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waldau · 2 months

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giving them the silent treatment when they forget something — seventeen | 2,661 words | hurt/comfort, fluff

first work in this format! comments would be really appreciated :D

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

seungcheol

cannot stand your silence. he'd rather you scold him, or say anything to him, but he absolutely hates the silence that fills your house when he stops talking. he's thankful you're sitting across him while he's having dinner, but keeps interrupting his eating by asking for your forgiveness over and over. how could he forget your date night tonight? knows you need your personal space and makes you sit at the table while he does the dishes, but he gives in at the end of the day because what's the point of sleeping in the same bed if he can't wrap his arms around you? keeps whispering apologies into your hair and promises not to be this forgetful again. literally lights up when you turn around with a grumble and slot yourself into his arms. is okay with you being upset with him as long as you let him hold you.

jeonghan

thinks it's payback for the time he hid the last of your snacks a week ago. is fine with you rolling your eyes at him when he calls you by your nickname. realizes it's serious when you share your dessert with him, because you never do it without a little playful fight. realizes he's messed up big time when you don't retort back to his teasing about how your hair looks right now, after you've spent some time rolling around in bed. the final straw is when you wish him goodnight without even calling him any form of endearment. suddenly understands why you're being like this — it's because he left for practice without waking you up this morning, even though you asked him to. peppers you with kisses and it's only a matter of time before you stop resisting. tries explaining that your health and your sleep are more important to him than his own, but he's thankful you wake up with him the next morning and prepare breakfast for him while he gets ready.

joshua

is a gentleman. 99.99% of the time. but the 0.01% he's not is today, when he forgot to buy a bouquet of flowers you wanted to take while visiting your mother. he'd assured you he'd do the task because the flower shop lay right in the path he took while jogging, and now you've returned home with no smile on your face. there's a thousand apologies at the tip of his tongue, but none of them are going to be enough. you wish him a good night, but he knows he's messed up pretty bad. hates it when you don't even say anything about it, because he knows it's affected you more than you're letting it show. gets a call from you the next afternoon asking him why there's a bouquet of flowers on your desk and why your mother also had one delivered to her doorstep. picks you up from work and surprises you with a single rose that he tucks behind your ear, brushing away your concerns about it looking silly. loves you, and he'll get you flowers every day if it makes you smile the way you're doing right now.

junhui

is not used to one word answers from you. he watches you a bit closely as you take off your shoes, wash your hands, get a glass from the cupboard and pour yourself some water. feels like you're giving the glass more attention than him. starts feeling nervous. around you. hates it more than anything. but he doesn't know what's wrong, so he ends up doing something that flusters you both — he cages you in his arms, because he'd much rather you tell him off than push him away silently. you try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he pulls out his c-drama moves of seduction and slams his hand against the wall behind your head. you just stare at him before you shake your head and tell him he didn't kiss you goodbye this morning. he feels absolutely shocked. he did! or at least he thought he did. you're always on his mind, regardless of the time of the day. kisses you five times to make up for the one he didn't give you. sticks close to you for the rest of the night, as it's his rightful place.

soonyoung

is oblivious at first. he's the more talkative one between you both, so he doesn't find anything wrong when you come back home, or don't give him the usual kiss you do when you come back home — you're probably just too tired! guides you to the dining table and makes sure you're eating well. talks about practice, talks about this photoshoot that's coming up, talks about this interview he'd given earlier in the day, around afternoon, which made him super hungry because— well, shit. he was supposed to bring your lunch to work because you'd forgotten to take it yourself, and you'd even texted him about it. he promised he would, and now he's left wondering what you had to get for yourself because of his forgetfulness. throws himself to his knees in front of you and grabs your thighs, shaking you like it's going to transfer the sorrow he's feeling into you so that you can forgive him. loves that you crack a smile before you hide it and continue having dinner. promises to wake up early next morning so he can be the one to make you lunch and pack it. loves the sight of the empty box he sees when he calls you during your break.

wonwoo

feels like absolute crap when you get home and all he has to show you for his time spent is the game he's finished and a regrettable lack of food on the table. he'd promised to cook for you, this recipe he'd taken from mingyu just so he could try it himself. he'd even laughed at your surprised face in the morning, but now he thinks you were right to have doubted him. it's not even time for your usual grocery run yet; you're pretty much out of groceries because his friends had come home a couple days back and you'd spent time making a lot of dishes. sits you down and makes you eat a banana as a peace offering, all the while ordering takeout from the closest eatery to your house. sits with you and feeds you bites of your meal, not touching his own till you're done. still feels terrible when he sees you putting away the leftovers, because you're not supposed to be doing that in the first place. comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, murmuring apologies in your ear and asking if you want him to get you anything else. wakes you up to breakfast in bed the next morning. you laugh and tell him you're not willing to have breakfast without brushing your teeth, so he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. he thinks he should make time on his days off for breakfast in bed if it means you'll cling to him the way you're doing now, adoration in your eyes.

jihoon

is just in his chill™ mode half the time he's home. when he's not working, he's either listening to music or watching your favourite shows together to maximize the time he has with you. for jihoon, and you, actions are more prevalent than words. so it's with a sudden drop of his stomach that he realizes he was supposed to wait for you, till you came back home, to start watching this new anime you'd been keen on seeing. he can't exactly undo the past three episodes from his memory, so he's also silent like you are when you get back home and see what he's been up to. dinner is had in an awkward silence till you push your chair back and take the plate to the sink, letting jihoon know you're turning in for an early night. he knows he's fucked up. he's glad you're not kicking him out on the couch to sleep, and he apologizes by softly humming a song he's been working on for you, in the silence of your bedroom. it's like he's wearing his heart on his sleeve, too easy for anyone to see, but it's worth it when you sigh and pull him down for a kiss, telling him it sounds wonderful and that you can't wait to hear the full thing.

minghao

is disappointed with himself already, and you being disappointed makes it worse. he could blame jet lag for being the reason why he forgot to show up at the cafe to meet your friend you've been him to get to know for a while, but he knows it's a flimsy excuse. you cover up for him with the excuse of a fever, even though he's far from feeling down. doesn't know what he can say to make it better, so he peels an orange for you. only to have his heart hurt when you say you're not hungry. but you end up taking a few slices anyway, because you don't want it to go to waste. tries to pull you into himself but hates it when you don't reciprocate. he knows this friend is important to you, but are they so important that you have to ignore him for the rest of the night? offers to sleep on the couch, and is surprised to find that's what breaks your silence and makes you glare at him. promises to fly you out soon to meet your friend where they live as an apology. wakes up to you combing your fingers through his hair.

mingyu

puppy #1. knows he's done something wrong the moment you step inside the hallway of your house, even if you've said nothing — mainly because you're not rushing to him the way you always do, and you're not excited to see him, the way he is to see you. takes all the stuff from your hands and makes you sit on the couch and offers you a massage and pouts when you decline him gently. tries making conversation with you during dinner, but gets discouraged when you reply in short sentences. you're not...angry, but you're upset, and it's bugging him terribly. offers to help you with your nighttime routine, sitting on the counter and watching you go about it, until you sigh and tell him exactly what he forgot about. your plants in the balcony that he promised to water this morning and forgot about because he had to rush for an early practice. he throws himself to the floor on his knees, hands clasped, and promises never to forget it again. feels relieved when you laugh through a mouth full of toothpaste, pulling him to his feet and ruffling his hair. his alarm now has a label that reads: "plants :)"

seokmin

puppy #2. can feel his smile drop the second you walk through the door of your shared house drenched in water like you fell into a puddle and climbed out. and the worst part is you're not even asking him to help you dry up. he tries to offer you towels and fusses about your hair and you catching a cold but ends up sitting against the door of your shared bedroom when you gently push him out of your way and opt for a nice, warm shower. he's glad he ordered takeout so that you wouldn't have to cook, but he's not happy with the way you're ignoring him. no, you're not ignoring him. you're...disappointed, almost. somehow it's worse than having you be angry with him, because he knows fights can be resolved sooner or later. but you being disappointed in him? makes him feel like the worst person in the world. heats up your blanket in the dryer and gives you his hoodie to sleep in. he's never going to take your umbrella to practice again. drags you out to shop for two distinct umbrellas so he never forgets to send you off with one again.

seungkwan

he's busy. it's not an excuse; it's just how his daily schedule is. yet it sounds like nothing but a pathetic excuse when you get back home, avoiding even looking at him. you look amazing, and he wasted his entire afternoon wondering when you were going to call him, when you were out watching a movie he'd suggested the two of you watch together. hates it when you tell him you've had enough popcorn to make you skip dinner. hates it when you don't even hug him, much less kiss him. hates it when you have a polite conversation with him about the movie, as if you were just his friend telling him you liked his recommendation. you sit with him and watch a volleyball match he'd pre-recorded, but his mind is not interested in the commentary at all. pouts. straight up asks you how long you're going to ignore him. you say you're not, that you just need some time now to get over it. he nods like he understands but wraps himself around you barely twenty minutes later when you're getting ready for bed. will not sleep without coming to any kind of resolution. asks you to spoil the movie for him as a punishment and gets a pinch to his cheek in return. promises never to forget a date again.

hansol

is also oblivious. takes your silence as a sign that you're just tired, so he makes sure you freshen up and don't do any work for a while and have some water or light snacks instead. it's only when he puts on a movie you've both watched many times he realizes you're not talking to him, because you don't lean into him the way you usually do. he takes the initiative this time and tries pulling you on his lap, but you resist. he feels uncomfortable, and it's new. he tries focusing on the movie but his mind is on you, and it's only because of the sheer number of times he's seen the movie that he can remember the dialogues without paying attention. it's only when the main characters get into a car and start driving that he realizes he'd promised to pick you up from your friend's party. immediately switches off the movie because he knows you're not paying attention either, and kneels in front of you and looks into your eyes till you blush and look away. brings your head back in place with his fingers on your chin and asks you to remind him when he forgets so that he doesn't have a chance to let you down again. holds your hand through the night when you sleep. clings to you a bit more whenever you're home.

chan

devastated. at himself, at you for not reminding him that he'd forgotten to pick up your outfit from the dry cleaner's last night, at the fact that you're not even scolding him. hates that you won't even look at him except to give him some space to move around in the kitchen. having twelve older brothers, he's used to being kept in shape by them and remembering a lot of things about all of them, so why couldn't he remember this small thing you'd asked him to do? compliments you on how good you look, and is physically hurt when you just nod at him with a small thanks. asks if there's anything he can help you with. hates that you shake your head and say you're just going to read a book. tries making you laugh but ends up embarrassing himself when he trips on the bathroom mat and ends up diving into the bathroom face first. it's not funny, but it gets a smile out of you, and he thinks he's on the path to getting your forgiveness. won't go to sleep till you run your fingers through his hair, holding him close to you.

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi @nonononranghaee

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undiscovered-horizon · 7 months

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[The one where Sanji is jealous of the attention you're getting and he takes advantage of the effect he has on you.]

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The banquet has been going on for a good few hours now. All of the Straw Hats were surprisingly infallible in playing their roles to infiltrate the creme de la creme of pirates: Usopp and Nami, dressed as waiters, could befriend anyone into telling them something interesting. Luffy is taken for much stupider and thus less dangerous than he really is and some looser lips aren't afraid to spill a secret or two around him. Zoro and you are just supposed to be in the in the background, watching and listening. So far so good.

Sanji's mission is to listen in to the gossip that drunk sailors often like to exchange with bartenders but he has found himself in a terrible situation. On one hand, he couldn't blow his cover and start a fight. On the other, he is beyond done with the unsavoury comments about you the men drinking by the bar are exchanging. The only thing that curbs his burning jealousy is the knowledge that he's the only one to know the answers to their questions and speculations about your prowess in several private matters. Despite his fury, he can't really blame them. His own thoughts are escaping his grasp whenever he glances at your seemingly disinterested exterior, made all the more enticing in a long, red dress that belongs more to opera houses than bars frequented by pirates.

He's been scrubbing this one glass for a good five minutes. If he tightens his grip even just a little, the dish is bound to break into a thousand little pieces. Finally, he sets the champagne flute down and makes his way to the chattering men.

"Hate to be the joykiller, gentlemen," he speaks up casually, never giving away even a hint of his anger, "but she is not interested in you."

The three men look him up and down. Either they are ignorant to the concept of hygiene and sunscreen or they really are old enough to be your father. One of them gives him a contemptuous grin, uncovering a row of gold teeth.

"And what do you know, bar boy?" the pirate asks in a hoarse voice.

Sanji leans against the bar counter on his arms. "That rum you're drinking, Cruzan 9?" he nods his head towards the glasses with unfinished drinks. "She's more of a Caroni girl. A couple more zeros on the price tag, longer in the barrel, a rich bouquet of oak, caramel and berries." A charming, almost not arrogant, smile enters his face as he looks at the pirates with a look of superiority in his blue eyes. "Sophisticated palate for a sophisticated woman."

"Is that so?" The pirate leans towards Sanji. He's about to say something else but one of his drinking buddies stops him by putting an arm on his shoulder in a meaningful manner.

"How can you tell?" the other man asks. His voice is bright, filled with genuine curiosity. He hopes to learn something interesting about the mysterious beauty in red.

But Sanji isn't willing to share his secrets. "Comes with experience," he says in an interested voice. Then, to the pirates' dismay, he winks at them and goes back to wiping down his workplace.

"Gentlemen."

A familiar voice makes Sanji immediately look up from the counter he's been cleaning. With grace that only befits someone confident, you politely nod at the three men by the bar and make your way to Sanji. The pirates' eyes linger on you like the perceptive eyes of predators.

His hands move quickly and swiftly as he makes you a drink, knowing exactly what you opt for in similar circumstances - fake "bougie" parties that are insufferable while sober.

"King's Jubilee for my one true queen," he announces while sliding the cocktail glass towards you.

Looking at the drink, you purse your lips having noticed something.

"It's missing the cherry," you point out.

With faux humility, he places a hand over his heart. The heavy rings on his fingers shine slightly in the twilight of the open-air bar. "My most sincere apologies. If I may redeem myself, madam." He bows his head.

"Madam?" you repeat in confusion. "I thought I was a queen?"

Sanji chuckles in a low voice. Your wit and humour are only making you more beautiful in his eyes, always keeping up with his suave words and innuendos.

"I am but a humble servant, Your Highness," he drones the title.

The men sitting by the bar watch the scene with jealousy and fascination. It's beyond them how a bartender could one-up the most notorious of pirates but at the same time, they can't just look away from your flirtatious grin and the clear desire shining in your eyes.

Sanji takes one maraschino cherry out of the jar behind the counter and, holding it by the stem, offers the sweet treat to you. Leaning over the bar, you grab the dessert fruit with your teeth and pluck it from the stem, all the while studying Sanji's dark expression. He's thinking about something obscene, that's for sure.

Taking advantage of the short distance between you, he leans in to whisper something into your ear. The envious voyeurs can't hear his words over the loud music and laughter but they do see your sudden bashfulness. Your eyes momentarily cast down. Whatever that bartending boy has said, it made even a woman of your poise flustered.

Your breath hitches in your throat when Sanji places a soft kiss right below your ear, letting his warm lips brush against your jaw. Then, with weak knees and fuzzy thoughts, you take the drink and go back to your corner to continue meticulous observation of the more interesting guests.

Sanji meets the angered eyes of the proud, envious pirates. He doesn't seem to mind their hurt egos and the doom that it foretells. With a self-assured grin on his face, he asks them:

"Another round, my good gentlemen?"

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mamaarachne · 1 year

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the silence you get from someone who knows they fucked up is hilarious

#like oohh boy you went too far on Thursday #and now it's Sunday night #i mean i got a snap of the dutch bros cup that's been sitting in an intersection for weeks now but baby that's you grasping for straws #you can't take back telling me how I'm making you hard and you're gonna take care of it after a phone call #and then ignoring me for a couple days bc your gf is back from base?#babes she's gonna find out bc you're gonna be acting guilty #anyway idk what to do #my bestie says he went too far with this and is fucked on my behalf and the girlfriends #but i won't tell her bc that's his job to tell her #i hate the idea of having to send a hey girlie text #i will if i need to and i think this is the escalated step of me needing to #didn't think it would happen though #if i don't it'll just be me waiting for him to ask to fuck me or meet up #even tho he did already show up at my house once but that was like a one off no gracias why are you touching me thing #god this is so fucked

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rustedhearts · 2 months

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just friends (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: you and steve have been just friends for years now. but how long can you convince everyone you're 'just friends' before it becomes a lie? or steve harrington is your super hot roommate and everyone thinks it's stupid you guys aren't dating yet.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the library

tags: roommate!steve, kinda shitty boyfriend!eddie, pining, fluff, angst, casual dominance from our casual dominance king steve, honestly going to try so hard not to make this a series but you know me.

a/n: i've wanted to write roommate!steve for so ages. you can thank a much-needed new girl binge and my tendency to take my frustration out on my mop for this.

The bass-heavy bump of music came at Steve full force before he even stepped out of the elevator. He paused, staring down the door of your shared apartment knowing that the sight that would welcome him would not be pretty.

In the kitchen, you were hunched over the handle of a mop, furiously dragging it over a sliver of tile. Teeth gritted together, face flushed and damp with sweat, hair disheveled and pulled away from your face, a pair of cotton shorts and an old t-shirt rolled up to the shoulders—you were a mess.

You were sad.

"Uh-oh." Steve stepped into the room, calling over the booming music. "What happened?"

You jumped a little, accustomed to the quiet of the apartment on Saturday nights. Steve almost always spent weekend nights at the bar down the street hitting on girls too sweet for him. You usually had until at least 11:30 to do whatever you wanted before some random girl came scampering in, clinging to Steve and giggling as they fumbled to his room.

But he was home early. And no matter how long you'd lived together, or how well he knew you, you still hated being seen like this.

So, you never took your eyes off the mop, scrubbing away a sauce stain on the tile.

"Nothing." You shrugged, flicking wisps of hair out of your eyes.

Steve watched you whirl around to drag the mop toward the bucket again. You stabbed it into the soapy water with a vengeance, nose scrunching with every slosh and splash. Steve leaned against the doorway and quirked a brow.

"Yeah? You're playing your sad music, though."

Your sad music consisted of a handful of hard rock records that most people would consider music for a dive bar—but you only ever played it when you were staving off tears. The louder you played it, the more upset you were.

Steve knew you a little too well.

This comment went ignored as you slapped the mop back on the floor and continued an angered scrubbing. Steve sighed, scratching at his temple. Most of the time, it was best to leave you alone. Sometimes, you needed to talk it out. It took a little coaxing—a pizza and a cold glass of Coke with a straw usually did the trick—but eventually, you'd spill.

And Steve would fix it.

Calm you down, help you figure it out, offer some advice. He gave pretty good advice for someone still struggling to get his own shit figured out.

Steve could tell from the way the song went unsung, the way you huffed every time the mop head flipped, the way you started stomping your foot when you found a stale French fry under the stove—you needed him to step in.

Pushing off the wall, Steve crossed the room and placed his hand over yours on the mop handle.

"Hey. Hey, come on."

You struggled at first, scowling at him as you tugged on the handle. "Stop it."

He sighed again. He was always sighing at you like a disappointed teacher.

"Hey." A little firmer this time, accompanied by a sharp snatch of the handle from your grasp into his. When you dropped your hands and obliged, the furrow of his brow relaxed. "Thank you. Now, why don't you go take a shower. The house is clean enough."

You frowned, wiping at the sweat on your head. "I just—"

Steve pressed his hand flat into the small of your back, steering you toward the door. "Seriously, honey, it's fine. You do stink, though."

That made your lip twitch—a semblance of a smile—with an amused little huff. You took a step toward the door, slippered feet scuffing. You looked over your shoulder toward Steve standing where you left him, still holding the mop.

He waved you off. "Go on. Take a nap, too.”

You nodded, flashing a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, Steve."

He watched you shuffle away, shoulders slumped and eyes down as you went. He propped the mop against the kitchen counter and shook his head at the mess of cleaning supplies on the table.

When he heard the bathroom door clamp shut and the hiss of the shower head turn on, Steve rushed the front door again.

He opened it a smidge, enough to fit his head in and smile sweetly at the girl waiting in the hall picking at her nails. She perked up, stepping toward the door eagerly.

"Hey," Steve cooed, voice dripping with honey. "I'm so sorry, my roommate got sick all over. I think s-he needs to go to the doctor, so...would you mind if we raincheck?"

The girl—Sarah, as he would recall later on—broke into a concerned pout, clasping her hands over her chest. "Oh my god, that's terrible! You're so sweet taking care of him."

Steve chuckled, a breezy smile on his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for understanding."

She tipped her head, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder. "Of course. Call me when he's feeling better?"

Steve nodded, knowing the phone number in his back pocket would dissolve in the washer in a week, and he had no intention of ever calling her to begin with.

"Yeah, for sure. Night."

"Goodnight."

He waited until the elevator dinged, watching the doors close on her grinning face, before pulling back into the apartment and locking the door. He blew a sigh out of his cheeks, head shaking as he headed toward the hall.

The shower had stopped, and he could hear the soft, wet patters of your feet behind the door when he leaned against the wall beside it. He knocked two knuckles gently into the wood.

"Honey?" he called. "Need anything? Wanna order a pizza?"

He waited, adjusting the hem of his shirt to spread out a wrinkle in the fabric. He knew what the answer would be, but he couldn't always be so obvious. He had to pretend that he didn't know you like the back of his hand, because everyone started telling him how weird it was.

"You've lived with this girl for two years and haven't boned? You're either gay or dumb as a box of fuckin' rocks," is what Max told him when they met for lunch a few months ago.

Everyone said the same thing. His sister, who teased him at birthday parties and summer barbecues that you were always his date for. Sabrina did everything in her power to push the two of you closer together at family events, ensuring your seats were always paired and your activities were always coupled up.

"You look at her like a dog with a bone," she teased last Fourth of July.

But Steve only shook his head, glancing your way where you were helping his mother decorate cupcakes. You were dating some guy in IT at the time. Total fucking nerd. He made you pay for most of the dates.

"Nah...we're just friends. She's got a boyfriend."

We're just friends was probably Steve's most popular sentence in the English language since the day he met you. A pair of college graduates who had no clue what the hell they were supposed to do with their lives, roommate-matched by the apartment complex and so content with each other that you just kept renewing the lease.

When you finally replied to his question, your voice came like a small, pipping whisper behind the door. "Yeah...but with mushrooms this time?"

This time, as if you didn't order a mushroom and sausage pizza every time. Steve smiled, pushing off the wall.

"Okay—"

"And—"

"And sausage, I know. I'll call 'em."

"Okay."

While Steve called the pizza place a few blocks over, you clutched a towel to your chest and padded to your room. You pulled on the softest items you owned and sat on the end of your bed. A long day of cleaning certainly tired you out, but that wasn't what ailed you.

It was the fight with your boyfriend last night at the bar, when he yelled at you for laughing at Steve's jokes even though you always did. He thought you were too close, too "chummy" to be just friends.

Unbeknownst to Steve, we're just friends was one of your most common phrases, too. You should've had it engraved on your forehead at this point.

"Hey." Two knuckles on your door this time before it skittered open. Steve popped his head in and grinned at you. "Wearin' my favorite sweatpants? Must be feelin' better."

You glanced down at the black sweatpants on your legs, snickering softly. Steve thought they hugged your ass perfectly, and loved the way they flared at the calves. The logo right on your left ass cheek was especially beautiful.

When you opted to leave that soft noise as your reply, Steve stepped into the room. He flopped beside you on the bed, springs squeaking shrilly.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.

You shook your head down at your lap, rubbing at your eye. You hated crying, and so far today you'd been doing well swallowing them down. Steve had only seen you cry once, and you avoided him for three days after.

Something about vulnerability made you cower.

"Okay...wanna watch a movie?"

You sighed, shifting a little away from him. Steve clocked it with a brow-furrowed frown.

"Steve...you don't have to make me feel better. I'm fine."

His lips parted to reply—most likely in protest—but the door chittered on its hinges once more with the small butted head of your tuxedo cat, Ted.

Steve immediately stood and scooped Ted up, turning to bring him to the bed. He scratched under his chin and brought forth a low humming purr immediately.

Not even cats could resist that pretty boy charm.

"Well, I reckon this lil guy will do a better job of cheerin' you up," Steve cooed, plopping Ted beside you.

A quiet giggle slipped from your mouth as you reached to swoop his tail. "Reckon?"

Steve shrugged, a sheepish grin on his mouth. "Just came out. I turn Southern in a crisis, darlin'."

He was just trying to make you laugh now, and he couldn't help but mirror the sound when it proved effective. Though, it also proved temporary. You soon settled on your side, tugging Ted to your chest with a fading smile.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, gathering a chunk of it at the top to pull. A stress tick. You tried not to feel guilty for causing it.

"Well...alright." Steve shuffled backward toward the door. "Pizza in fifteen."

You nodded into the pillow. "Okay. Thanks."

Steve lingered a beat too long, eyeing your balled up form on the bed before slipping into the hall. You'd been sad plenty times over the years: breakups, let-downs, missed jobs.

But the guy you were dating now...you really seemed to like him. He was over all the time, practically living here at one point. Steve didn't really understand what you saw in the guy—Eddie. Steve scoffed to himself, head shaking. Stupid name.

You met Eddie at the auto shop where he worked. He gave you a discount on your oil change, and his tire talk was so smooth that you went on a date two days later. Six months later, and things still seemed to be going smoothly despite the pair of you having very little in common.

Usually, you dated harmless little nerdy guys. Steve actually laughed in the face of a five foot eight finance bro who threatened to "hurt him real bad" if he got in the way of your relationship. You dumped him that night, and the pair of you still laugh about it to this day.

But Eddie was...different. Sleeves of dark ink and a chainlink on his belt. A handful of chunky silver rings and another one in his nose. He always clinked in with a nod Steve's way and a hand on your ass, and it seemed that every time he kissed you in front of Steve, he looked him right in the eye while he did it.

Steve didn't like how small you made yourself around Eddie, and he didn't like how much Eddie seemed to enjoy it.

For everyone's sake, he hoped it wasn't Eddie that made you sad. For once, he wasn't sure he'd win that fight.

✶ ✶

There were many things about your behavior that night that concerned Steve.

Number 1: You only ate three pieces of pizza, and he got one small mushroom-sausage with extra cheese just for you.

Number 2: You didn't let Ted in when he scratched at your door, and Steve had to bring him to his own room for bed.

But worst of all.

Number 3: You didn't say goodnight.

So, Steve went to bed with Ted curled at his feet and a lump in his throat. Whatever you were upset about was bad, he could just tell; and everything in him was itching to make it better. He had this terrible, stupid ache to make life easy for you, and it never really went away.

He opened all your jars, refilled all your water bottles, made sure your phone was charged when he saw the little red bar. He bought more of your favorite snacks when he saw them running low, picked up things that "felt like you" when he saw them at the store. You had an abundance of miscellaneous yellow items sitting on your windowsill because you told him it was your favorite color two years ago.

In Steve's eyes, everything yellow in the world belonged to you.

Steve stirred in a half sleep for hours, kicking at his covers and offering murmured apologies to a miffed Ted who meowed at him. His concerns, however, came to a head when the sound of muffled shouting startled him completely awake.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and tapped the screen, rubbing his eyes clear to read the 1:15. He wondered which couple in the building was fighting this late. His bet was on Jax and Monica in 1F who were always on the outs.

"You think I'm a fuckin' idiot? I see the way he looks at you!"

But that was Eddie's voice.

"I don't understand where this is coming from."

And that was yours.

Steve shot up, fumbling for his glasses in their case somewhere in his nightstand drawer. He shoved them over his eyes, swinging his legs over the bed.

"I'm tired of competing with your fucking roommate."

"You don't—you aren't! Eddie, please, you know we're just friends."

"Spare me. You're a shitty liar. Hey! C'mere, I'm not done talkin'."

Oh, hell no. Pants abandoned, Steve swung his door open with banging force and rushed into the hall.

He found the pair of you in the entryway, Eddie's hand around your arm and your cheeks soaked with tears. You still had your pajamas on, and those little yellow slippers Steve bought for you last Christmas.

Both heads turned when Steve hurried into the room, tailed by a confused Ted butting at his leg.

Eddie huffed, motioning toward Steve. "Oh, great, of course you're here."

Steve braced his hands on his hips, glaring at the raven-haired man. "I live here, dick-wad. Remove your hand."

Eddie ignored him, still wringing your arm out. You cast your eyes away from Steve, ashamed by the state he found you in.

"You live up my girlfriend's ass, Harrington. And I'm kinda tired of you being there all the fucking time."

"Remove. Your. Hand."

"Stop," you sniffled, wiping the tears from your cheeks though it wouldn't do much to hide the pink rims of your eyes. "Eddie, he's my friend."

"If he's gonna be your friend, then we're done."

You gaped up at him, more hot tears bubbling over and stinging your eyes. "W-what? Eddie, that's—"

Eddie shrugged, smug and uncaring. "You heard me."

Steve's eyes moved your way, and he could only stomach the absolute heartbreak on your face for a split second before he was stepping forward.

"Alright," he barked, and then he was shoving the arm Eddie was holding you with. "Let her go, Aerosmith, and get the fuck out."

Eddie let you go, but spun sharply to face Steve. You weren't sure whose glare was more frightening.

Eddie stepped until he was toe-to-toe with your roommate. "You like fuckin' another man's girl? You like my sloppy seconds, you pussy bit—"

Steve might not have been much of a fighter, certainly didn't fare well with a man who lifted cars for a living—but he certainly excelled at being discrete.

Which is how he got a right hook in before Eddie could fight back. Which is also how Eddie ended up on the ground, and unable to stand again for a few moments.

"Jesus, Steve," you scolded, peering down at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “You knocked him out!”

Steve cleared his throat, ignoring the buzzing pain in his knuckles as he swept them through his hair and motioned toward Eddie.

“Hm? Nah, honey, he’s just…he’s takin’ a nap.”

Though still numbed by shock and worry, you couldn’t help the amused snort that rippled through you. Steve’s lip quirked, and he glanced at Eddie when he groaned on the floor.

“Um, well…let’s get you up, bud. Yeah, you’re okay, c’mon.” Steve began talking to Eddie like a child, cooing as he helped him to his feet by the arm.

And maybe he wasn’t nice about walking him to the elevator, watching him crumble to the floor as the doors closed. Maybe the shiner swelling on Eddie’s cheek filled Steve with incredulous joy.

But he swallowed all of it down when he returned to the apartment and found you standing right where he left you. If you were ashamed of your tears this time, it didn’t show. You grew inconsolable, and Steve had no other thought in mind that didn’t involve picking you up and taking you back to bed.

So he did just that, letting you soak his bare chest with tears as he went. When he sat you on the bed, he tipped your head up by the chin and wiped your cheeks.

“He’s not comin’ back tonight, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

Sniffling, you let him dry your tears and pull strands of hair from the sticky residue. “He thinks we were cheating. I t-tried to tell him…that we’re just friends.”

You deflated with a hiccuped sigh, and Steve’s smile was full of pity and pain. He rubbed his thumbs into your cheeks, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah. Just friends, honey.”

Your eyes fluttered with exhaustion, and Steve swallowed thickly. He pinched the edge of your pillow to pull it down, and gently coaxed you down by the shoulders. He pulled the covers up to your chin and plucked Ted from the ground to join you on the bed.

“He ain’t worth your tears, honey. Get some sleep.”

Sniffling again, you nodded quietly. Steve flashed another smile, and stepped back toward the door. As he reached for the light switch, he glanced over his shoulder to find your eyes again.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered.

He shut the light off so you wouldn’t see the way he closed his eyes, like it pained him to hear you with another cry in your throat.

“Goodnight, honey.”

Steve sat awake until 6 a.m waiting for Eddie to come to his senses and return for vengeance. But he never came. In some way, Steve knew that would hurt you even more.

So in the morning when you woke, he greeted you with a handful of sunshine yellow daffodils and your favorite coffee. A soft kiss on the head and a scratch at Ted’s chin on his way out.

“Gonna meet up with a friend today. Call me if you need me, ‘kay?”

He went home with the first girl he met at the bar that day just to get you out of his head, and lied about it when he came home.

Just friends. Yeah, right.

#rolly!#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington au #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #roommate!steve harrington

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cevansbrat0007 · 9 months

Text

Off the Market

Summary: Ari learns that you're not the sharing type. Which is fine by him, because neither is he.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Jealous/Possessive Reader, Oral Sex (mentioned), Discussions of Public Sex, Mentions of Disordered Eating, Polite Fat Shaming, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Be sure to check out the follow-up fic, A Man Starved. Not beta'd. Not beta'd. All mistakes my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

“So?” You ask before taking another sip of your milkshake. The thick and creamy treat goes down easy, which makes the amount of time it took to get to you well worth it. “What’s the verdict?”

“Not bad.” Your companion mumbles as he eagerly gulps down his own shake. “Not bad at all. But just so we’re clear, drinkin’ one of these isn’t gonna get you out of our deal.” He stirs the drink with his straw before plucking out the cherry and popping it in his mouth. “Remember you swore on it.” He holds up his pinky finger as a reminder.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sugar.” You tell him as a smile flits its way across your lips. Without thinking, you go to feed him your own cherry. You find yourself giggling at the way he playfully nips at your fingers, his tongue lapping at the traces of whipped cream.

There went your big Beast of a man proudly living up to his nickname, as per usual. Thank goodness you were the only couple dining outside today.

“Hey. How come yours tastes better?” Ari pouts suddenly, sending you into another fit of giggles.

“We got the exact same thing, honey.” You roll your eyes at him before returning your attention to the menu in your hand.

“Bird?” His growl comes out soft and silky. And it immediately has you on high alert. Because you recognized that tone.

It meant you were in trouble.

“Um, yes?” You try ducking your head behind the oversized, laminated piece of paper. Maybe if he couldn’t see you anymore, he’d just let it ride.

“Did you just do what I think you just did?”

“Well, I suppose that depends on what you think I just did.” You sneak another sip of your chocolate shake, doing your best to forget about all the extra unnecessary calories you’re putting into your body right then. After all, you and your man had a deal. And you aimed to see it through.

“I think you just rolled your eyes at me.” Ari rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward on his arms in an attempt to get your attention. “Now, just because I gave you a pass back the boutique–”

You blow out an annoyed breath. “That wasn’t my fault! You kept making me model the most ridiculous pieces for you, even when I knew they wouldn’t fit.” You peek out from behind your menu long enough to scan the area for Stella, your waitress. Of course she’s nowhere to be found.

Which, oddly enough, was fine by you. There was just something about the woman that seemed to ruffle your feathers a bit. Although you couldn’t quite put your finger on the reason why.

“Except they did fit.” Your bounty hunter surprises you by yanking the menu from your grasp. He then tosses both yours and his onto a nearby empty table. “And maybe if you would’ve allowed me into the fitting room with you earlier, we could’ve scored you another bathing suit. I still think we should go back for that sweet little black and white number. That ass was made for it.”

“It was too small. Just like the other ones.” You counter, feeling your cheeks heat at the intimate praise. The burn only intensifies when you recall the way he’d simply let himself into the fitting room after you’d vetoed your third bathing suit. It had been his pick, which meant he felt that he was well within his rights to, as he put it, “see for himself”.

One Hour Earlier

“Baby.” He said, chuckling softly. “If a woman expects a man to wait outside and do it patiently, then perhaps she ought to give him a little show.” When you balked he’d simply shrugged and picked up an ice blue monokini before handing it over to you, silently demanding that you try it on. With him right there in the flippin’ fitting room.

And he hadn’t felt the least bit compelled to help preserve your modesty by looking away as you’d changed. Instead, he’d had the gall to take a seat in a chair that was tucked away in a corner.

“This is completely inappropriate!” You hissed, clutching the forgotten suit to your chest. “Wh–what if someone comes by?”

“Then I expect you’ll have to be quiet then, won’t you?” He held a finger to his lips, playfully shushing you. “That way it stays our little secret. Now, how about you model the pink one for me?”

“I’ll model whatever you want once we get back to your place.” You tried, your entire body had been practically vibrating with embarrassment.

“Nah. I’m afraid that ain’t gonna work for me.” Ari had leaned back in his chair then, leisurely crossing his long legs over his ankles. “See, this Beast of yours is itchin’ for some instant gratification.” He’d locked his fingers together before resting them on his firm stomach. “And I ain’t leavin’ until I get it.”

“Guess we’ll be in here for a long time then, huh?” You’d responded rather snippily. “Because I’m not about to–”

“You know, sweetheart, now that I’m thinking about it, I just realized you haven’t fed me yet today.”

“I thought we were gonna grab a bite after..?” The knowing look that passed between you two had been enough to make you feel weak in the knees. “Umm...”

“You know how I get when you make me go too long without a taste.” His piercing blue eyes had dropped to your (thankfully) still panty clad pussy. “I’m gonna need a fix, baby. And soon.” You’d watched him cup his impressive cock through the fabric of his jeans. “Otherwise I might start gettin’ antsy.” The silky purr of his voice alone had been enough to have your thighs clenching.

“Don’t – ooh! Behave yourself, damn you!” You’d done your best to ignore the way your core had spasmed with need. “There will be no funny business in this fitting room. You are not getting us kicked out of this store, Beast!”

“But I’m hungry now. Starving actually.” He’d pressed, a wolfish grin spreading across his features. “And all I can think about is sinking to my knees and burying my face in that gorgeous pussy. Right here. Right now.”

You'd watched as he rose from his seat, his big body crowding your smaller one. “Wanna taste all that sweet, wild honey of yours when you cum on my tongue like a good girl.” You’d also squealed none-too-quietly when he pinned you against the wall.

And although the man had seen fit to warn you of his plan, you still hadn’t been prepared for his boldness. Even less so when he dropped to his knees in front of you, his nimble fingers tugging at the edges of your panties.

“Ari…” You'd breathed, rising on your toes to graze your lips along his bearded jaw. “We can’t. Not here. Patience, sugar.”

“Like I told you, I’m about out.” He’d responded on the heels of a groan. “But I might be able to find some more. Maybe. But only if…”

“If what?”

“If you stay the night once we get back to Bell’s Creek. I wanna spend the rest of the evening getting all tangled up in you. Especially after I managed to work up such a sweet tooth.” Ari had brushed mouth over your covered mound, loving the way your nipples pebbled at his words - his touch.

“I accept your terms.” You’d told him with a soft giggle as heat suffused your cheeks. “Now let me go so I can model these last few for you. It’s about time we get a move-on to our next stop -- no more kisses. Oh God, Ari! Be patient!”

“I’m not trying on another thing after I stuff my face, honey.” You mumble as you take another sip of your drink. “We’ll just have to come back another time. Plus, you’ve already spent more than enough on me.”

“You’re worth it.”

“You should’ve at least let me pay for half.” You start to protest, feeling uncomfortable with being doted on in such a way.

“Already said no. And you ain’t payin’ for lunch either, so you’d best not get that pretty mouth all twisted up to ask.”

“How about we–” You find your conversation interrupted by the arrival of your waitress, Stella.

“Hey, ya’ll!” She chirps as she comes around the corner, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her as she finally makes her way to your table. “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. How are those shakes treating you, hm? Pretty good?”

“They’re great.” You and Ari respond at the same time.

“I just knew you’d love ‘em!” She responds rather animatedly, her freshly manicured fingers lightly brushing over Ari’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to notice. But you do. Because it’s not the first time it’s happened. “Looks like you’re doin’ alright over there, handsome. Can I get you another one?”

“No, thank you.” Your Bounty Hunter hums, his gaze locked on the menu as he works to make a final decision. “But I do think we’re ready to order.”

“Yep.” You readily agree, even as your eye twitches. “We sure are.”

Stella makes an innocent show of turning away from you, her gaze focused on Ari. “I bet a big, strapping fella like you would be interested in one of our steaks. Our beef is grass-fed and sourced locally. Which means it’s always fresh, never frozen.”

“Actually, I think we’re both gonna have–” You attempt to interject, only to be shut down without so much as a glance in your direction.

“Did you happen to see our line of Skinny Gal Salads, buttercup? They come with all the flavor, but only half the calories. They’re listed on page two if you wanna take a gander while I walk your lovely friend here through tonight’s specials featuring our signature porterhouse.”

Your waitress’ audacity hits you so hard you almost feel a headache coming on as an unexpected fury burns in your belly. A belly that could probably stand to benefit from one of those so-called Skinny Gal salads, but then again that would go against the deal you’d made last night.

Which involved you and your man enjoying a couple of worry-free milkshakes and bacon cheeseburgers. You’d promised that you would try to relax and not get so caught up in all of that internal calorie counting like you usually did.

So, like it or not, a deal was a deal and you aimed to see it through. Regardless of what your waitress had to say about it. And if the woman was smart, she’d take her hand off your man’s arm before something happened to it.

“Now handsome, did I hear you say you were visiting from Bell’s Creek?” Your waitress cocks her hip against the table while she ignores you in favor of cozying up to your Beast. “Because it just so happens that I have a friend there that I like to visit from time to time. Do you happen to know–”

“Actually, I’ve heard amazing things about your barnyard cheeseburgers. So I think we’re gonna have two of those with bacon. Extra bacon. Please.” You tack on the last word, which is spoken through gritted teeth.

Finally, Stella turns to you and offers a patronizing smile. “Can I interest you in a side salad with that, buttercup? It comes with a spritz of our homemade red wine vinaigrette.”

Ari sits back in silence, apparently content to watch whatever the fuck was transpiring between you and this bottle blonde heifer with a notepad. Which was fine. You were a big girl who knew how to take-up for herself when the situation called for it.

“I want fries, sugarplum. But who knows, my friend might want one of those skinny ass salads to go with his meal. Does that sound good to you, baby?” While your eyes never leave hers, you manage to catch a glimpse of a smile from your companion.

“I, uh, would also like fries.” He coughs. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh, which only serves to piss you off even more. “But thank you.”

“That’ll be all, honey.” You politely growl, snatching Ari’s menu from him before your waitress could use it as an excuse to touch him again. “We’ll let you know if you need anything else.”

“But you haven’t heard the specials.” Stella turns back to Ari, a soft pout gracing her plump lips. “It just might change your mind. You might find yourself wanting something…better.”

Oh, no the fuck she did not. Your man was fine with his choice. You. The burger. All of it. Be gone, bitch!

“We’re good.” You snap, seething inwardly. “You couldn’t possibly have anything more special than what he’s already got goin’ on in front of him, right here. Right now.”

Your waitress stares you down, but you refuse to be the one to blink first. If your eyes gave up and fell out, you had faith Ari would collect them for you before safely guiding you home. Your man was a gentleman like that.

“I guess I’ll go ahead and get these orders in. Two burgers, heavy bacon, coming right up.” The smile she gives you now is much more brittle and it doesn’t meet her eyes. But you also can’t bring yourself to give a fuck.

This woman needed to remember to stay in her lane before you ran her off the road.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

And then she’s gone. You find your glaring at her retreating form. You’re actually in the middle of fantasizing about what would happen if you took a pair of scissors to her annoying ass ponytail when you hear your name being called.

“What?” You snarl as Ari comes back into focus. And what the hell was he grinning about? Didn’t he realize that that pretty face of his was in slapping distance?

“You’re really something, baby.” He murmurs, his gorgeous blue eyes dancing with mischief. “You know that?”

“Meaning?” At the moment, you were in no mood for anyone else’s bullshit.

Ari leans forward in his chair as one of his big hands comes to rest atop yours. “I just meant…I’ve never seen you jealous before. It just surprised me a little is all.” He finishes with a shrug. “I didn’t expect for you to…to…”

“Didn’t expect for me to do what, Beast?” Your tone softens as you watch his head dip, his bearded cheeks tinged with red. He perks up when you give his hand an affectionate squeeze, flipping your positions slightly so you can lace your fingers through his.

“Claim me.”

Those two simple words are enough to send you reeling. Is that really what you had just done?

“It’s no secret that I like you, Bird. A lot.” His voice drops an octave as he works to explain himself. “Every time I see you, it’s like there’s something in me deep down inside me that screams mine. I guess I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way about me. Until now.”

Was he being serious? Of course he was! This man had never struck you as the type to joke about any of this.

“I like you too, Ari. But what I didn’t like was watching our waitress flirt with you like I wasn’t even here. I almost fucked her up with my spoon for touching what’s mine.” Ari’s perfect teeth sink into his plush bottom lip, his nostril’s flaring as his mind works to process your admission.

“Say that again.” The command rumbles out from somewhere deep in his chest, compelling you to obey. “Louder”

“You’re mine, Ari Levinson. For today. Tomorrow. For however long this magical thing between us lasts – you belong to me.” You breathe, butterflies filling your belly. “You’re officially off the market, you got that?”

“I hear you, Bird. Loud and fucking clear.” The grin on his face soon proves to be infectious. “And you have no idea just how happy I am to hear you say that.” Ari opens his arms to you then, beckoning you forward.

The next thing you know, you’re up and moving before you’ve even registered what’s happening. All you knew was that your man needed you. Which meant you needed to go to him. Now.

“I always want you, Ari. Even when I shouldn’t.” You tell him as you gracefully slide into his lap, looping your arms around his neck as you do.

“I know the feeling.” Ari murmurs, brushing his mouth over yours. “Which is why I want to do something special once we get back to Bell’s Creek. Before I have to leave again.” The startled look on your face has your Bounty Hunter rushing to finish his thoughts before you can verbalize your confusion.

“What do you–?”

“I’m only gonna be gone a few days, baby. Three, maybe four, tops.” One of his large, slightly calloused palms presses against the back of your neck, drawing you in closer to him so that he can take your lips again.

“Oh.” Comes your lame reply.

“I’m coming back to you, Bird.” Ari rests his forehead against yours as you try to calm your racing heart. “You have my word. But I still wanna do something special for you – for us – before I go. Will you let me do that without a fight?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Feeling content, Ari leans in to capture your mouth with his own once again. After behaving himself all day, it was time for his reward.

“Wait.” You place your hand on his chest, halting his advances. “You’re still mine wherever you go. I don’t care if it’s fucking Siberia.” You grab a fistful of his shirt, hauling him forward. “You’ll still be mine there too. You with me?”

“Fuck yeah I am.” Ari growls, using both of hands to cradle your face as he slants his lips over yours once again. The kiss is as passionate as it is raw. Your tongues dance together, both fighting for dominance. But this time your Beast lets you win.

Desire burns in your belly as you savor the sensual victory. You bury your fingers in his hair, tugging at the chestnut strands. Meanwhile, one of Ari’s hands goes to grip your hip, making you moan when he gently molds and kneads your curves.

Jesus Christ! You suddenly felt as if you were wearing too many clothes.

His lips skim along the column of your throat as you pant. You were always so fucking needy for him all the time. It made it almost impossible for you to resist him during moments like these.

You’re so lost in each other that you don’t even bother to look up when you hear footsteps approaching. “Will these be separate checks or…oh.” You hear your waitress stammer as she tries to collect herself. “I’ll, um - I'll just bring the one.”

Ari briefly pulls away, eliciting a soft whine from you. “Thanks. And while you're at it, we’ll be taking our food to-go.”

“Bye, Stella.” You giggle as you give a little wave before playfully nipping at his jaw, not even bothering to glance over at the other woman’s face. You knew it was petty, but staking your claim on this man in front of your so-called rival felt so damn good. Especially after a day like today.

Frankly, the only way it could get any better was if you could make yourself utter those three magic words – the same ones you’d been practicing in the mirror last night. But right now they simply wouldn't come. They kept getting stuck in your throat.

Oh well. Guess you’d just have to try again tomorrow.

END

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grimesgirll · 2 months

Text

“not happening.”

“what if i told you that you’d be helping to save the world?”

“by fucking him?”

you scoff, turning your attention back to the braid you’d begun down your back. “i’m not helping you with your passion project, okafor. i have actual shit to do.”

okafor grins at you. “bullshit.”

“no, i still have weekly duties and assignments. i can’t just drop all of that trying to seduce your ticking time bomb.”

“i see the way he looks at you,” he states with a breath of your name. “if he’s gonna be open to anyone, it’s you.”

“he doesn’t need to be open to anyone.” you counter.

“i don’t think you know what he needs yet.”

“and you do?”

“he needs you.”

“no.” you reply flatly, fists clenched. “you need him to enact your little plan that i have nothing to do with.”

the lieutenant colonel gives you a haughty smile. “well then, at the very least he needs stress relief and you owe me a favor.”

you glare at him. “that was a one time thing.”

“you got what you wanted didn’t you?”

“being perpetually indebted to you with favors isn’t what i signed up for,” you complain as you plait your hair.

“you get to sit around and make your little maps and fuck around all day.” your superior reminds you.

you do your best not to scowl too much, unlike the man who your former benefactor wanted you to de-stress fuck. he constantly had a sour look on his face. he was the consignee who cut off his fucking hand trying to escape. how would you convince someone like that to just lay back and let you fuck them until they didn’t miss whatever life they had before again?

“this is kind of a far ask, okafor.” you note and tie off the end of your braid. you finally turn around from the mirror in front of you to face the dark green fatigue clad man behind you. “it’s never gone as far as touching someone like that and actually fucking them. i don’t think i’m up for that.”

okafor crosses his arms. “are you sure about that? last time i checked, you eye fuck him almost as much as he eye fucks you.”

“you’re an asshole.” you spit, venom dripping from your words. “i’m not letting you coerce me into this.” your eyes meet his brown irises. “let this be the last straw for you, lock me up, dishonorably discharge me, whatever, but i’m not just gonna hop on your lackey’s dick because you say so.”

he takes a deep breath and clasps his hands together, smirking for whatever reason. “i think you’ll want to.” he suddenly stands and you’re paranoid for a split second that he’s about to summon backup or attempt to disarm you right here and now. “because i’m not serving up any threats, just desserts. you’ve been good to me and i’ve been good to you. i want you to continue to reward you. maybe with what you’ve wanted all along.”

your eyebrow lifts. “and what would that be?”

okafor doesn’t say anything when you begin breaking the dress code with your workout gear. you make sure to plan time around your community mapping projects to run past the officers' meeting hall in the tighest pair of shorts you owned.

you never forgot to smile and wave to okafor and rick as you pass by. it takes a few days but rick returns your wave.

content adorns your face when you catch him surveying your form from afar, getting closer and closer to that sweet reward okafor had promised you.

soon enough rick is running into you everywhere. you're crossing paths in helicopter hangers, on benches outside of the barracks, during your runs around the reservoir, at the gym, in the administrative office in your most yielding sweater, in the hallway, and at his front door on okafor’s orders.

“okafor wanted me to make sure this got to you.”

“thank you,” rick grunts gruffly, accepting the folder with his latest field assignment from your grasp.

“anytime, rick,” you crow.

before he can bid you good night, you ask if he’d been briefed by okafor yet. he shakes his head.

you smile sweetly. “well, he really wanted you to sit down and talk about the park with someone who’s been there before, knows the layout.”

the cowboy type raises an eyebrow. “you’ve been to olympia national park before.”

“mhmm,” you confirm. “a long time ago but i know more about it than okafor.” you let out a breath, eyes boring into his icy blue gaze. “got a minute?”

the dark wainscoting of officer’s quarters enters your field of vision as rick leads you through the skinny hallway, pointing out a bathroom before bringing you into what you assume is the downstairs living room.

“you can help yourself to the kitchen,” he offers graciously, gesturing towards the kitchen of the open floor plan living space.

“thanks!” you chirp and weave towards the kitchen, finding two short glasses and flinging a cabinet open.

“oh, you have whiskey!”

“it was a gift from okafor.”

you can barely keep a guffaw from tumbling out of your mouth. “that’s very on brand for him,” you comment, turning the handcrafted decanter over in your hands. “well, lucky for you, okafor has fantastic taste.”

rick observes from the leather sofa as you pour two short glasses of whiskey - not even asking if you could. the orange light of the kitchen does nothing to hide how great you look for nine o’clock at night. your gauzy long hair glints, looking sleek beneath the lights as it falls inches above the curve of your ass.

the same bottom that had seemingly been following rick around base. it was like everywhere he turned: you were there. whatever inspired this house call felt suspiciously related.

kneeling on the floor next to the coffee table, you place the tray with your drinks down and empty the folder of its documents in order to splay them across the table. you reach up to rick to pass him one of the twin glasses.

reluctantly, he accepts. however, he doesn’t take a sip from his glass until after you do.

he doesn’t miss the way your throat tenses at the burn of the liquor when it makes its way down. you throw another swig back like a young woman who’s grown accustomed to drinking with her fellow soldiers, but in the quarters of one of her superiors?

“so, here’s where you’ll be landing.” your glass is already on the coffee table and you’re pointing out green meandering lines. “whitehorse mountain is right here. just be careful of atmospheric rivers in the area. did okafor tell you about what happened to the apache team?”

the dark haired man shook his head, worry lines becoming more pronounced.

you shake your head. “forget i said anything.” you take another quick drink from your glass and rick looks alarmed - you’re not like your oxen brothers in arm who could drink themselves silly. he doesn’t have time to dwell on it though because you’re skipping right to the next print out to detail his planned trek along the sauk river.

“it’s a pretty ridge. you should stop and take a picture.” you suggest, thumbing through laminated landmark shots of valleys and vistas, making a verbal note of one which is a convenient stop on his trip.

he bites his pink lip. “i don’t think getting a photo of the view is gonna be on my mind, sweetheart.”

“why not?” you question with a glimmer in your eye. “someone like you should take time to relax when you can.”

he chides your name. “what’re you doin’?”

“your job is important, and we all have jobs to do, right?”

there’s a far awayness in his eyes that you can’t place when you lean in closer. feet tucked under your knees, you’re trailing your hand up rick’s thigh towards the tent in his pants.

“you wanna fuck my mouth?”

“why’re you doin’ this?”

when he iterates your name, you consider backing down but then you remember okafor’s promise and how truly repressed this man seemed.

“it’s been a while hasn’t it.”

rick squirms. he doesn’t mean to but it’s a question not many people have the balls to ask him and he didn’t expect it from you of all people. he tries to block whatever memories are bubbling in response and busies himself with taking in the view of your parted lips.

“you don’t have to say anything, just relax,” you coo, shoving him back slightly.

looking down at you, rick doesn’t know what he has to gain from saying no at this point. rick huffs as you approach his erection but he doesn’t object.

his waistband falls with your fingers and you’re faced with the massive length you’d been worrying about. ever since you first saw rick’s bulge, you were brainstorming how you’d even fit him inside your taut walls, much less inside of your mouth.

starting slow, you begin at the base and kitten lick up to the top. rick’s groans give him away immediately. how can he hide how repressed he is with a cock as hard as rocks?

at the top of him, you’re laving his cockhead in your mouth. “i’ve never been with anyone this big,” you admit for the potential ego boost - even though it’s one hundred percent true. rick has a fucking horse cock if you’ve ever seen one.

your hand is working overtime with everything you can’t fit into your mouth at first. rick exhales hoarsely at the wet heat of your mouth devouring him. he hasn’t had a mouth on him in so long. your tight, warm lips wrap around his dick and you swallow around him.

his self control is rusty so he curses when he bucks into your face, stalling his hips only for you to pick up your pace. he wants to pull you off when he feels like he’s about to cum down your tight airway which is crammed full of his cock.

at the first feeling of that telltale twitch against your tongue, you prepare to do your part to keep rick’s nice leather couch clean and swallow everything he’s been holding back.

popping off of him, you look back up at him and grant a toothy smile. his eyes are lurid and clouded with what you only assume is lust. you’re not prepared for his rough grip to drag you onto the surface and into his lap.

the green cargo mini skirt you were wearing falls down your legs and lands somewhere on the wood paneled floor. the moment after you wipe your mouth with a tight fitting sleeve, rick captures your mouth. slightly taken aback, you moan into the man, squirming borderline uncontrollably on top of him as he pulls your top over your head.

his sturdy fingertips ghost across up your waist to your breast. with one robust squeeze as a warning, he assaults your heaving chest with his flesh hand and bruises your collarbone with something between a kiss and a mini-puncture wound. the proesthetic invades your panties and teases your labia, eliciting a needy hum from you.

his horse cock makes itself known again against the front of your pale pink panties.

fuck, how will he fit?

“god, you’re already soakin’ me.”

you get past the feel of his embrace for a moment to glance down only to be greeted with the sight of your swampy lap. how did i do that? you ponder.

“i wanna feel you on my cock, sweetheart. is that something you can do to help me relax?”

you grin. “i’m glad you asked.” you feel a renewed tingle downstairs. “why don’t you see how i take your fingers first?”

a smirk forms on his face. “probably should.” and then he’s reaching between the two of you to prod a finger at your dripping mound.

a deft finger drives into you. you’re expecting another one but as you lazily rest your head on his clothed shoulder, you just whine. the finger inside of you curls and unfurls, stretching you out without the addition of another digit. just the way his fingers drags along your walls has you twisting on top of him.

“you’re really wet for a girl who came over to talk about maps.”

you don’t comment, just cant your hips and beg for another finger. he obliges.

the calculated sensation has you forgetting what he’s talking about, forgetting about your plan. that rhythm he’s adopted speeds up once you make eye contact with rick.

“one more?” he questions.

you nod furiously. “another!”

rick doesn’t delay and the floor drops out from under once you feel a tongue on your quiveting lower lips.

“rick!” you gasp as his fingers and tongue work in unison to squeeze every naughty little noise out of you.

the soldier doesn’t speak; he just laps up your pussy like it was an order.

you come all over his face.

“sorr-,” you’re shut up by a wet finger in your mouth.

“that’s it.”

the no longer meek man trains his eyes on you as you suck his finger clean. through half lidded eyes, you watch his pupils dilate into fully lust blown orbs. devoid of the bright blue you’d seen before, rick’s stare only shifts when he’s shifting you on top of him.

“is it going to fit?” you don’t even realize that your thoughts are materializing out loud.

the officer snorts. “never had a problem before.”

the initial stretch is challenging. your breath is caught in your throat and you’re almost asking the man beneath you to slow down but he’s already inching in at an excruciatingly stable rate.

fuck, you’re reconsidering this. you curse your lieutenant colonel for acting like this whole song and dance was easy. figures. okafor isn’t the one getting stretched out on an eight inch cock.

at the sound of your whines, rick places a kiss on the top of your forehead. “doin’ so good for me,” rick praises. “so tight.”

i know, i feel you tearing me open you want to rasp but you just try to settle into the feeling. you adjust your position, tilting enough for rick to take a renewed interest in your ass. a firm hand plants itself on your flesh in an attempt to leverage you closer.

“almost there,” he grunts and continues pushing through your clinging canal, through the thick rings of muscle that grip his cock so tightly.

momentarily, you slump against the soldier. yeah, you’d been running around the base in hopes of attracting rick’s attention but your exercise routine was no match for the man with a brick between his legs.

once he’s sheathed inside of you, rick reaches down to toy with your clit. you mutter a soft curse. the sensation picks up and you’re faced with not just feeling full but fully stimulated as well. each drag against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you whimpering into rick.

drives into you become harsher. the impact feels less like a truck and more like a commanding officer. an arm is wrapped around you to keep your position steady on top of okafor’s new favorite soldier. the same one who seems to be hitting the right spot every time he moves you up and down his length.

your hands reach for his graying chestnut hair. they find purchase while rick rocks into you. the urge to complain that his shirt is on exits once a familiar pressure mounts inside of you.

“fuck, you’re squeezin’ me.”

“mhmm,” you expire into his neck, nuzzling into him when he presses fingernails into your sides and lifts and lowers you like his own personal stress relief toy.

you can’t be bothered to care. you’re getting what you want out of this: a reward and a release.

pleasure is just radiating throughout your core again. whatever pain had you speechless earlier has evolved into an ecstasy that has you babbling. rick just keeps a hand on the small of your back and carries on pouring himself into you - into your tight little canal, back and forth, in and out.

“rick,” you’re mewling.

the man can’t be bothered to plant a hand pleasurably on your pussy or respond to your cries, so you complain a little louder.

“want you to cum in me.” you stutter into the pillowcase.

“don’t think you want that,” rick demurely admits.

“no,” you argue between pants. “i’m on the shot they have here. i want you to fill me up.”

rick utters a curse into your neck, pouring himself into you so swiftly you’re surprised. just like you asked, he pumps his hips leisurely into your soaked cunt. you wince at the sound of a squelch. hopefully rick doesn’t care too much about having to clean his sofa.

neither of you are expecting the noise you make when rick untangles himself from you. you’re too tired to have shame and simply sink back into the ductile pillows. your head swivels over slowly to find rick watching your chest fall up and down unevenly.

laying beside the man, you can’t help but feel accomplished. for once, the soldier is sporting a blissed out look on his face instead of a scowl or thousand yard stare. but as he slings an arm around you and tugs you closer to his sweltering, sweaty body, you can’t help but feel guilty - manipulative even.

mission accomplished, but at what cost?

pt. 2

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dream0fschism · 1 year

Note

hi bestie

could u pretty please write HCs or a short one shot for either Soap/König (or both if ur feeling up to it) where the reader keeps distracting them?? like maybe they’re trying to get office work done, or maybe they’re in a meeting, like they’re just teasing all day lmao, how would they react, what would they do, what would be the final straw??

you already know I’m gnna ask for NSFW 😘

i wonder who i'll pick...

you made a mistake giving me options

Let's imagine you're one of König's comrades, but you've always been just a little more than that from the moment you'd met. You spend time together at every opportunity, even when you're both off duty.

- You'd slump into your chair across from him, watching him fill in paperwork meticulously with irritation. Why couldn't he do it later on?

- "You know I like to get it out of the way, my love. I'll give you some attention in a moment."

- When you become impatient and lift your foot to stretch over and press into his crotch, he'd instinctively flinch his legs closed slightly.

- He loves to feel any form of your touch, so he doesn't tell you to stop, but he keeps his legs rigid out of shyness and continues to scribble onto his sheet.

- After a minute or two of you massaging his clothed crotch with your boot, the pen in his hand would still over the paper and he'd flick his eyes over to meet your own expectant gaze.

- "Such an impatient girl, mm?"

- He'd slam his pen down onto the table and push himself harshly backwards, chair scraping thunderously as your foot smacked back down to the laminate floor. The whole time his eyes are on you, and he would pat his thigh expectantly.

- "Come and sit, sweetheart."

- You'd end up with your thighs dangling around his hips as he bounced you onto his thick length with ease, both sets of his bony fingers squeezing and marking the tender skin around your ribs.

- He'd let you lift his mask with your free hands to reveal his mouth and suck his bottom lip between your own greedily, rocking yourself into his guiding grasp in the process.

- The whole time his eyes would flick back and forth between the door and your face, and each time his gaze left your own, you'd jerk him back by the jaw to interrupt with more gentle sucks at his mouth. He'd hum his loud, satisfied moans into you as he accepted your wordless reassurance. Nobody's going to come in.

- When he gets close, he'd lift you completely and stand from the chair, cock still sheathed deep inside as he spread you onto the table atop of all his hard work.

- And he would slam into you, relentless and hellbent on punishing you just that tiny bit for being such a distraction, so utterly irresistible.

- König cums violently, of course, stuffing you with his cock the entire time as he remembers just how much of a thing you have for creampies.

- When he pulls out he instantly plugs your hole with his fingers, forcing his cum to stay as he thuds onto his knees and commands you to sit up. He'd push you by the lower back until your calves hang over the edge of the table, and lift his hood to suction his lips over your puffy clit.

- König loves how impossibly wet you get, everytime he fucks you, and he laps up every last drop of your juices from your pussy like it's a routine for him.

- He'd finger you, pressing his cum deeper into your cunt as he sucked and kissed and absolutely massacred your clit with determination.

- One of his favourite things would be that everytime you came around his fingers, you'd squeeze his hooded head between your thighs just like a vice and flop backwards onto the table with an overstimulated whimper.

- He'd be craning over you a few moments after, working his slicked fingers between your plump lips to watch you taste the mixture of you both.

- "Now you've been fed, can I get back to my work?"

#konig call of duty #mw2 smut #mw2 #mw2 fanfic #könig mw2 #könig #könig headcanons #konig headcanons #konig mw2 #konig x you #konig x reader #könig x reader #könig x you

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cosmicanakin · 4 months

Text

thinkin' about nerd!anakin & popular!reader.

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

you slip into the kitchen where anakin is bustling about working on some new prototype. sliding your arms around his waist from behind, you press a kiss to the center of his back between his shoulder blades. “how's it going in here, handsome?”

he turns with a brilliant grin, still tinkering as he talks. “just fine tuning some upgrades. got paired with lydia for the engineering project and she has some innovative ideas i want to test out. speaking of, i should give her a call and we can brainstorm some more.”

your smile falters slightly at the mention of lydia. you know she's a notorious nerd, just like anakin, but something about them working so closely together rubs you the wrong way. “right, your partner. do you have to call her right now?” you pout, pulling him in for an embrace.

anakin chuckles, nuzzling your nose. “yes sweetheart, we're trying to stay on track to finish early like the good students we are. don't worry, you know you're the only girl for me.” he pecks your lips softly before slipping from your arms to grab his phone.

reluctantly, you follow anakin to the couch and flop down beside him with a huff. his call connects and lydia's face popped up on the screen, pale skin and dark hair framed by thick glasses like usual. “hey anakin!” she greets excitedly, straightening her cardigan.

“hey lydia, y/n's here too.” he smiles, sliding an arm around your shoulders. you force a tight lipped grin and wave. lydia smiles politely in return but her eyes linger on anakin a moment too long for your liking.

“so, tell me more about these water filtration designs you were working on,” anakin prompts, always eager to delve into his passion. lydia launches into an enthusiastic ramble about her concepts that has anakin hanging onto every word with rapt attention.

you try to contain your rising irritation as they converse in advanced terminology far over your head. anakin's eyes sparkle with interest and admiration for lydia's brilliant mind and you feel increasingly out of place. her cheeks flush under his praise and gaze.

that's the final straw. subtlety clearly isn’t working so you decide on a new approach. shifting into anakin's lap, you drape yourself over him and start peppering his jaw and neck with heated kisses. he inhales sharply in surprise.

“y/n, wh-what are you doing?” he stammers breathily as you continue your affectionate assault. you raise your eyes to the screen and smirk at lydia, who watches with parted lips and pink cheeks of her own.

“sorry to interrupt,” you say feigning your innocence, grinding down into anakin’s lap. he suppresses a soft groan, hands coming to grasp your hips unconsciously. lydia averts her eyes, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“i can see you two are, uh, busy. maybe i should let you go.” she mumbles, shuffling notes in front of her screen. anakin nods frantically, eyes fuzzy with desire. “y-yeah, probably for the best. we'll, um, talk tomorrow lydia. bye!”

you end the call with a tap of your finger before he can prolong it further. capturing anakin's lips hungrily, you roll your hips firmly into his growing erection. he melts into the kiss with a whiny moan.

“fuck y/n, what's gotten into you? not that iʼm complaining,” he pants as you drag open mouthed kisses along his jaw. you nip at his earlobe teasingly. “just reminding you who you belong to, honey. now, shall we take this discussion to the bedroom?”

without awaiting his response, you tug anakin to his feet and backward down the hall. he obeys willingly, worshipping your neck and shoulders all the way. you push him down onto the mattress, quickly removing your clothes in a flurry.

anakin lays watching with blown pupils and parted lips, caressing the prominent bulge in his pants. “god, you're so beautiful.” you crawl over him like a lioness, pinning his body down and rocking your sensitive core against his clothed bulge.

“say it,” you command breathily. “say you're mine.” anakin moans at the delicious contact, already putty in your possessive hands. “i'm yours, and only yours.” satisfaction blooms in your chest at his submission.

you make good and sure to brand that fact into his memory that night, until he's left whimpering your name in a blissful puddle. no one, not even lydia, would ever come between you again if you had anything to say about it. this boy belonged to you heart, body and mind.

#﹙ kari writes 𝜗𝜚 ﹚#nerd!anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin x fem reader #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin angst #anakin imagines #anakin blurb #anakin star wars #anakin x reader #anakin x y/n #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker angst #anakin skywalker fluff

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husbandhoshi · 3 months

Text

TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, I just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." You try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thought the image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

#literally on my hands and knees begging for the tags to work #mine #mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #mingyu angst #seventeen angst #mingyu imagines

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ghouljams · 6 months

Note

The Android!Ghost au you’ve talked about is giving « the guy is actually more of a heavily modified human (probably against his will too) than a complete android » and I’m living for this kind of stuff. Please, let’s keep talking about it.

:3c Ghost in the Shell(1995)-core

You've always been more at home with androids than with regular people. They're not as loud, they don't ask prodding questions, you know exactly where you stand with them. They don't care that you'd rather be in your workshop than... wherever normal people go when they're bored. You work on one of the heavy mechs during your lunch break. The bot hands tools up to you while you sit on its shoulder, its huge fingers delicately holding your rivet gun as you try to avoid breaking out the welding machine. It's not looking good.

"It's really stuck on here XG-9," You tell the mech, listening to the click of its cameras as they adjust to the new information.

"I can wait until yearly maintenance, this issue is not impeding my primary motor functions."

You roll your eyes, bots always say that. You know well enough that just because something isn't hurting now, doesn't mean it won't hurt later. Or, impede function later. You have to correct yourself on that. The mech technically doesn't feel anything, its diagnostic picked up a blip and it asked you to fix it. You scratch your head with a sigh and grab the offered hand to swing down.

Ghost is standing there waiting for you when you land. You take a step back, just a hair too close to the android for your own comfort. He cocks his head to the side. You're struck again by how quiet he is. Not just in the silent manner he regards you, but the silence with which his body functions. Androids aren't loud, not unless they're malfunctioning, but you can hear them. It's, well, ghostly. You wonder if that's how he got the nickname.

"What's wrong with 9?" He asks, there's no concern in his voice, why would there be?

"One of his casings is tight, it's compressing a motor," You report, glancing up at the mech. It's busy setting your tools back into their casings, giant hands careful with your pieces.

"His?" Ghost questions, and you hear his cameras click, dialing in to observe you. It's not a secret on base that you have a tendency to personify even the trash-droids. You don't rise to the bait. Ghost turns his attention to the mech instead. "You good 9?"

"Functioning within parameters Lieutenant," The mech chirps. Ghost nods and looks back at you.

"He's fine."

You sigh and go to gather your tools, grab a bite of your sandwich. You assume the lieutenant needs something fixed or he wouldn't be here. Lieutenant. That's unusual. Not unheard of, but definitely rare. Rare enough you don't think you've ever met an android that has the honor of a rank. Not one still in commission at least. You stare at him over your bread, inspecting him for any twitch in her servos.

He's beautiful machinery. Everything about him moves and flows as naturally as flesh and blood should. You've been thinking about what to use for his musculature since you last worked on him. Looked like some sort of aluminum poly... kev-spring... God you don't know, you're grasping at straws. Irreplaceable that's what it is.

"What d'you need?" You ask between bites. Gotta be something, androids don't come looking for you for no reason. They're not curious, they don't wonder how you're doing. They certainly don't stop to watch you work. Curiosity is a human emotion.

"Back plates need to be realigned, you didn't put them back right." He tells you. You nearly choke on your sandwich, thumping your chest and coughing as he stares down at you.

"Excuse me?" You cough in disbelief. Never in all your years as a mechanic have you been accused of such a thing. You glower at Ghost and set your food down. You twirl your finger to have him turn around, he does without complaint, stripping his zip-up off as he does. You don't know why he needs a jacket, not like he gets cold, but you suppose it helps him blend in. Although if he wanted to blend in he could've opted for a more human face plate.

You push his tee up, fingers skimming his synthetic skin, checking the black plated spine for misaligned pieces. Everything feels in order. You grab one of your micro screwdrivers and tap the tiny flat-head against the seams of his spine, testing for gaps. You push his shirt up higher, lean closer to get a better view. This would really be easier if he was sitting- no, laying down. His chest expands and contracts with false breaths, your working theory is exhaust release, but under your hand it feels like life.

You press the button at the top of his spine, watch the plates disengage and pop up. Starting at the bottom you push each one, manually, back into place. There's a small click that lets you know the plate is engaged, and his T5 doesn't click.

You grumble to yourself, and grab your glasses from your tool set along with a pair of needle nose pliers. It's an easy fix, a little fiddly, but you manage to manually hook the latch into place. You make a mental note to order a spare part. The rest of his spine lays down easily, neat clicks that you monitor more closely now that you've had to fix one. When you reach the top you make sure to press the plate on either side of his spine firmly into place before locking up the whole thing. There's a soft hiss, and a release of steam between the panels when you engage the lock.

Ghost rolls his shoulders with a soft groan as you drop his shirt back into place. "Fuck that feels good," He sighs, his modulator sighs. You frown, replacing your tools. It shouldn't feel like anything.

"Yeah?" You ask, human curiosity getting the better of you.

"Like gettin' my back cracked," Ghost hums, he twists at his waist like he's stretching out his muscles. Beautiful machinery, that looks and acts like a beautiful man. You think you understand why he wouldn't want a human face, he'd attract too much attention.

"Glad I could help," You look away from him, back to your tools, "I'll order a new part, should fix the misalignment permanently." You'll keep this fix off the books for now. It's too strange- Ghost is too strange. He almost feels human, but he can't be you've seen his mechanics. He can't be.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley cod #simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #android!ghost #mechanic!reader #cyberpunk au #this is like sex to me #repairs on an android can actually be so personal

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 8 months

Text

ALL MINE.

Pairing: Erik × Black OC (Courtney).

Summary: Erik finds himself at the mercy of an obsessive woman.

Tags: Non-Con, Roleplay, Bondage, Body Worship, Size Kink, Praise Kink.

Part 2

The soft float of breathy giggles filled the air as Erik awoke to realize he'd been handcuffed to a pink bed and confined to an all pink room. His Tinder date from the bar, Courtney Rawlins, was lying next to him on the bed, tracing figures on his forehead with her fingertip.

"Oh baby, don't struggle," she warned in her gentle Cajun accent. The cuffs were tight to the pull.

"Did you drug me," he glared, feeling her finger slip into his nose. "Did you drug me," he demanded, yanking once more despite how those cuffs cut.

"Relax." She tapped the furrowed stress lines between his furrowed brows. "Just relax. You woke up a little confused and it's to be expected. But you're okay. It's just you and me here."

Erik's eyes circulated the room once more for something to help himself out of his predicament, but Courtney caught his hairy chin in her stern grasp.

"Don't startle, my little pumpkin. You are safe here with me."

"Fuck this," he pulled away. "Kidnapper Barbie is NOT what I signed up for."

"Don't be that way. We were having fun," Courtney purred, cuddling into his side.

"What do you want?"

"What any girl wants... To spend a little uninterrupted time with you at my fingertips for whatever beautiful thing we conceive. I'm all yours and... You're. All. Mine," she enunciated with finger taps on his cheek.

"You've got to be out of your damn mind. I would match with a crazy bitch." He turned his head, unafraid but regretful of his choices.

"Courtney," she corrected. "But if you wanna nickname, call me Sweet Pea or whatever your sweet lil heart can conjure." She drew a line down his nose bridge and booped him as he stared a her, a woman 'booping' a grown man 6 years older than her.

"You seemed so normal on our date, Courtney," he continued to stare, unsettled. "What happened?"

She smiled, squishing his chin in her hand. "You're so CUTE. Lil shady self. I love it. I'm gonna feed you and make you fall in love, you just watch. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach and BOY do I have a HELLA good tribute on the stove, special, just for you."

She left the room.

Erik tested the cuffs once more, but they were of a sturdy grade. He'd made the mistake of telling her his favorite cuisine on Tinder when she asked and now she was using it against him in some sort of sick warfare. He wouldn't give in.

"I'm back," she sang, returning with her hands full. She set up a collapsible side table with a bowl of steaming gumbo and a glass of sweet tea with a bendy straw. His mouth watered.

"You drugged that."

"What purpose would that serve?"

"Iono but I ain't eatin' it."

Her eyes widened. "You're already handcuffed to my bed! There's no more reason. This here is straight home cooking, no tricks."

The cornbread was floating on top of the gumbo, soaking it in. Cajun cuisine from a Crazy Cajan Barbie. He didn't trust it. He watched her spoon it, blowing gently. The spoon traveled to his mouth as she cupped the bottom to catch the drip.

"Open up. I swear it's the best thing you'll ever do. Well... within the next twenty minutes or so."

Immediately his tastebuds were in heaven. It was the best damn gumbo of his life.

"I'd ask you how you like it, but I can see," she rubbed her well-moisturized knees happily. She smiled, feeding him a spoonful at a time until the gumbo and cornbread were gone, giving him sips of tea in between. His stomach was happy as ever and full, but he was still cuffed to a damn bed and at this weird girl's mercy. What did she plan to do to him and for how long?

"I can't believe I've got you here all to myself! It feels too right."

"Courtney."

"That's not all I have planned for us, but I swear you'll be in love by the end of tonight."

"Courtney, stop the bull. This is crazy. You know it's crazy. You're crazy... You need help and I can help you... If you unlock these cuffs-"

"The cuffs stay on! I don't trust you to stay put. You'll leave." She grabbed his wrists, stilling them. "Stop struggling or you'll bruise."

"Look. Really look at me? Do I look happy? I'm cuffed to your BED. Do you not see how fucked up this is?" He squinted, watching her avert her crazy eyes to avoid reality. The second he got loose, he'd run for the hills.

With a deep sigh, ahe folded her arms on his chest and rested her head on top, looking innocently up at him from under her lashes. "I just wanted us to spend some time together is all. I was gonna let you go... Eventually."

"You... could've... asked???"

A high giggle escaped her. "You know, you have the most lusious lips and the way they move makes me think of things I'd love to use them for. I love this mouth," she sighed tapping his full bottom lip, high on her delusional cloud. "But I'm patient. I can wait."

Erik exhaled the breath he held when she got up.

"Hope you can handle dessert. I don't think you're ready for this one, it's what I call The Clencher." This time, when she left the room, she returned with a covered plate. "Voila!" She presented a wide and hefty slice of chocolate mousse cheesecake.

Suddenly, he wasn't so full anymore. She was killing him.

"Mm, mm, mm!" She sprayed whipped cream on top. Not the damn whipped cream. He loved whipped cream. He ate it straight from the spray can.

Hm... Fuck that, he doubled back mentally. He was done. No more entertaining the circus.

"Whoa! Hol'up... What you doing..."

She began pulling her cropped pink shirt slowly over her head so not to mess up her hair.

"Courtney," he warned.

Under that shirt was a small and magenta bra. "You guessed it," she smirked. "Looks like you're getting lucky tonight."

"Nah, sweetheart. This aint it. I'd have been happy to see this under different circumstances," he admitted, watching her slowly push down the matching pale pink mini skirt to reveal a magenta thong. "But this? Too far." He couldn't deny being a little turnt on. Had he uncovered it in his own way on his own terms, he'd have been glued like a dog on a leg. "It's the principle."

"I don't think so?" Courtney walked forward, challenging him. She pinched her bra apart from the front, letting the straps fall from her shoulders to reveal two perky breasts. "The Big-Big Man didn't get your memo," she teased, looking to his partial-chub. "He doesn't seem to care how it happens as long as it happens. Gotta say, I agree.

"My dick gets hard if the wind blows. You not special. That's why you listen to ME. Consent is everything."

Her eyes grew momentarily.

"You have a way with words that gets me so tingly on the surface and creamy inside. It's not helping your case," her accented voice lilted, giving the sound of arousal. "I'm getting what I want tonight and you're... gonna like it."

Erik pulled against the pink furry handcuffs as she slipped down onto the bed with the cheesecake. "POLICE."

"Stahp," she chuckled, feeding him.

He might as well have been drugging him, she was giving him the itis. The cheesecake was like a cheesecloud. If only she wasn't so damn weird! She fed him another bite then sat the dish down, dabbing the whipped cream on her perky chocolate nipples.

"Bitch... If you touch me without my permission we're gonna have some real problems."

"Would you punish me?" She touched her nipples and massaged the cream lightly in a teasing circular motion, causing his dick to pitch a tent independent of him. "Seems two of us know exactly what we want."

Erik watched her swipe her delicate and clean looking finger along the top of the cheesecake, collecting a healthy dollop and bringing it to his mouth. Hesitantly, he sucked it. She was a gorgeous girl, his ideal physical type, and very sexy. The cheesecake was godly. Next was her chocolate mousse coated nipple. She hovered over his face and he caved, salivating for a different reason now. His thoughts were wayward.

"If I'd have asked you on our first date to come spend time glued to me like a good roux, would you'd have said yes?"

"No," he admitted easily. "Because that's weird. I don't think you really understand."

"You don't understand. I want what you won't freely give me.. Sugar, I want your heart. I want your time. I want you to look at me as more than a one night stand. I want you to understand my passion for all things you." She drug her hands up his washboard abs feeling every bump and indentation, getting very worked up in the process and breathing heavier. Her leg was now over his and she was sitting on top of his thighs, grinding, her hips rotating to show off her toned belly. "I want you so bad Erik. I want you to be all mine and no one else's. I want to be selfish and keep you to myself forever, tied to me. I can be your everything if you let me.

"Easy.. Calm down.." She was riding his laplike they were having sex but he was still fully dressed and she wore panties.. They were getting damp just from that..

It clicked to her in that moment to undress him. He couldn't physically resist, so he laid and watched his long legs come into visibility.

"You even smell amazing." She took a large intimate sniff of his bare stomach. Unhinged. "Why do you drive me so crazy?"

"Drive you? You were already there." He watched her press kisses into his stomach around his bellybutton. A ring of kisses, then more where she'd just been. She traveled up, sliding her hands with them. She was in the Sahara as thirsty as she was, licking his skin like she'd taste pheromones. Meanwhile, Erik couldn't deny the blood flowing to his dick. He'd lied when he said the wind could make him hard, but Fort Knox couldn't get that info out of him right now. He was so fucking turned on despite his frustration.

"Aight that's enough."

"For who? I just started."

She worked her little hungry ass tongue desperately back down to his waistband, kissing over his print in his Calvin Klein briefs. The head HAD to be crazy the way she was feenin.

"Stop... Bitch, what I say? Don't touch my dick." He kissed his teeth as she disregarded every request doing only what she wanted.

She freed his growing erection watching it twitch to life as she stroked it up in her hand. He happened to be a grower AND a shower, and she looked hungry like she needed to be fed.

"I knew it was big. I knew it was big." She rubbed her face against it in circles. With her nose flat on the underside."

"The fuck are you doing?"

"Stay up there!"

She continued to stroke it toward the ceiling, all fingers on deck to grip the girth. It was thickest at the base and that was where her face rested, her tongue tracing the vein. Soap and vanilla filled her nostrils.

He watched her natural nails painted pearlescent white. Then she stopped fucking around and put her lips on the tip, putting him an inch into her mouth, her lips as full as his and shapely. The sight of her lips making his tip disappear with her eyes on his made him keep his eyes on her. She was swirling her lil freaky tongue on the hole. "You freaky motherfucker... you better stop that shit..."

She claimed another inch, still focusing on the tip and watching him carefully to find his sensitive spots. It felt so good to him that he put his head back against the bed and watched the ceiling to shut her out. She was determined to find a way to his soul.

Her hand cranked the rest of his shaft and for a moment her tongue found its way to his balls. He bit his lip, holding back sound. Don't encourage her, he thought. But she was encouraging herself, moaning and licking on his sack, playing with it. Her tongue slipped to his taint, massaging.

"Shiiit.."

"There's no one as perfect for you as me," Courtney announced. "Give me sole access to this dick and I swear," she begged, between soulful sucks on his sensitive tip. "You'll never want for better.. I can satisfy you."

She took him in deeper and deeper still. He could feel the back of her mouth, her tongue, then the squeeze of her throat. She was getting sloppy, making a mess of spit and bubbles that collected around the base and slid to his balls as she massaged it in.

"Fawwck," Erik writhed with nowhere to go. She was seizing his body up, relentlessly sucking and beating the shit out of his dick. "Uh!" He came in ribbons, all in her mouth. Her eyes turned into two happy slits, but she didn't stop. She focused on his tip, still sucking. If his hands were free, he'd push her away needing just a moment, but his wrists were cuffed. "Aight, aight. You don't eat the stick when the popsicle gone," he sighed, watching the ceiling once more.

She was in her own world with his dick.

"I'll devote myself to worshipping this big pretty brown dick."

Her fingers dug into his thighs, passionate in her plea and sucking him into another buckling orgasm.

"One more," she sighed.

This time she gave him a moment as his dick was losing blood, his breathing trying to get back to normal. But it was only a moment. She gripped his base and started stroking to get the blood moving back up. Again, she put it in her mouth.

Erik groaned, pulling against the cuffs. His abs tensed. A low feral growl escaped him. "Fuck me," he blurted. "Sit on my dick. Now."

Brain was turning off, lust was turning up.

She wasted no time straddling him with her panties pulled to the side and her feet planted at his sides, her hands on his chest. She guided his rock hard dick into herself and sank down onto it bouncing off of the first few inches and working her way down with gravity.

Erik growled, flexing and wishing his hands were free. He wouldn't run, he'd take control and teach her ass a lesson.

Courtney moaned loudly with no regard for neighbors as she rode the fuck out of him. An expert jockey. "I love this dick, I love this dick," she chanted. All he could do has throw his hips to add more bounce and thrust deeper into her womb. "Fuck me!"

"I'm finna nut. Shit. Shit." She hadn't put a condom on him.

"I want it all. I want those fucking babies. Give me your babies," she bounced stubbornly.

"Get up. Get off me. Shit. It's coming."

He couldn't hold it. She wouldn't stop. He nutted inside her, panting at every spurt. She was idling on his dick now, keeping it warm as it went soft inside of her.

"Damn," he sighed.

Courtney slowly dismounted with his seed dripping down her inner thigh. She retrieved a key from her dresser and undid his cuffs, sinking onto the bed next to him.

"I might have you for longer than we thought," she smirked.

He wrapped her in his embrace, kissing her hair.

"I can't believe I stuck my dick in crazy," he sighed the second he could breathe properly. She chuckled, reaching across his body to hug him tightly.

"You love it."

"I do. I knew you were crazy when I met you. Scorpios are all crazy. You lucky I looove scorpios." He stretched, letting blood flow through his arms and wrists. "We should roleplay more often. This was wild."

"What we doing next time? And can it also involve liquor?"

"Next time," he smirked, thinking of a good scenario. "Next time, your car can break down and I'll come offer you some assistance."

"Ooh."

"You like that?"

To be continued.

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger imagine #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #erik killmonger x oc #killmonger smut #spooky szn #kinktober

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