Not at all.” He guides the two of you to the backyard door. For now, the immediate vicinity is free of zombies: yellowed grass, a barren tree with skeletal arms piercing the sky, a wooden gate with a fragile latch at the very end. In the darkness, you can’t make out anything beyond the fence. It’s better that way, because you know all you see will be zombies piled everywhere.

Childe helps Teucer pull on his backpack, and you slip on your own.

“Not bringing your violin?” Childe asks quietly.

“There’s no room for it,” you say bitterly. Scaramouche is right about that, at least. It’ll just slow you down at this rate.

Childe sets Teucer down at your words, carefully pulling out a chair for Teucer to lean against. “Wait for us for a little bit, buddy. We’ll be right back.”

Teucer nods absently, and slumps on the chair. He’s playing with his radio again, the static crackling through the air.

Childe guides you to the living room, where your violin case is still open on the floor. He bends over and picks up the rosin, running one thumb over the closed plastic cap, before handing it to you. “I’ll bring you your violin later,” he says. “So just take this with you for now.”

“Childe. What do you mean? You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

Ever since you were young, Childe has been unable to lie to you. You know him too well for that, and you grab his elbows at the look in his contemplative look in his eyes. He must know better than to try now, because he only smiles at you. His smile is– it’s excited, almost, as it has been since he first saw the zombies around the house. You want to throw your rosin at his fucking face.

“There are too many zombies around the house right now. Someone needs to be a distraction so the others can get away.”

“But it doesn’t have to be you!” you say desperately. “I can stay, too. I can help you. Isn’t this how we’ve always done this? You and me. We can do this together.”

“Someone has to take care of Teucer. I can’t risk him,” he says quietly.

“God damn it!” Tears are streaming down your face, and you can’t even wipe them away.

For a second, you imagine leaving Teucer behind. You’ll drag Childe with you, and just the two of you can leave. Childe has to survive. He has to. He’s the only one in this world you care about anymore.

But Childe would never forgive you if you do. And you would never forgive yourself. How can you think like that? Teucer is a child. You were there when he was born.

Childe presses his thumb to your face, catching your tears. “I’ll catch up to you guys. I won’t die.”

“You don’t know that! What’s wrong with you? You can’t just leave us like this!” You hold out your hand to him, hoping that he’ll take it, but Childe only looks at it quietly. He doesn’t move to take it. It’s a rejection, your first rejection from Childe.

“I’m not like Scaramouche. I’ll come back to you. I won’t betray you like that. Trust me,” he says. “I’m going to keep both of you safe.”

He kisses you. He kisses you, and all your bubbling complaints are swallowed by his lips. Your hands are trapped against his chest. He kisses you once, and twice, over and over, like he’ll die if he pulls away. Your kisses are salty with your tears. Childe licks your bottom lip, and you finally shove yourself away from him, because you’ll drown in his arms otherwise.

“You promised,” you whisper. “So you better keep it, or I’m going to come back and kill you myself.”

“I’ll always come back to you,” Childe says. “It’s you and me, right?”

You walk back to the dining room, where Teucer is sitting sleepily. Childe has his baseball bat in hand. He kisses his brother’s forehead once.

“Be good, Teuce,” Childe murmurs.

“Where are you going?”

“I have some business to take care of. But I’ll catch up to you soon.” And then, in a low whisper, tha only you can hear, “don’t look back,” he says.

You finger the rosin in your pocket. “I won’t.”

You head out in the backyard, Teucer’s hand in your own, the night air so cold it sears your lungs. You can hear the shuffle of zombies through the fence, too numerous to count.

You and Childe stare at each other through the glass door for one final time, and then he’s gone, running towards the front door. You head towards the gate, heart hammering in your ears as you listen to the shuffle of zombies. You’ll wait until the noise dies down enough to make a break for it, when he’s drawn most of the attention to himself.

A minute passes. Another. The zombies are slowly lurching past you. There’s noise from the front of the house, but you don’t want to think about what’s going on there.

When it’s finally silent enough, you burst out into the street, Teucer’s hand in your own. The two of you run, and run, and run.

You don’t know how long you run. At some point, Teucer falters, and you sling both your bags to your front, and pull him onto your back, and keep going, his arms tight around your neck. His forehead burns against your neck. His fever must be flaring up again.

“My brother…” Teucer whispers reedily in your ear.

“He’s right behind us,” you lie, tears burning your throat and choking your words. “I promise.”

You keep running. You keep running, even when your legs are screaming and your lungs are burning and your breathing is uneven. You keep running until you can’t feel anything anymore, not the ache of your arms or Teucer’s weight on your back. In the endless darkness, you keep going, because if you stop now, then you’ll turn right around and go back to Childe and render his sacrifice meaningless.

Is this your fault? Should you have never trusted Scaramouche and just left him there to fend for himself when you first saw on the highway? Maybe you should have stuck your knife in his ribs yourself the second he pressed his gun to a stranger’s head.

Childe might be dead already. He could be dying right now. But, no, Childe has promised to come after you. He never breaks his promises. He’s always there for you. And now you’ve left him behind, in a zombie swarm.

You remember his smile, too, the way he never hesitates to beat against zombies until they’re pulp on the ground. As much as he loves you and Teucer, he loves the violence of a dying world, too. Does he fight because he wants to protect you, or does protecting you give him an excuse to fight?

Resentment bubbles in your chest, trickling along with your tears. How can he ask you to leave him behind? How can he look excited at the thought of going single handedly against a swarm of zombies?

You can never ask him now.

The world is a cruel place. Your family is dead. Or worse, they’re alive but you’ve abandoned the aunt and uncle who raised you to their fate, without even heading back to your hometown to check if they were still alive. Childe, at least, had the decency to want to go home until it was too late to go anywhere but north. You just wanted to run.

You should have smashed your fucking violin into pieces when you had the chance, instead of carrying it with you all this way. There’s no concert halls left, no audience, no one who cares about your dead dreams.

Something crackles in your ear. Teucer’s radio, turned so low only you can hear. “Gov… north… repeat… state of emergency… shelter…”

Keep going.

But why are you going? What’s left for you?

Keep running.

But what if there’s nothing left? What if everyone is dead, and there’s no one up north to help you?

Keep moving forward.

It’s snowing. You don’t know when it started, but snow clings to your lashes like frozen tears. You stumble over something hard, and you crash into the ground, skidding along the icy dirt. You keep a tight grip on Teucer the whole time, and his radio goes silent as it shatters on the floor, into cold metal stars.

“Teucer?” you whisper, but all you can hear is his labored breathing. If he stays in the cold for any longer, he might really die.

Maybe you should just stay here and die with him. You’re too tired to move. The cold is numbing your joints, seeping into your body. You’ve run for so long. You can’t run any more.

“Look,” Teucer whispers in your ear, and you force your eyes up.

In the distance, a bright light glimmers, a firefly in the winter. A fire, or a flashlight. You can’t tell, but you do know what it means. Other people. You’ve found other people. But there’s no guarantee they’ll help you. Maybe they’ll rob you, leave you for dead in the snow. How can you trust anyone else now?

Scaramouche has betrayed you. Childe is… no, Childe isn’t dead. He’s promised you. He’ll come back for you. If you die here, then you can’t wait for him. If he comes to find you, and you’re not there, then you’ll have betrayed him in the worst way.

Childe can hurt and betray you all he wants, but you can’t hurt him.

And Teucer. Teucer is right here, on your back, still clinging with his fragile arms. Still believing in you to keep him safe.

Your rosin is in your pocket. You force a gloved hand into your jacket pocket to feel its worn edges. You’ve used the same one for years, to coat your bow so it can glide over your violin strings, wearing it down to almost a sliver.

You take a breath. Then another. And then you get up, and you head towards the light.

#liya writes #genshin impact #childe #childe x reader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe genshin impact #tartaglia genshin impact

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ryanmarshallryan · 2 months

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I've been having a lot more people reach out about the vore stories I write, so thought I'd throw it out there if anyone wants to donate to help me have more time to write stories, or likes my style and wants to commission something let me know over dm!

I usually write thinking from a prey perspective, but was feeling hungry after eating salads for a month and switched to pred for this story.

DIET BACKFIRED

I love my weight. I think my belly looks great on me. When I see those old statues of historical figures with dad bods I see myself and love it. But after gaining 25 pounds in a few months from stress, I decided to try out a diet for a bit, just to be cautious of my health. Man, it was hard. And this morning my hunger took control.

I was preparing a salad, heated up some chicken to mix in, sprinkled in some shredded cheese, spinach, lettuce, cucumber, tomato and such. All I could think about was how wonderful it would feel to have a full belly again. Not just feeling satisfied, but pigging out and shoving as much down my maw as possible. Feeling the gainer bug while also trying to diet was not going to work for me. I tore through my cabinet to find an old box of cookies. I opened the box, came to my senses and closed it, then decided I didn’t care and ate the remainder in one sitting. To try to slow myself down and tire out my palette, I tried to eat a bunch of lettuce, but then added a bunch of croutons and snacks without thinking. I still felt hungry, but just left the kitchen to stop myself.

Later, I hung out with my work-out buddy, Max, and vented about my hunger, “I’m still eating a lot! Just replacing chips with a lot of low fat snacks. So if the quantity of food I’m eating is the same, why am I always feeling sooooo hungry? Ugh.”

“Bro, sounds like you need a cheat day. But, hey, if you’re stressed about having too much high fat food, I can help you eat big while still holding back on the chips.”

“Well it can be helpful to sit with the feeling for a while. So if you start feeling hungry, write down exactly what you are craving and what that feels like. By the time you are done writing it out, if you’re still hungry for it… go for it. If the feeling passes, then move on,” Max continued.

“I’m sure we could try it, but I don’t see how much of a difference it’ll make.” I replied. I knew Max worked as some sort of private personal trainer or something on the side, so I felt inclined to believe him, but my stomach was doubtful.

After our workout, we visited a smoothie place and got large chocolate banana protein smoothies (after writing out what I was craving and waiting a moment before deciding to go through with it). I sucked mine down so fast I got a mild brain freeze.

“So how are you feeling? Hungry for another one?” Max asked, playfully placing a hand on my gut and giving it a quick rub.

“Ugh, I would totally go for a burger and fries right now… no, onion rings… actually both,” I replied, as Max handed me a notepad and pen. I wrote down the menu in my mind and thought about how it can be nice to feel so full without another care in the world.

“It’s been a few minutes… still hungry?” Max said with a sly smile.

“What do you think?” I asked him, lifting my gym shirt up to reveal my hairy belly, which gave a perfectly timed gurgle.

Max drove to my favorite burger joint and ordered a few meals and insisted on paying “This is my idea, don’t worry about it… for science!”

After downing two large burgers, a full bag of onion rings and a couple sides of fries, plus an apple that came with Max’s meal that he was too full to finish, I sat with my gut extended out in front of me.

Max leaned over to me, pulled my shirt up over my belly and patted it with his closed fist as if knocking at a door, “So how are you doing, hungry guy?” He put his ear to my side and listened intently to the stomach gurgles, occasionally making sounds of “Mmm,” “Yes, I see,” “Interesting.” I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of Max speaking to my belly.

“What’s so funny about listening to your gut? Intuitive eating is no joke,” Max said with a joking smile, “What is your stomach telling you?”

I thought for a moment, grabbed the notepad and wrote down ‘Though I should be full and done eating… Ice cream would hit the spot right now… Surely that would fill me up, and fill the void the low fat snacks have opened.’ I handed Max the written note.

Max looked from my belly to my eyes with a poker face, “I know just the place.”

In a few minutes we rolled up to Max’s apartment. Inside he pulled out some pints of cookies and cream ice cream and some mint chocolate chip. He handed me a spoon and opened the containers and sat across from me.

“Do you want me to get a bowl?” I asked.

“Nah. Try to intuitively eat. Just eat until your body feels done.”

“So… eat until there’s a nationwide ice cream shortage?”

Max threw his head back laughing, “If we get to that point, maybe we’ll pivot to a new tactic, but for now, feel free to eat as much as you want.” He looked endearingly into my eyes, and I felt my gut rumble, whether by digestion or hunger, or both, I couldn’t discern.

As I scooped down ice cream, we chatted about hunger, about scarcity mindset when it comes to food, and he told me some interesting facts about digestion and how to make room in one's stomach faster than normal by laying on the left side.

“Is this the stuff people need to know for your personal training work and such?” I asked.

“Personal training stuff?” Max gave a look of puzzlement then laughed, “I think I said that sarcastically a while back. A few guys pay me to help them gain weight and eat big. So sort of a personal trainer, but kind of the opposite effect that most would expect.”

“Ohhh, this tactic makes a bit more sense now,” I replied, continuing to eat the ice cream.

“Well, I thought if I encouraged you to experience the ability to eat as much as you want without restriction, you’ll realize that you don’t have to eat everything. It sounds like you are always hungry, because you are always denying that you want food.”

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true,” I went to scoop up more ice cream then realized I’d eaten all of it.

“How are you feeling?” Max asked, rubbing the top of my belly.

I felt a grumble deep in my stomach.”I can definitely feel my belly full of food, but I also could definitely do the whole thing all over again.”

Max considered me for a moment, then started listing off some random digestion facts again. He put his head on my stomach again, lifted my shirt off my body, listened again, took his hands and gently opened my mouth wide and peered down my throat, until I started laughing and he couldn't hold my mouth open.

“What are you doing? You think my stomach is gonna speak back to you in English?” I joked.

“No… but I wonder if I could better understand your hunger if I could better see inside your gut. Hmmm, maybe even just peering down your esophagus…”

“Don’t you need a fancy scope for that or something?”

“Not if you’re willing to relax your throat for a moment…” Max said. I shrugged, and he straddled my lap and shoved his head into my mouth. I could feel his energetic breathing against my tongue and wondered how on earth he could see anything down my throat with his head blocking light from the outside.

I heard a muffled “I’d like to see a bit further…” and felt him push his whole body forward into me. His shoulders shoved their way into my maw and stretched my jaw wide like an opera singer. I choked a little bit feeling his scratchy hair make contact with my uvula and the bottom of my tongue. I reflexively closed my lips over his skin and swallowed as the hair and breath tickled my maw. I realized that my peristalsis must have taken a bit of control, because I was surprised to see that I was looking down at his lower back with his arms pinned to his sides. I felt his nipples and pectoral muscles sliding against my tongue and felt his head squeezed tightly through my lower esophagus. What was going on? Though the sensation was filling me with dopamine and adrenaline, I realized that somehow my body was getting ready to eat a whole human, so I mentally prepared myself to try and regurgitate him. But instead I felt him force himself deeper into my throat, as his feet pushed off against the floor, and his upper torso wriggled and squirmed to slide deeper into me. I felt a sloshing in my gut, and heard a muffled intake of air and the continuation of more digestion facts being spewed out of Max’s ever curious mind obsessed with digestion.

Since Max seemed so intent on getting inside my stomach, and I knew I would need to breathe soon, I decided to help him out. I lifted his legs up over my head and felt gravity pulling him down my throat. I pulled his gym shorts and such off him and felt the interesting texture of his little belly over his abs, mixed with gym sweat and belly hair, felt past his hard on and groin, and his thick thighs as they all passed over my tongue and against my soft palate. My stomach finally began to feel full, as it sloshed with its soupy contents of dinner encasing Max’s squirming upper body. I knew Max’s hands had been freed from the tight grip of my esophagus as my inner stomach felt a peculiar tickling sensation with Max rubbing it from the inside. I felt him poke around and heard his muffled casual observations about my stomach.

I felt Max’s muscles seize up as he put his legs together tightly and let them slide easily down my throat. I felt his cold feet tickle my tongue, uvula and esophagus until they finally plopped into my stomach and I felt my throat open enough for me to exhale and breathe in more oxygen finally.

I took a few moments to gather my thoughts and catch my breath, feeling Max move around and curl up into a ball inside my tight stomach. I looked down to see the bulge his head made toward the top of my belly, with other odd bumps sticking out that I assumed were his knees and feet pressing up against my stomach walls. I felt his clammy hands push up against my stomach as he surveyed his new situation.

“Max, I forgot to write this craving down first.” I said, jokingly.

“Don’t worry I already did!” I heard him shout back, hearing it almost come up through my own throat. I stared in confusion at the opened notepad next to me and flipped to the last written note that read ‘Ice cream and everything else isn’t satisfying enough. Maybe eating me will do the trick. - Max’

My belly gurgled in surprise, “You planned for me to eat you?”

“I did shove myself down your throat, didn’t I?”

“But why would you -”

“Hey you didn’t try and stop me, bud,” he replied. I felt a pat against my belly, and shivered a little bit.

“Yeah, but I thought you just wanted to glance inside, but you wriggled in deeper!”

“Are you mad that I did?” Max asked. I felt him shifting his weight inside my gut and resting into me.

I considered the events of the night. I had really craved a day to just eat all I wanted, and Max gave all that to me and more. Even though I definitely didn’t expect him to force his way onto the menu, my belly felt much more satiated than it had been. “... I’m not mad at you… just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into… but I do have a confession.”

“What is it?” Max asked, shifting around and pressing his head up against the place where my hand was resting on my belly.

“I could go for some orange sherbert right now… I think your diet tactic failed.” My stomach added a large grumble and groan in agreement.

“Failed for you, maybe. But I’m cozy!” Max tried to stretch out a bit and I watched my stomach bulges shift in a funny manner, and felt my belly tighten and knead Max in response. “Plus, I think I figured out why you’ve been so hungry lately.”

“And what have you discovered?”

“That you should have eaten me ages ago! Once I’m digested into belly fat you’ll have more energy stored in your cells for longer, so you won’t be as hungry all the time! It’s simple science,” Max replied matter of factly.

“I’m not sure that science is sound, but as long as you’re happy, I’m fat and happy.”

“If you don’t think the science is sound, maybe you ought to repeat the experiment. Have a cheat day every once in a while,” Max replied, as he curled into a tight ball again and let my stomach relax and get to work over him. “I know I’ve been seeing that cute guy at the gym drooling over your gut, you know, the one who always wears that green hat? I’m sure he’d love to be a part of your next cheat day once you’ve had enough of your salads and diet again.”

I enjoyed the peace of feeling Max getting comfortable deep in my gut. I took deep breaths and felt my diaphragm move Max around slightly as my chest expanded and contracted. “Maybe I’ll ask him. But I’ll leave it up to him whether he wants to take it as far as you did tonight.” I rubbed my belly and stared, mesmerized at the lumpy spots on my belly indicating Max’s body relaxing against my stomach walls. I felt his heartbeat in polyrhythm against mine, with his breathing patterns tickling my stomach walls. I tasted the lasting flavors of his skin on my tongue, mixed with ice cream and other sustenance I had downed throughout the evening. Good thing we worked out first, to balance out this sharp intake in calories. So I suppose even if I had a cheat day from my diet, eating a whole human balances out to be healthy, right?

#gayvore #male vore #m/m vore #fat

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sissyisawitch · 3 months

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Be My Valentine (Be Mine)

Relationship: Sebastian Sallow x f!You

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and Sebastian is all about making you feel your best and giving you everything you need… whatever that may be.

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+ explicit sexual content

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!💝

It was past nine p.m., and the night Healer had finally turned up, meaning that your long, exhausting evening on call at St. Mungo's was finally over.

Almost all your colleagues had deserted to spend time with their partners on Valentine's Day. That was how you had found yourself managing an entire department on your own, because you were the only one who had volunteered. Of course, you did not do it for the fun of it – Merlin knows that you too would have preferred to spend the day with your boyfriend – but it was your first few months as a fully trained Healer, and you hoped that volunteering for as many shifts as possible would help you get promoted as quickly as possible. Fortunately, you were lucky enough to have an understanding boyfriend who supported you completely in this process.

Speaking of the devil, you only had one desire... to get home to him and his welcoming arms.

You let out a long, exhausted sigh, then eagerly removed your lime green uniform robes, and disapparated without wasting any more time.

In the blink of an eye, and with a loud crack, you found yourself on the doorstep of you and Sebastian's flat, not far from Diagon Alley. As soon as you arrived, you heard a hurried commotion coming from the other side of the door. Sensing that something was odd, you slowly turned the doorknob.

“Seb?” You called out tentatively. “I’m home.”

And then you stopped dead in your tracks, speechless... Several boxes of chocolates were waiting for you on the table, wrapped in big red ribbons. The whole living room was covered in red, pink and white flower petals. And there were all those candles scattered all around the flat, on all the furniture and windowsills. Their perfume filled the air with a subtle and enchanting fragrance, while their flames danced and flickered. Their gentle yet warm glow brought a soft, intimate illumination to the romantic decor. And in the midst of all this, there was the most important thing...

Sebastian Sallow, your devoted boyfriend, was standing in front of you, greeting you with a breathtaking bouquet of different kinds of roses that formed a vibrant colour palette to match the theme of the special occasion. It was incredibly huge, unlike anything you had ever seen. It was as if its size symbolised the depth of his love, and its flamboyant petals reflected his fierce feelings for you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” He approached you, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Blushing as red as a poppy, you took the bouquet in your arms and were immediately embraced by the sweet fragrance of the blooms, “Sebastian! You didn’t have to!”

“I have to deserve you, don't I?” He replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, shush.” You gave him a playful little smack on the arm. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. I didn’t get you anything!”

In response, Sebastian wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pressing you against his body, and placed an innocent kiss on the tip of your nose, “Doesn’t matter because tonight is all about you. I'm yours and at your disposal for your every wish throughout the entire night.”

“Every wish, huh?” You quirked an eyebrow while your smile was slowly replaced by a mischievous smirk. “…So if I tell you my back is sore and I want a massage, you'll do it?”

“Your wish is my command, princess.” Sebastian replied, grabbing one of your hands and bringing it to his lips to place a loving kiss on it.

Without wasting another second, Sebastian took the bouquet from your hands and placed it more or less delicately on the table beside you. Then, out of the blue, he lifted you in his arms, bridal style, and carried you in the direction of your bedroom with ridiculous ease, as if you weighed less than a feather. You rested your head on his chest, now able to hear his soothing heartbeat, and let him manipulate you to his heart's content.

Through his dress shirt, you could make out the outline of the muscles in his strong arms as they contracted to support your weight. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, allowing you to admire his forearms wrapped around your body, with his tanned skin dotted with freckles, accompanied by a few beauty spots here and there, all enhanced by the prominence of his bulging veins.

Sebastian laid you down on your shared bed, and it was only when you had left the warmth of his arms, missing it dearly, that you snapped out of your admiring reverie. Without saying a word, you watched him carefully kneel on the floor in front of you. He untied your heels and gently removed them, relieving you of their confinement after walking in them all day. He then stood up, towering over you, leading to the inevitable of you internally gushing over how tall he was compared to you. You never took your eyes off him, not even for a second, while he was busy attending to you, something he did often, but that you never got used to. It always sent thousands of butterflies into your stomach, which began to flutter even more intensely when his fingertips pulled the hem of your blouse out of your skirt before gripping it.

For the first time in what seemed like forever to you, his mesmerising and familiar gaze met yours, before he spoke softly, “Can I?”

“Of course.” You breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His long and deft fingers worked on each of your buttons, one after the other. You could not tell whether he was going slowly on purpose to tease you, or whether your anticipation had altered your perception of time. Nevertheless, he eventually opened your blouse completely and slid it down your shoulders, revealing your almost naked torso to him.

Like magnets irremediably drawn to each other, his rough but warm palms came to rest on your delicate skin. You took in a sharp breath as he traced the outline of your ribs until he reached your back and unhooked your bra, sending it flying into a corner of the room.

His next move surprised you when he pushed you by the shoulders, and forced you to lie on the bed, half-naked under his hungry gaze that never left your breasts and their perked-up nipples, as if he were discovering them for the first time.

If his eyes were locked on a very specific target, his hands, however, had a mission to fulfil. He lifted your hips, hooked his fingers into the waistband of your remaining clothes, and killed three birds with one stone by removing your skirt, tights, and panties all at once, so as not to waste any time, even though his hands still lingered on your arse, then your thighs, to feel your delicious curves.

Now completely exposed to him and at his mercy, his eyes roamed every inch of your body, embedding them in his memory for the umpteenth time. You felt the blood rush to your cheeks, but made no move to try and hide yourself, never with Sebastian. You knew he was doing nothing but worshipping you. And anyway, even though his persistent gaze made you blush fiercely, it did not last long, because very soon you were no longer able to see him. He had flipped you onto your stomach.

The bed creaked, and the next sensation you felt was the mattress sinking under his weight, with his legs on either side of you, caging you underneath him. Then you felt the warmth of his torso and the slight tickle of his chest hair against your back. You flinched slightly when his breath surprisingly brushed against your ear. You had not expected him to be so close to you, given that you could see nothing of what he was doing.

“You’ll see, I have magic hands.” He murmured in your ear with a low, husky voice. It sent shivers right down your spine, making you exhale loudly.

Sebastian's skilful hands settled on your upper back and began to work their magic, tracing soothing patterns on your skin. The warmth emanating from his touch, combined with the care and attention he put into every movement, instantly melted away the layers of stress and tension you had built up throughout the day.

His hands seemed to have an intuitive understanding of your body. He effortlessly found the knots and areas of tension, coaxing them to release their grip. The sensation of his long fingers rolling your skin beneath them sent waves of pleasure through your whole body, awakening every nerve ending and igniting a profound sense of relaxation. With every sigh of relief that escaped you, you felt yourself sinking a little deeper into the soft mattress, engulfed in a state of tranquillity that blotted out all the worries and anxieties of the outside world.

However, when his strong hands reached down and began to cross over the small of your back, your serenity was quickly replaced by a much more intense feeling, one that was capable of sending sparks deep into your body and down into your core.

You let out a demanding grunt, before drawling, “Lower, Seb.”

He complied, taking care of your lower back, applying enough pressure to reach deep into your muscles... but it was not what you had in mind.

“Lower…” You repeated needily, sounding almost out of breath.

This time he understood what you really wanted. His large hands travelled even further down to cup your bum, making a keen moan escape your lips. This was Sebastian's cue to continue. He began to massage your arse – which was surprisingly also tense from the stress of your day – and his fingers dug deep into your skin to knead your muscles. You were sure you would have the purplish prints of his fingers tattooed on your skin for the next few days.

You closed your eyes, making the movements of his hands the only thing you perceived. You concentrated on the pleasure they gave you, how loved and pampered they made you feel. It was everything... and yet very soon it was no longer enough.

Still not quite satisfied, you turned round, now lying on your back and able to admire your boyfriend's handsome face, adorned with adorable freckles. Sebastian frowned at you, confused as to what you were doing, wondering if he had done something wrong for you to stop him.

Dying to flatten the crease between his eyebrows, you grabbed one of his hands that had been resting on your waist and brought it to your lips. You started with light pecks on the back of it, and then on each of his fingers, before turning it around to leave open-mouthed kisses on his palm. With heavy lids, you made eye contact with his intrigued gaze, and nuzzled your cheek in his hand.

“Show me what else these magic hands can do.” You asked in a soft voice, playing coy.

Sebastian smiled brightly at your newfound boldness, showing off the tantalising dimple in his left cheek, “You’re not ready for it, darling.”

In response, you let yourself sink further into the mattress, arching your back to give him a better view of the entirety of your naked body beneath him. You gave him complete control over what would happen next. You wanted him to do whatever he wanted with you, to play you like he would a musical instrument.

Sebastian let out a beastly growl before diving on top of you and attacking your neck. He nipped at your skin, pinching it between his front teeth. He stayed like that for a while, as if trying to get a grip on his impulses before letting go. But when he eventually did, Merlin, he made you feel loved and desired.

His lips ventured down your neck at agonising slow pace. His licking and sucking left trails of saliva and marks of different shades of crimson on you. He offered the same ministrations to your collarbones, and then your breasts. You let out all kinds of soft moans and quiet sighs as he played with your stiff nipples between his teeth, but still, you could not help but feel like something was missing…

His hands.

“Seb…” You whined, before continuing. “Your hands. Touch me. Please.”

You felt his lips quirk into a smirk against your breasts, before you felt his amazing hands on you, grabbing your arse and giving it a prompt squeeze.

“Aah!” You gasped out loud, unable to supress your eager reactions after finally being given what you yearned for.

His hands kept exploring the body that he knew like the back of his hand after all those years together, and yet he continued to slowly trace the curves of your hips, waist, ribs, and breasts, taking the time to caress them back and forth, as if trying to memorise even more details about you than he already knew.

As time passed, you spread your thighs more, inviting your boyfriend where you wanted to feel him the most. Sebastian did not have to be told twice before using his index to tease your entrance and slide it up to your clit to separate your lower lips.

“Eager, aren’t we?” He asked playfully, but actually amazed at how wet you already were, with slick dripping down your inner thighs.

All your blood rushed south, leaving your brain inoperative. You were incapable of putting a single word together. The only way you could respond was to nod vigorously, making Sebastian chuckle lowly.

Deciding not to torture you any longer by teasing you further, Sebastian slid two fingers inside you. He relished the ease with which he did so, given how wet you were, making it all the easier for him to appreciate the sensations of his girlfriend’s soft and feverishly warm walls. He curled his fingers inside you, putting pressure on the point he knew made you wail… and wail you did.

Given the angelic expression of pure delight on your features, Sebastian knew that asking you if he made you feel good was pointless. It was not like you would have been able to form a sentence to answer anyway. So he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, trying to coax more of those melodious sounds out of you.

On your part, you could only focus on the way his fingers reached far within you and stretched you the perfect amount. An overwhelming warmth started to pool in your core, making your muscles tighten as they begged for release. Your legs opened up even more, enticing him to take a step further, which he did.

Sebastian pressing the pad of his thumb and rubbing tight circles on your clit was your breaking point. With nothing more than his hands, he was able of giving you sensations you knew no one else would ever be able to give you. With one last thrust of his fingers, your thighs clamped around his wrist as you cried out loud, feeling your walls clench around his fingers before slick dripped out of you.

“Coming with just two fingers?” Sebastian asked smugly, sitting back on his heels to observe your delicious chest heaving up and down as you tried to catch your breath. In the meantime, he had rested his hands on your thighs, caressing invisible patterns on them with his thumb.

“Just wanted to show you how much I love your hands.” You replied quietly, a soft and dreamy smile gracing your lips, as you were still recovering from your orgasm.

“Like I hadn’t noticed.” He smirked, squeezing your thighs.

He brought the hand he had been pleasuring you with to his mouth, and then made a show of licking his slick-covered fingers with the tip of his tongue, making sure to look deep into your eyes the whole time. If your cheeks were not already flushed from your hot activities, you were sure you would have been as red as a beetroot by now.

“Mmh… Sweeter than the chocolate I bought you.” He drawled before moving his hand closer to you encouragingly. “Go on, taste yourself, love.”

Whereas he was expecting a little timid lick, you felt a fiery courage sweep over you, and decided to fully wrap your lips around his fingers, twirling your tongue languorously around them, bobbing your head several times. Sebastian's only visible reaction was his Adam's apple jutting out after he swallowed heavily. What you did not know however, was that, upon watching your obscene actions, Sebastian’s cock twitched in his pants in jealousy, begging to be taken care of too.

“Good girl.” He praised you with a dark tone, as he placed his hand under your chin, tilting your head up in order to make you look up at him. He wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb, before caressing your cheek lovingly.

You seized the occasion to take in his enticing appearance. His cheekbones were tinted a discreet shade of pink, bringing his freckles out. His chocolate eyes were fixed on you and only you, with his pupils blown wide with hunger. However, you could not help but find his appearance… not depraved enough. You wanted to see his hair tousled, his lips swollen from kissing, his skin covered with crescent shapes of your teeth and nails. You needed to make a mess out of him, just like he had done to you.

You sat up and slowly began to unbutton Sebastian's shirt, savouring every inch of his torso as it gradually revealed itself to you, making your heart beat faster. When you had finished with the last button, you looked up, realising that Sebastian had been staring at you the whole time with an intense gaze, curious as to what you were going to do next.

You placed your lips carefully on his as you slid his shirt down his muscular arms. As you did so, you managed to feel the relief of the veins running down his arms, which excited you even more and made you deepen the kiss. Seized by a sudden fiery passion, you grazed his bottom lip between your teeth and began to nibble on it, earning several guttural grunts from Sebastian, which were largely muffled by your lips pressed against his. Nevertheless, you soon became addicted to them, and wanted to hear them louder and clearer.

Your mouth travelled further down, exploring his sharp jawline, then his neck where you lingered for a moment on his pulse point because you could feel his veins pulsing on the tip of your tongue. When you were satisfied with the ruddy mark you had created on his skin, you paused for a few seconds to admire it, feeling an enormous sense of satisfaction, knowing full well that all his colleagues – especially the women – would see this bruise and understand what you had done to him, because he was yours. No one else's but yours.

Sebastian brought you back to reality by grabbing your wrists and pulling you against him. You were now skin to skin, sharing each other's body heat, your breasts were pressed against his chest. If you were close enough for him to feel every detail of your curves, then you could certainly feel his too, and more specifically his arousal pressing into your hip bone.

You were unable to hold back your wide grin, and decided to attempt to conceal it by continuing your delicate ministrations on your boyfriend. As your hands ran up his toned chest before settling on his broad freckled shoulders, your lips got back to marking his skin, and more particularly his collarbones this time. You could taste the bitterness of his perfume, and the subtle saltiness of the sweat accumulated over the day.

A hypnotic moan escaped Sebastian's lips as he threw his head back under your expert touch. Needless to say, this brought the irrepressible throbbing back to your most intimate part.

You slightly pulled away from him, just enough to be able to look him in the eye, and whined his name, “Sebastian…”

“Yes, love?” His husky voice whispered.

“Be my Valentine.”

Sebastian let out a low and deep chuckle, “Darling, I already am. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“That’s not what I meant…” You trailed off, an obvious glimmer of mischief behind your eyes, as you slowly unbuckled his belt.

Your fingers then slid down his trousers to his mid thighs, before doing the same with his boxers, eagerly pulling them down by the elastic. His cock sprung free from its painfully tight confines, his tip smacking against his stomach. Sebastian sighed in relief as he helped you remove his underwear completely, by lifting one knee after the other.

If Sebastian thought you would stop there, he was kidding himself. Your next move was to fully take him into your hand and play with him. Once again, you realised just how thick and well-endowed he was. With your palm, you felt how unbelievably hard he was, and with your thumb, you traced his blood-gorged veins that led to his tip, where the skin was even softer than on the rest of his body.

“…Be mine.”

After emitting an animalistic groan which took you by surprise, he leant forward to grab you behind your thighs and sweep you roughly off your knees. With a shriek, you fell back onto your back, and Sebastian immediately caged you under his large body, hovering over you once again.

“I told you I’m all yours tonight.” He growled right in your ear.

“Only tonight?” You taunted him with a falsely innocent air.

“What an insatiable minx you are.” He smirked before diving on you to capture your lips and suck on them for a hot minute. “I’m yours. Every single day and forever.”

“Sebastian…” You snivelled from frustration, as you could feel yourself dripping again. Tears began to gather in your eyes from how much you needed him. It truly was a pathetic sight. You were incapable of putting two words together without being interrupted by a whimper. “I-I can’t wait… I want you… you inside me… now.”

Normally, Sebastian would have been vicious and continued to tease you until you begged him time and time again. But today was different. You had been lying naked underneath him for a while, without him doing anything to you. He himself could no longer wait to enter you to rediscover your familiar, comforting inner softness.

He therefore grabbed you by the hips to lift you up, so that he could align his tip with your entrance, covering himself with your juices at the same time. As his hands grasped you, his veins and tendons bulged out, and his knuckles turned white.

Next thing you knew, Sebastian pushed himself inside of you in one swift movement, all the way to the hilt. You both let out loud moans at the same time, he because he was squeezed all around by your tight walls, and you because you felt incredibly full and stretched from the sudden intrusion. In any case, it was paradisaically good for both of you.

“Look at you taking me so well. My perfect girl.” Sebastian praised you, looking down at where you were joined. Your only response was a broad blissful smile.

With his fingers still buried forcefully in the skin of your hips, you clutched his large wrist, not sure if it was because you needed a grip on anything to remain conscious, or because it was your silent way of begging him not to take his hands off you. Surely both.

With that angle, Sebastian was able to thrust very deeply, reaching parts of you that you were not even aware of. It had you letting out all kinds of excited sounds, making him groan at the vibrations.

“Don’t s-stop… Please!” You implored into their kiss, your hand curling around even tighter around his wrist – if that was even possible. It was certainly going to be another bruise that you were going to leave on his body.

Sebastian fulfilled your every wish, just like he had promised. He did not stop. He even gradually increased his speed, until he was eventually slamming into you, his balls smacking against your arse. You started moving along with him, meeting his thrusts halfway, always searching for more friction. The feeling of completeness had you both letting out frenetic, desirous moans which soon became a sublime chant of encouragement to keep going.

It got to the point where you could not even scream anymore, completely overwhelmed by his cock taking care of you in the best way. Despite your vision having become somewhat blurry, you managed to make out his dishevelled appearance, with his ruffled hair sticking to his forehead and falling in front of his eyes, which were screwed shut, unlike his gaping mouth, which was letting out ferocious, hungry growls.

You gasped and caught a whiff of his sophisticated cologne, a fusion of woody and vetiver undertones, and you became a little more entranced by his undeniable charm. It was as if you were falling in love with him all over again.

Your nails dug into the back of his hands, so deep that it must have hurt without a doubt, but Sebastian had no reaction, because you had already saturated all his senses. Your eyes rolled back in the back of your head, while his impressive length stretched your walls to their maximum capacity, repeatedly hitting that one spot that made you feel on the verge of ecstasy.

Sebastian knew you were about to come again when your thighs began to spasm. The fun was not going to last much longer, but that did not matter because it had been intense, and Sebastian was close too anyway.

Still overly sensitive from your first orgasm, you reached your second peak in record time as you properly screamed, “Sebastian!”

Your velvety walls clenched around him, almost making it impossible for him to move, and that was all it took for him to see stars (on top of the enormous sense of pride he felt since his name had rolled off your tongue). There was nothing he could do to stop himself from falling over the edge and spilling deep inside you.

He remained buried within you for a moment longer, and gave a couple of slow, lazy thrusts in order to pump himself dry of his seed, and give you a moment to ride out your orgasm. He then rolled over beside you, trying to catch his breath.

“Seb…” You called out, just as breathless. “That was amazing.”

“Suppose I’ve been a good Valentine, hmm?” He asked as he snaked his arms around your waist to tug your figure against his. His fingertips started tracing your smooth skin up and down your arm.

“You know you are. You’re everything I could ever ask for.” You rested your head on his chest and listened to his soothing heartbeat. “I love you, Seb.”

“And I love you more, darling.” He whispered, as he felt you starting to fall asleep in his arms.

#valentines day #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow fluff #hogwarts legacy fanfic #fanfic #smut

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jo-harrington · 6 months

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Standard Operating Procedures 1.04 (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The summer is ending, school is about to start, the seasons are changing...and so are things between you and Eddie.

Previous Part: Corrective Action

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual Pining and Slow Burn, Fluff, Food/Eating, Talks about the Future, Romantic Tension/Sexual Tension

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Eddie had always had a sweet tooth.

His mom swore, up and down, that her only craving had been for Zebra Cakes when she was pregnant with him.

His favorite food as a baby had been mashed peaches.

And now he was sure his body was chemically composed of more Dr. Pepper than water.

So it should have been no big surprise that he was so attracted to you.

Ahem.

So it should have been no big surprise that he would have planned a snack cake taste test extravaganza for your usual Sunday Not-a-Date Date.

You'd revealed early on that your grandparents were both "in the sugar business."

"My grandpa," you told him once as you walked through the mall window shopping on your lunch. "Worked the chocolate chip line at the Maurice Lenell bakery."

"Are those the fancy cookie tins--"

"That they sell at Christmas? Yes."

"Wayne always gets one with his holiday bonus," Eddie reminisced. "The pinwheel ones with the red sugar on the outside are my favorite."

"And my grandma worked at the Hostess factory," you continued. "She always always brought home boxes of rejects. I probably would have been too shy to make friends at school if they hadn't flocked to me for baked goods."

Because of this though, you had never fraternized with the enemy, as Eddie so dramatically put it: Little Debbie.

"And now," his gaze turned dark and mischievous as he threw open the doors to the van. "You shall feel the full power of the dark side."

He outdid himself, truly.

Piles of snack cakes from the gas station, sorted into two neat little stacks, a little notebook for scorekeeping, and a 6-pack of Mountain Dew as a palette cleanser.

“You keep saying,” he said as you settled in amongst the pillows and blankets he’d set up in the back so you’d both have a cozy spot to snack. The radio was softly playing in the background. It was nice. “That you wanted to drink the water in the mall fountains. Did you know that Mountain Dew is the closest you’re gonna get?”

You’d both run garbage late one Wednesday night and thrown coins into the fountain on your way back to your stores. And that’s when you’d revealed your deepest darkest secret.

“Because they’ll both probably kill me in the end?” You joked.

“No, because Bromine is in both.”

“Ok nerd.” You snorted.

“Not…a nerd,” he shoved you as he plopped down beside you. “But I did this project for chemistry class last year. On Mountain Dew. And how it gets that color. And it’s also how they keep the fountain water clean. Or pool water? I can’t remember exactly right now.”

“Ok nerd.”

“I’m sorry,” he clutched his hand over his heart. “My lady wanted to taste only the finest of fountain water. And I deliver her the closest thing and am openly mocked? Twice?”

You stuck your tongue out at him and slapped his shoulder, then asked what the rubric was for the taste test.

And then you snacked til you made yourselves sick and did what you always did, balanced conversation and companionable silence.

That was a new thing. The silence.

Not for the two of you, but for Eddie.

He wasn't used to silence, he was used to loud music, noises and raucous laughter and adventure--real or fantasy--with his friends, but since the two of you started hanging out, he was getting used to the silence a little more. Enjoying it. Savoring it. Looking forward to it.

The anticipation of waiting for something wonderful--thoughts or observations or confessions--coming of your mouth made him feel warm inside.

Eddie had pondered your friendship earlier in the day as you'd run in to let him know you couldn't take lunch together.

"There's this crazy long piercing line and I'm just running to get a slice of pizza and then going back up. I'm so sorry, I'll see you after work ok?"

Your energy was frantic and your words faster than lightspeed, but your eyes were filled with concern and care for him. The little hitch of your eyebrows and the extra pause you took so you made sure that he understood that you weren't ditching him you just...couldn't do lunch and didn't want to leave him hanging.

Even when everything was falling apart around you, you cared to make sure he understood.

It was nice.

And it wasn't just you. But it was nicer when it was you.

He didn't get a lot of understanding like that. Especially not in Hawkins where his last name and his appearance caused everyone's hackles to raise a little. And even the people who did want him around...well it was hit or miss if they decided to stick around.

But since working at StarCourt, things had been different. He had a boss and coworkers who liked him, inside jokes with people who worked at other stores. He had you. He wasn't Eddie The Freak Munson. He was Eddie from TapeWorld. And Eddie from TapeWorld seemed to help people warm up to Eddie Munson.

What a weird concept. People wanting him around. Coming to StarCourt and being around people who accepted him and valued him...understood him. He'd only felt that way with Hellfire...and with Corroded Coffin.

People were good and people liked him. A sweeter treat than all the Hostess in the world.

It had been a few months now; a few months of an actual job, a consistent crush friend, and everything seeming to look up for him. Give or take a few minor hiccups but...he was feeling good.

And school was starting soon, maybe this would be the year the tide turned? No more waiting for the future to finally happen for him; he was making things happen for himself.

It might finally be his year...

"So," he leaned over, into your personal space, and fished a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. "Kyle gave me this thing yesterday."

"Oh yeah?" Your eyebrows raised in curiosity as you happily munched on a sugary treat.

He'd spiraled a little bit when he'd been handed the sheet. Three little words at the top.

Schedule Change Request.

Way back at the beginning of summer, after the initial shock that he'd gotten the job at TapeWorld, he figured he was just counting his days until he was fired and that the start of the school year would have been the final nail in the coffin if he made it that far.

Instead Kyle was...asking him to stay.

"I’m probably not gonna be able to give you as many hours with school,” he sighed. “Which is a real bummer. But I’ll put you on as much as I can."

"You're not kicking me out?" Eddie asked, shocked.

"What? Are you nuts? Ed, you're like...my best guy! I need you here. Selling those guitars, getting those sales bonuses. And because you're my buddy. So make sure you put your for-sure days off on there...you know I'm gonna forget.”

He explained it all to you, which led to you cackling loudly.

"Oh my God," you laughed. "Eddie!"

"What? I know it's silly."

"No, I'm not laughing because of that," you began. "My first position at Claire's had been a summer job too and I seriously thought that I was gonna get fired once school was back in session."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. And it's a real thing because no one tells you that you're done when summer's over. You're gonna see come Christmas, Kyle will have to hire seasonal associates--and hey, ok...seriously if Gareth or Dave come asking for a job...it might seem fun...but don't--and he'll have to make sure they have end dates on their paperwork otherwise it's a whole thing."

You went on and on about helping your old manager with paperwork and you'd forgotten to put an end date as you were filling everything out. And then someone's mom came to complain at the end of the season when their kid was let go.

"And she kept screaming and screaming. And that's why I have a strict parent policy at work. Even though I'm the reason that got so fucked up; trial by fire. Jen was pissed."

Eddie reached out and unwrapped your hand from the Sno-Ball that you had crushed as you told the story. He adored it when you got so animated, but the poor little pastry was now just a mess of crumbs and frosting and marshmallow goo on your fingers and now his as he plucked the half-destroyed treat from your grasp.

And the thing was...

The thing was, Eddie wasn't...he was decidedly not smooth. He was gross. He was a gross boy. He hacked loogies and did spit handshakes with the guys all the time. He had no five second rule when it came to food dropped on the floor; it was an optical inspection and then usually straight down the gullet.

He could be romantic and seductive if he wanted to be; he could charm the...ahem...pants off some people if the need arose. And he had.

But that wasn't this.

This was a caught up in the moment of having a good time with his friend and doing what he would have done if one of his buddies crushed a snack cake. He'd be his usual gross self and expect them to groan and screech and laugh at him. Boys will be boys and all.

This was a too little too late moment of realization as he, Eddie Munson, lacking the foresight of having napkins in the van for this little snack cake taste test since he usually wiped his honey-bun-icing slick hands on his jeans after he unhinged his jaw and shoved it in on mornings when he was running late, saw no other way to clean sweet frosting off your hand except to lick it off your thumb.

The van suddenly got smaller and hotter as his tongue traveled up the pad of your finger, over the ridge of each joint and to the center of your palm. His eyes traveled up to meet yours as he flicked the sweetness off of you, and his breath hitched when he saw the way your eyes widened.

How was he supposed to deal with this? How was he supposed to handle this epic potential fuck up right here? How was he supposed to stop his brain--and maybe some other parts of him--from wanting to take the hand that gently held your wrist and pull you closer so he could kiss the sugar from your lips and not just...

Lick it off your hand.

Jesus, he was an idiot.

Caught between a rock and a hard dick.

Hard place. Fuck.

But that was the conundrum right? Because Eddie did want to kiss you; he enjoyed kissing...a lot actually, and it would be...nice if all of these dates were actual dates so that he could just kiss you and squeeze you and all of the nice things that came with...having someone who liked you back. So he didn't have to shoot Kyle a dirty look every time he teased "have a nice lunch with your girlfriend" knowing fully well that it was exactly what Eddie wanted.

He'd heard the spiel many times when Kyle had come back from his own lunch and then stood over Eddie as the younger man unpacked shipments, and told him, flat out, hands on his hips "you just need to ask her out man I'm getting sick of this."

And the guys had teased him a bunch.

And Wayne kept asking when you were coming around again.

Well this could be it.

A horrible start to asking a girl out on a date but wouldn't that be a funny story, and Eddie really did like a funny story.

This is. This is the moment.

Eddie opened his mouth to say something and so did you. You both backed down from actually saying anything. Eddie's hand tightened on your wrist and he was sure he could feel your heart beating faster. And was that you leaning a little closer to him? And did your eyes look at his mouth as he licked over the seam of his lips really quickly for courage.

He opened his mouth again...

Courage. He could do it. This was gonna be his year, and you were gonna be his girl.

...and then slammed the broken remains of the SnoBall in.

Quite literally slammed, shoved, fingers flailing as he tried to smoosh the chocolate cake and pink-coated marshmallow and remnants of frosting inside.

He let go of your wrist and then backed away from you as far as he could.

Idiot.

You let out a nervous laugh and looked down at your messy hand. You tried to use a discarded wrapper to clean yourself up when Eddie just...pulled off the flannel that he'd layered on to help wipe you off instead.

Like he probably should have done in the first place.

You didn't say anything, just smiled gently at him, like you always did. Always patient. Always forgiving of his mistakes.

What had you even been talking about before?

Oh...right.

"Note to self," he muttered around the SnoBall. "Never becoming a manager."

Your eyes crinkled a little as your smile got bigger and you grabbed onto the front of his shirt and shook him a little.

"Save yourself!"

The rest of your evening went by unremarkably.

You both got too hyped up on sweets and Mountain Dew, ran a few circles around the van in the StarCourt parking lot, headbanging and screaming, after Eddie threw on a tape he said the two of you could dance to. Then to Dairy Queen where you soaked up all the sugar with chili cheese dogs.

An otherwise normal Sunday for the two of you.

Mishap forgotten.

Nerves forgotten.

Misplaced feelings...forgotten.

For now.

---

Next Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.05

#store manager verse #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #stranger things Eddie munson #Eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson imagines

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gojoroui · 2 months

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what do your moots remind you of?

tysm for turning this in nonnie, i was really exited to try this <3 & the fact i thought i had NO MOOTS when i literally have like 33 💀

@wvnrqs — ribbons & bows, old newspapers, pretty swans, tulips, bubbles during a summer day, vintage books

@ode2rin — cats, plushies, desserts, pillow sheets, clouds during a sunset, slice of life vlogs

@yuzurins — chirping birds in pretty meadows, bubble tea, spring mornings, green tea, flowers, plants

@okkalo — golden coins, rainbows, duckies, cardigans, soft breeze at night, lakes, cherries

@noomon — the sun, diaries, simple yet beautiful things, love letters, projectors, mini fireworks

@yoisami — serenity, raindrops falling down a window, youth, modeling posters, strawberries, bunnies

@mikareo — twinkling stars, lattes, romance k dramas, museum of arts, recording studios, eclipse

@rinzsu — instagram posts, cookies, snowman, masquerade balls, photo albums, the beach

@hanrinz — stars, k-pop concerts, snowflakes, headphones, mini skirts, candles on a rainy day

@rosequarzo — japanese folktale, lucky money, headphones, fantasize by ariana grande, toast, waking up at 2am for a snack

@adoregojo — modern universities, polaroids, black & white manga, hairclips, milk tea, bonnets

@riekiss — winter wonderland, snow angels, jewelry, dolphins bumping noses, mini skirts, slowly plucking petals off a flower

@popponn — frogs ofc, matcha, perfectly healthy & straight grass, keroppi, bootcut jeans, chanel soap

@rewh0re — autumn leaves, wooden instruments, music notes, greek & rome mythology, poetry, sacred monuments

@y2kuromi — sand castles, colorful ice cream flavors, perfect pair by beabadoobee, staying up to talk with friends until 1am, pretty seashells, butterflies

@pokkomi — glitter & sparkles, staring at clouds, fantasy genre, cargos, hello kitty, angels

@yunymphs — models, laufey, coquette aesthetic, anything gucci, attractive girls, money

@520cafe — sparrows, cats chasing after yarn strings, thirsty by aespa, picture frames, rice with soy sauce, playlists

@etoiile — lipstick, fashion, staring at the starry night sky, french cookies, milk, daisies

@moonswolfie — coffee, studying with a candlelight during a rainy day, scarves, autumn breeze, biscuits, puppies

@kyoghurts — saturn, friendly aliens, lipstick stains on a white shirt, peach eyes by wave to earth, carp streamers, chalk

@kxttqi — lilies, sunrise & sunsets, lion cubs, melting candles, strawberries, pretty instagram posts

@kaiser1ns — book shelves, j-pop, cheesecake, birthday streamers, lucky money, tigers

@rninies — aventurine, unforgiven by le sserefim, pochacco, mangoes, flip phones, figurine boxes

@iluvies — kaomoji, koi ponds, expensive restaurants, red velvet cake, pottery, bunnies that have their nose scrunched up

@lovedazai — sweet bananas, lily of the valley, bouquet of roses, the smell when you walk into a bakery, prom nights, fairytales

@scopuo — jjk theme song, video games, dvds, tote bags, japanese apartments, thrift stores

@culturity — watching edits at 3am, stargirl, cleared remix by lilithzplug, nokia phone, laces, ramen

@myuroll — my melody, rubber duckies, alice from wonderland, koi fishes, cake rolls, the feeling when when someone gives you a compliment

@noirflms — flower petals, cherry blossoms, coquette clothing, hoodies, pinterest whispers, apocalypse by cigs after sex

@wishmemel — wish me mell, chocolate covered strawberries, the moon, pretty nails, new york at night, mcdonald’s chicken nuggets

@saelique — ocean waves, san-x, doves, kindergarteners (bc ur cute & fun ^^), friends to lovers trope, headphones, staying in bed for 5 more minutes b4 school

@yeritos — pudding, iced coffee, pearl necklaces, mesmerizing color palettes, skipping rocks, mary jane shoes, lamp

#letters ꕤ ˚₊⊹

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javitrulovesims · 3 months

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Cupid's Kisses

A Valentine's Day treat for my incredible followers 💝

"What is one of Barbara Millicent Robert's very favorite winter holidays? Valentine's Day! Struck by Cupid's arrow, our festive hostess is ready to celebrate with the best traditional gifts. A heart-shaped box of "chocolates" sweetens up any party; a bottle of "perfume" lends an air of sophistication; and an adorable greeting card shares the love. She conmemorates February 14th wearing a lovely ensemble, sure to win hearts. Her dress features a red bodice and white short sleeves. The full white skirt is flocked with a design of flying cupids, hearts, and bows. Romantic accesories include golden heart necklace, golden earrings, pretty white lace gloves, and a red bow accenting her raven ponytail."

PS: Box of chocolates, Perfume and greeting card not included

This Stunning set is inspired by the 2014 "Cupid's Kisses" - Holiday Hostess Collection Barbie designed by Bill Greening. Can you believe that there only 5000 pieces of this stunning doll WORLDWIDE?

The set consists on 5 pieces, a Dress, a pair of lace gloves, a pair of golden earrings, a golden heart locket necklace and a hair bow (with a hat slider that way we can adjust it to any hair) all of them on my "Iconic 50's" Palette. PS: I also made a De-laced version of the dress at last minute, i feel that some of your ladies will rather have a more basic look for those non-valentines day dates.

Get your Valentine's Treat 💝-> HERE <- (Patreon) Free Release

#TS4 #The Sims 4 #TS4CC #S4CC #TS4MM #Maxis Match CC #1950's #1960's #JaviTruloveSims CC

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justhere4kpop · 7 months

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Easy as Breathing

P.SH x Reader

W/C:1176

Genre: Fluff, Stay at Home, Date Night.

Summary: You finally can have a date night with your partner, what will you get up to? He is the love of your life after all. Don't forget some shenanigans with a kitten.

a/n: Happy Birthday to one of my best friends on the entire planet! @hwaightme I love you so so so much and I can't believe we've spent almost a year together on this rock! Thank you for always believing in me even when I couldn't and making every day a little brighter with your art and delulu, you mean the absolute world to me and I love our chaos crew! I love you so much! I can't wait for many more! Here's to you!!!! <3 <3 <3 (also thank you my love @pocketjoong for beta-reading <3)

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

Dating Seonghwa was as easy as breathing, he fell into you like a missing puzzle piece and wamed your heart like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. He was there in the time you were studying for your degree and you were there as he and his group traveled across your home, attending his performances was something you had always promised to do whenever you could. He made sure to be there when you had graduated and you made sure that you were at the show for his birthday.

You had moved in together some time ago as you could never be away from each other long enough to keep your own place. Your home was cozy and minimal, it had lego displays and Star Wars memorabilia, a sofa big enough fo every member and yourself in the living space with a tv made for watching movies. The coffee table adorned with “The Star Wars Archives” “Star Wars Art.” and “Cabinet of Natural Curriosities.” A turntable adorned a corner of the room with speakers. Art hung on the wall, some you created, some you both had purchased from art fairs. The color palette was cooler, soft blacks and whites, a few accents of emerald and a pop of gold. Seonghwa had liked it for the rich vibes it gave him. You both had worked hard to make it into a home, this was your home. You remind each other it could be a cardboard box and it’d feel like home if you were together.

After what felt like Seonghwa being gone forever you both had settled on a date night, and while all your outdoor plans had been rained out or cancelled due to the weather you could still make the most of it. Grabbing umbrellas and ponchos you head to the local department store to pick up a few things, a lego set, snacks, a book or two, a puzzle, and a movie to potentially watch later.

“Okay I’ll start organizing the pieces into categories.” you said sitting at the now cleared off coffee table lego box open.

“Okay I’ll see where we should start.” Seonghwa smiled at you.

Lego building always starts peaceful but about halfway through you both are arguing if that’s the correct piece or if it’s actually the piece you’re holding because it looks more like the picture that way, you decide to make hot chocolate to get away from him and cool off because after all it is a silly argument, Lego building is very serious in this household, just ask your cat…also named Lego. The sweetest little black kitten with the brightest roud boba eyes. Seonghwa as a cat as you describe to your friends.

After your adventures in lego building you decide to do something a little active to wake up so maybe a few rounds of Just Dance, or as Hwa suggested a Youtube tutorial on aerobics. Then of course neither of you could decide on reading or the puzzle so you decide to snuggle up on the sofa and he reads to you while you lean against him, adjusting his glasses when they start sliding off his face since his arms are too full of you to keep them on his nose. You journey back to the lego building but of course you become distracted when Lego begins chasing the light reflected off your phone onto the floor. Your giggles becoming his favorite sound on the planet.

As the date night came to a close you made his favorites for dinner, a proper feast even. He held you close as you cleaned the kitchen and began waltzing with you as if in one of those old time movies with the big poofy dresses and gloves, him in a three piece suit. In reality you’re both in glasses and pajamas laughing as you stumble around the kitchen and listen to him humming. Finally settling in for the night back on the couch watching Kiki’s Delivery Service.

“Maybe we should get Lego, a Jiji.” Seonghwa smiled down at you.

“You sure you can handle two cats and a girlfriend Hwa?” you smiled back slightly.

“Well I’d have you to help out now wouldn’t I.” he pinched you slightly. You yelpped out in surprise.

“Yah! Park Seonghwa!” you hit him with a pillow.

“What’s like without a little spontaneity” he smiled and held your arms above your head before crashing his lip down on yours.

Lego jumped up on the table and let out a mighty roar. A tiny baby meow that stopped you both in your tracks.

“Yes sir Lego?” Seonghwa looked at the kitten who has yelled at his father.

“I think he said ‘Stop attacking mom.’” you chuckled from under the love of your life.

“She did start it Lego.” Hwa chuckled and scooped the kitten into his arms.

“Okay maybe we do need another cat since I now have no cat and no cuddles Hwa.” you pout gently.

“Well then, my little witch needs her Jiji doesn’t she?” he smiled and passed Lego into your arms and held you both close. “See this works much better doesn’t it.”

“It does……..PARK SEONGHWA!” you practically launched the kitten across the sofa and turned to hit the man who once again has found it in his enjoyment to torture his poor significant other while the cuddle on the couch.

“Have I ever told you how much I loved you.” he smiled as he stared into your eyes like they held the stars in the sky.

“You could stand to mention it more now that you’re here.” you stuc your tongue out at him.

“I love you very much darling. Very. Very. Much.” he emphasized each very with a kiss to your lips.

“You’ve now distracted me through the whole movie.” you chuckle and push him up gently.

“Alright alright, I give.” he sat back up and let you get comfortable.

It wasn’t long before the warmth of the blanket mixed with you partner in crime, a soft movie, and full stomach from too many snacks and tea began to drift you off to sleep.

“I do love you very very much my darling.” Seonghwa kissed the top of your head as you breathed peacefully without a care in the world. Yes dating Seonghwa was as easy as breathing.

Bonus:

You awoke the next morning, it still dark and damp from the non-stop rain of the night, the soft patter on the window, Seonghwa arrived with a coffee just how you like it and his laptop under his arm.

“Good Morning Darling.” he smiled softly as you sat up and took the coffee.

“Mmm Mornin’ ” you mumbled.

“I was browsing for our very own Jiji this morning while I was waiting for your coffee to finish, I think I found the perfect one. Sure she’s not a black cat like the movie but-”

“She’s perfect Hwa.” you looked at the photo of the mostly black cat with a sweet little white star patch over her chest.

#cromernet #wonderlandnet #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fanfic #baistander #bai ❤️🩷#bai #hwaightme #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa imagines #happy birthday my love #cromersquad

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oceanlipgloss · 3 months

Text

VALENTINE

ELIGOS.

+ no warnings.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns, hints of female mc’s official appearance.

An arts and crafts project of her very own.

An eyeshadow palette on the vanity, scissors in her hand, pink ribbons on the floor. And his adorable smile, of course, reflected in the mirror.

He looked so cute. Like a little present.

Ribbons were once tied in bows around his horns and clothes. Same old, same old—but then she thought, why not change that just a little on this chocolate-sweet day?

When red paint and pink paint are mixed together, they swirl into a color akin to magenta. The pink he likes comes to life from a drop of magenta—or perhaps strawberry-red—and a dollop of cream-white. But aren't cherries and Red Delicious apples the actual color of Valentine's?

That's why ribbons dripped from a lacquer box, all red, pretty and shiny. The crimson sheen of them made him wonder: was that why had she led him by his pale shoulders to the golden vanity? Better yet, was he going to get lots of pampering?!

Warm fingers stroked his hair. Compliments sprinkled themselves over his head. Made him feel giddy. And then those fingers were untying bows from black locks, sliding ribbons down white strands.

Horns for last!

Red ribbons twirled around her pale fingers, limited their movement; she avoided touching his horns as best as she could, however. It's nice to keep things innocent for once—sweet and childlike!

These short dark bones were such sensitive things, though, for even the caress of soft fabric against them made his body stiffen. And contact was ever inevitable—so when his short horns and her delicate fingers eventually met in the lightest of brushes, a shiver rippled under his porcelain skin.

Every time a pink ribbon fell to the ground, instead of it a red one got tied into a bow.

Snip, snip, snip! Scissors cut away any offending strings. Sunshine fell on his hair and made red velvet shimmer like rubies.

Minutes ago she was thinking about how precious he looked with his pink ribbons, blushing cheeks and childish smile, but right now she almost felt like she would eat him up as though he were just a tiny piece of heart candy. Red complimented his rosy happiness so prettily.

Just like a doll.

She had told him that in the human world, red was the color of love, and the color of Valentine's, the day of love.

That had to mean...that she loved him!

Happy. He felt happy.

As he watched her dip a soft brush in metallic red, he found himself thinking that white ribbons would look lovely in her violet hair.

The fine bristles felt softer than a dream against his skin. And a bit ticklish. He giggled. It was hard to stay still, but he knew it was important for perfect results, so he did.

Scarlet spread over the little bows on his shoulder. And since this was not only for artistic purposes—but also a message of endearment—she might as well also 'paint' the ones on his leg. So, she knelt before him and did just that.

With every tiny bow colored, she pressed a soft kiss to his skin and gifted him a compliment—didn't stop even when he already had a whole heart-shaped box of them that overflowed and dropped the sugary candies to the ground.

Finally, her hands reached towards the great pink knot about his waist. She would now sew red velvet to another one of his outfits, because the ribbons and colors must all match, no?

+ MASTERLIST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

#whb #what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb eligos #the story factory

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zeeckz · 18 days

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OK OK HOW ABOUT....BBKAZEVA

This was really tough (I barely had any thoughts about them when you asked, I've been making most of them up as I wrote)

Somehow I think Kaz & EVA would team up most of the time to "scold" Big Boss for something he did, but the second Kaz does something wrong Big Boss is definitely supporting EVA even if he doesn't actually agree with her complaints (he'll let him know later, scoffing, and kiss him for forgiveness)

Well, I already said kazeva would ride motorbikes, so Big Boss clearly isn't an exception (not to the leather jacket/outfit and the matching helmet either)

He also gives me the impression to enjoy alone time rather than being surrounded by people, despite being in a leading position, so he's also going to isolated places with them

They kinda have to force him to write something worth reading on those postcards they send to David, if it was for him he'd just sign it as "-Boss" (not even "-Dad" smh) and call it a day (since they require his participation, otherwise he wouldn't do anything)

When it comes to the animal shelters, I feel he would pretend not to care as much as he actually does about animals, like just waiting outside while smoking his cigar, but the second he sees a Doberman, a German Shepherd (afaik the only specific breeds mentioned to be used as attack dogs in mgs) or a wolfdog (substituting actual wolves from the games) he's getting closer to pet it (depending on how doable it is, he might as well try to steal it)

He's the one who doesn't care about fashion as much as the other two, so, if anything at all, he'll only match the color palette or maybe wear a small, kinda discreet accessory (like wearing the same watch, buying the same lighter, or having a small sewn figure that matches his partners' clothing pattern, stuff like that), just so they don't bother him

Kaz and EVA are reinforcing each other's horniness just by being together, so I feel it's more likely they'll be questionably touchy in public (and I think they'd both do it to Big Boss, who's trying to keep them under control at least until they have more privacy; he doesn't like bringing any attention towards themselves)

For some reason I just imagined Big Boss buying ice-cream cones to them, so I will now accept this as his go-to way to treat them when going out; he doesn't look like the kind of man who'd buy flowers, chocolate boxes, jewelry, etc etc - ice-cream seems informal enough and a good way to keep them happy quite frequently

He also gets to have both of them licking the ice-cream in a rather indecent manner in front of him, but that's just a side effect and not his goal at all (he just wanted to cool down and eat something sweet)

Someone recently pointed out to me Big Boss seemed to show voyeuristic behaviors in mgs pw, so... These two being hornier than average... Y'know. Sometimes he just sits and watches as he smokes.

Tbh I already thought Kaz is into voyeurism and I'm not having too hard of a time imagining EVA being into that as well (just to a much lesser extent than them), so. Um. They can take turns.

And now that I accidentally ended up in this thread of thoughts - if it's the three of them, Kaz and EVA have to do most things at the same time or take turns, it doesn't work if only one of them does this or that (they'd fight) (they're into it anyway, just brings up a slighty dirtier side of them both and Big Boss is Not complaining)

I feel having EVA by his side would make it more likely for Kaz to work on music - yeah, she's not deaf and probably told him he's not much of a singer, but she'd also encourage him, maybe even sing herself, and Kaz would write little songs about things he likes about their trips and their little adventures as a throuple; I actually am not sure of what Big Boss' impression is regarding his musical skills, but I think he'd encourage him to improve himself (y'know, a very firm pat on the back and a few words while directly looking at him, then hold his jaw and a little kiss to get him going)

Now that I think of it. Big Boss seems more kinky than EVA, but less than Kaz. Do what you wish with that information

Anyway, back to the music - they visit music shops, second-hand shops from time to time and Big Boss is often forced to hold Kaz up so they can leave after several hours of him investigating all of the instruments, musicians and albums he's interested in (EVA finds this cute and enjoys seeing Big Boss holding Kaz like a sack of potatoes on his shoulder). Oh. Happens with fishing stuff too. AND trains. Specially trains.

It's kind of the same thing with EVA when they pass by a motorbike club, an exposition, motorcycle dealerships, and any other ride-related event (likewise, it's now Kaz who finds this cute and Big Boss is just the one who has to drag her out)

Since we're already doing this, they both have to drag Big Boss out when they find a gun shop (this isn't cute to either of them because he's stronger than them, he so badly wants to look at guns and he's not willing to leave). Also happens with any military or hunting related shop.

EVA sleeps between Kaz and Big Boss, who are faced towards each other. EVA just turns to one or the other depending on the day (yes, there's a really neat schedule Kaz did on Excel) (there are times they just wanna cuddle and Kaz will always click his tongue before saying "fine..." despite being more than okay with it, he's just mad the schedule is being ignored)

EVA will sometimes only wear Big Boss' shirt (which means, oversized) at home (wherever that is) - he couldn't care less about it, but Kaz finds it particularly hot and has a bit less of focus when this happens. EVA will also do this with Kaz's clothing, but it just doesn't hit the same, y'know. He likes it regardless, but the feeling is not exactly the same

Kaz is definitely teaching Big Boss how to use chopsticks. I assume EVA already knows, but I don't think she'd have the same amount of patience to teach him - she'd rather poke fun at their efforts and serve them food herself from time to time

Flirting is so ingrained in Kaz's & EVA's personalities that Big Boss sometimes asks them if they're genuinely trying to flirt with someone - they aren't, but always tease him about it when he asks

Regarding that, even though I already described kazeva as Bisexual Swingers, somehow I feel they'd remain in a closed relationship with Big Boss. I guess it'd be kind of a "just assumed that" thing, meaning Big Boss wouldn't actually mind them trying to add another person for intercourse, he simply doesn't actively look for that kind of experience (as if he doesn't already have more than enough with these two horny bastards) and they never really bring it up either (they're that infatuated I guess), just joke about it

I think EVA is the type to steal food from the other two while actively eating. Oh, we're having breakfast and I already finished? Too bad for you, I'm grabbing your marmalade toast. Out of your hand. After you already bit it. Big Boss just steals something back, but from Kaz. Kaz gets mad. He's the one who has to prepare more food. To get stolen. Again.

EVA is the one who repairs the motorbikes. Only her. You better not touch her damaged babies. It's her work. She Will hit you. She tolerates Kaz because he knows what she's talking about, but Big Boss can only help by bringing clean towels and food (and not touching anything else)

Kaz often tries to take them to hot springs whenever they visit a place with them - not just for nostalgia, but also as a way to have them completely relax for a bit

Okay, I hope this is enough!

#edit: i added some more thoughts at the end ^_^#I ran out of brainpower!#ask #txt #big boss #kazuhira miller #eva #bbkazeva #<- is this really the first post under tag ever? damn. heavy weight on my shoulders now

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miyuhpapayuh · 1 year

Text

Candydrip interluude pt 2

I think it’s time for something new…

Yeah, that's right, right there.

I hate to be candy corn, but when you snicker about

my good humor, you make my stars burst

“Okay, ima cut that clip right around the end of this line. It’s a sweet one, I’ll admit.” She says, already catching a glimpse of that smile out of the corner of her eye.

“You finally comin’ around, huh?”

She scoffs a laugh, find you something to do leaving her lips, making him lick his own.

“What I been doin’ for the past two hours?”

“Gettin’ on my nerves, boy.” She playfully rolls her eyes, still focused on cutting her clips.

He sucks his teeth.

She mumbles something under her breath, continuing to make some adjustments. He’s still seated beside her, silently watching her work away.

“Alex dropped off another outfit for you to try on. I figured while you’re here, you can take it with you now and not have to wait till Wednesday.” She says, looking in his direction.

“Is it another coat?” He asks, making her snicker.

“You have to look and see.” She points to a box on her counter. “It’s right over there.”

Heading over to see about it, he pulls the lid off the box, revealing another stylish pick from Alex; a chocolate double breasted suit jacket paired with patchwork pants of a nude palette.

“These are sweet,” he glances in her direction and holds up the pants, catching the smile on her pretty face.

“I actually helped him find those,” she chuckles, sitting her laptop aside for a minute. “He wanted to pair that jacket with either the same color pants as the jacket or something across the color wheel and I could not let you go out like that.” She shakes her head.

He snickers. “Yeah, he out here trippin. Tryna have me out here looking like a black Barney.”

“Oh my god,” she laughs and wipes the tear from under her eye. “You’re stupid.”

“Am I lying?” He asks, placing the clothing back in its box, before heading back over to her couch.

“Nah.” She replies, replacing her laptop back in her possession so he could sit back down. “He was trippin, though.”

“Good lookin’ out, shorty.” His long arm stretches out on the back of the couch, making her aware of how close he was.

“No problem. Name’s Roni, by the way.”

“Ohh, so we finally uncover the mystery of Miss director.” He teases.

She snorts. “Well, I figured we’re not exactly strangers anymore.. but don’t get carried away, I’m still a professional. We can go right back to Miss director, real quick.” She blinks at him.

“I respect it. No worries.” He nods, a ghost of a smirk left on his lips.

“What you smirkin’ for?” She asks, raising a brow.

“We still strangers?” He asks.

“Outside of this professional relationship, yes.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“I’m thinking you should let me change that.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Why?” She asks, looking up from her laptop once again.

“Cause I wanna know what the rest of Roni’s like.” He answers.

“So, talk to me,” she laughs.

“Why not talk over dinner?,” he inquires. “You like to eat, don’t you?”

She nods, soon mirroring his smile.

“Aight, then.”

“Get to the question, so I can tell you no.” She says, snickering at the smile disappearing from his face.

“Damn, it’s like that?” He asks.

She just keeps on laughing.

“You gotta come a lil better than that.”

“I gotta get down on my knees?” He asks, causing the idea to swim in her brain for a little bit too long.

“Aight,” he starts to do just that, making her eyes go wide.

Moving her laptop to the coffee table, he’s on his knees in front of her, ready to plead his case.

You beggin’ for real?” She asks.

“Whatever it takes.”

“Why?” She repeats her earlier question, making him chuckle.

“I’ve already told you why. You intrigue me. I wanna know more,” as he’s talking, her eyes wander towards his mouth for two seconds too long, making her blink her way back up to his eyes, which isn’t any better with the intense gaze they’re holding.

“Mmhm,”

“I’m not just talkin’, either.”

“I hear you, Lucky.” She rolls her eyes. This time in playful nature.

“So, what do you say? Can I take you out?”

“I suppose you can.” She smirks.

He chuckles, pulling her right hand into his left. “I need a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’.”

Sighing to herself, she gives in. “Yes, Lucky. You can take me on a date.”

“It’ll be the best you’ve been on.” He says, before moving back beside her on the sofa.

“Really, now?”

“Guaranteed, baby.” He winks, making her cheeks redden.

“Where you takin’ me?”

“You like Italian?” He asks.

“I do, actually!”

“Good to know.” He nods.

•*'¨'*•.¸¸.•*'¨'*•.¸•*'¨'*•.¸¸.•*'¨'*•.¸•*'¨'*•.¸¸.•*'¨'*•.¸•*'¨'*•.¸¸.•*'¨'*•.¸

Finally finishing her work for the day, Roni plops down on her sofa and flips through the channels.

Her phone rings, and it’s none other than Alex.

“Wassup, AJ?”

“I shoulda known not to leave you around his smooth ass,” he says, making her crack up.

“What are you talking about?”

“You goin’ on a date with that man, for real?”

“With that fine man? I sure the hell am.”

“You better be careful. One of these crazy bitches might be waiting in the bushes for his ass,” he says, making them both crack up.

“He better protect my ass!”

“Mmhm.”

“Anyway, give that boy that coat, while you’re on my line. He’s gonna turn me gray.”

“He’ll live. Maybe if he lets me do my job and make some calls like I said I would, then he’d either have it, definitely or definitely not have it.” Alex snaps.

“Oh, he’s being impatient? That’s surprising,” she laughs, thinking back to earlier.

“Definitely tell me how this date goes.”

“Will do.”

“When is it?”

“Friday evening.”

“Can I style you?”

“What the fuck?! Yes!”

“I'm not sure if I should say what I'm thinking or keep it to myself,” Lucky says, laughing to himself as they're seated across from each other.

“If it's gonna get you chin-checked, I'd rethink it.” She smiles, earning another laugh.

“Nah… you look really, really good. I mean.. damn, Roni.”

Unable to hide the blush of her cheeks under the yellow light of the overhead decor lamp, she sighs.

“Thank you, luck. You clean up nice, as well.” He'd actually worn the outfit that Alex sent over earlier.

“That means a lot, coming from you. Alex knows his shit.” He says, popping his collar.

“I see!"

“Yeah, just give him credit for the clothes though, cause pullin’ it together was all me.”

She laughs, and he gets to see her pretty smile once more.

“You're so stupid,”

“Don't bruise me so early into the evening, baby.” He playfully clutches his chest, unknowing of the effect his nickname had on her.

Shaking it off, she skims over the lengthy menu that Maggiano’s has to offer.

“Hm… pricey, pricey.”

“Yeah, get whatever you want, beautiful.” He says without missing a beat.

“Yeah, how'd you know I'd let you buy my food?”

“You'd let me take you out and not expect me to cover it?” The inquisitive expression makes her laugh.

“Yeah, I would hate to give you something to hold over my head.”

He licks his lips, and she crosses one leg over the other underneath the table.

“I would never do that.”

“Don't lie,” she laughs, taking a sip of her mai tai.

“I'm not.” He sits his menu down and holds his pinky out.

Oh, how cute.

“Oh Jesus,” she says, before holding out her own pinky.

“You ain't takin’ me serious, and I'm offended. So, I pinky promise that I'll never ever hold anything over your head and do any other bullshit that these bums have apparently tried on you. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, and their pinkies intertwine.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.” She bats her lashes.

He blows out a breath and sits back in his seat, telling her she's lucky she's as cute as she is.

“What happened to beautiful?” She asks, it being her turn to be offended.

“Maybe if you stop playin’ with me, you'll hear it again.”

She rolls her eyes just as the waiter comes to take their food orders, leaving them alone again.

“Before you say it, Alex made some calls about the coat. That's all I know.”

He snickers, sipping on his whiskey sour. “At least there's progress.”

“Yeah, cause I heard you're an impatient one.”

“Persistent is the word I'd use. Alex been givin' me the runaround, don't let him fool you.”

“Persistent is the perfect word for you, I agree.”

“Damn, I can't win huh?”

“Hey, you're the one who got down on your knees.” She shrugs before taking a longer sip.

“Cause you weren't taking me seriously.” He reiterates, earning another pretty chuckle from her.

“I'm glad my suffering is amusing,” he adds.

“Oh, relax. It's just so easy to get you, I can't help it.”

He sucks his teeth.

“It was kinda cute…” she admits, rolling her eyes at that damn smirk of his.

“It was, huh?”

“And that's exactly why I'll never admit to anything else.”

“Oh, come on, maybe I like messing with you too.”

“You proved that within the first five minutes of working with you,” she shakes her head, “you're lucky you're as cute as you are.”

“Where'd handsome go?”

“Same place beautiful went.” She quips.

•*'¨'*•.¸¸.•*'¨'*•.¸•*'¨'*•.¸¸.•*'¨'*•.¸•*'¨'*•.¸¸.•*'¨'*•.¸•*'¨'*•.¸¸.•*'¨'*•.¸

Between the wonderful food, two more mai tais and his teasing ass, Roni was internally hanging on by a thread.

“I'm gonna get away from you, before you get me in trouble.”

How he'd convinced her to come back to his place, she wasn't too sure, herself.

“I'm that bad?” He asks, leaning in a bit, making her eye him; the fierceness in her stare had been replaced with something much more potent.

“Too smooth for your own good,” she answers, realizing how right Alex was at this moment.

“Is that a bad thing?”

He'd gotten closer to her, and his woodsy scent was making her all types of dizzy.

“No,” she breathily responds, before leaning in the rest of the way to kiss him.

A grunt leaves him as he slides his tongue in her mouth, tangling with hers, soon pulling her into his lap.

Tasting the whiskey on his tongue and lips, she swore it added to her own intoxication.

Once his kisses trailed over to her neck, she took a moment to breathe, unable to stop the whimper that leaves her as his tongue glides across her ticklish spot.

“Want me to stop?”

The moment she shook her head, they were greenlit to get into the trouble she'd been referring to.

The next morning, the blissful moments the two shared buzzed around her sober mind as she headed into work.

Alex was the first to greet her, immediately pulling her to the side to grill her and find out the fine details of their date.

“You spread it low and wide for that man?!” He whisper-yells, making her cackle.

“I'll do it again, too.” She answers. “Now, tell me that boy can have that coat.”

“Shit, I think he earned it after that, don't you think?” He smirks.

“Whatchu think I'm askin' for?” She quips.

He sighs and heads into his side room, grabbing the teal box with a matching bow off the table and comes out with it in hand.

“For lover boy,” he says, handing it to her.

“Aw, you already had it ready! Thank you! I'll be right back.”

Heading back down the hall, she finds him in the lobby with his head in his phone.

Her scent hits his nose and he looks up, an instant smile spreading across his face.

“Hey, beautiful.” He greets her with a hug and kiss on the forehead.

“Hey, handsome. I got something for ya.” She cheeses, handing him the box.

He squints at her before removing the top, gasping at the sight of the pink coat and pulling her into another hug.

“You a real one for this, Roni.”

“Alex made the calls, but sure, I'll take all the credit.” She snickers.

“I gotta thank his big headed ass, too. But for real, I know I been buggin’ you about it.”

She shrugs. “It was no problem, really. You're kinda cute when you're being a pest.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

“Can I bug you for another date?”

“It depends on if I'm free or not,”

“Friday?”

“Mmm.. what time?”

“What time are you free?”

“I get outta here at six.”

“I'll be here.”

“I guess you've got yourself a date, then.”

“You guess, huh?”

“That's what I said.”

@thegifstories @blackerthings @blackpinup22 @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @henneseyhoe @harmshake @awerkofart @abeautifulmindexposed @twistedcharismaaa @theficplug @cecereads209 @unfriendlyblkhotti3 @trippyscotch @sheabuttahwrites @soufcakmistress @blowmymbackout @chaneajoyyy

#miyuhpapayuh #poc writers #blackwriters #candydrip interlude #lucky daye x black reader #lucky daye x reader #lucky daye fics

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