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bbsmuts · 2 months

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Summer Getaway ft. EVERGLOW Yiren

A/N: This is a pitch I got from a friend outside of Tumblr, and it took me a long time to write since I’ve been working and planning the wedding, sorry about that. I have no doubt that this will become second-to if not more popular than Field Trip. I don’t have a lot to say about it so as not to spoil anything, so here we go.

-상훈

Length: 7.5k

Possible TW: Spanking, choking, domination, dom/sub kink

It had been a long senior year at Hanyang University. Very, very long.

With a major in psychology, a minor in health studies, and a hopeless career path, classes had been hard. I hadn’t even had my best friend, Yiren, in classes with me.

Yiren and I were more than friends. We had been dating for a little more than nine months, but she was still my best friend. She was not only exactly the type of girl I was interested in, but the exact type of friend I wanted to keep close. It had been with great disappointment that I had found out that my girlfriend would not be in classes with me at the beginning of the year. She would have been the only way psychology would be in any way interesting.

But now the year was over. A buddy of mine had offered me and Yiren his mountain cabin for the summer. He wasn’t going to be using it, he and his family were on vacation, so he would be touring Europe with his parents and sister.

The cabin, we found out when we arrived there, was a palatial, stone brick château with three stories and a balcony on the second. The balcony overhung the door, two large stone pillars supporting the structure. It had an very antiquated feel to it, though the sound structure still held up. My friend had told me it was over 200 years old, which I believed from the look of it. Whether it was 2 years old or 2000 though, I was happy to be here.

“It looks nice, doesn’t it oppa?” Yiren asked, arms wrapped around my arm, as we stood there and surveyed the cabin.

“Yeah, it does. Old, but very nice.”

“Three stories…wow.” She marveled at the sheer height of the place. “That's more than my house has. Come on, let's go inside.”

I slid the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door to reveal the interior.

It gave a very cozy, log-cabin-ish vibe. The blinds were shut, allowing very little daylight in. The lamps had turned on the moment we entered, dimming slightly once we shut the door. Plush rugs covered just about every square inch of the vast living room, where soft chintz armchairs and smooth leather couches sat, pillows arranged invitingly. The fireplace could have allowed three grown men ample sitting space, and the overhanging limestone mantle was decorated with ornate wood carvings. Mounted on the wall just above the mantle was the biggest TV I had ever seen, at least 85 inches across.

To the left of the fireplace was a bathroom, through the open door of which I caught a glimpse of a gold-rimmed mirror.

The rather titanic kitchen was a chef’s dream; the walls were bedecked with cabinets, drawers, and shelves full of cooking equipment. Two large ovens with stovetops sat alongside a dishwasher, and on top of its counter were a couple of microwave ovens. A kettle, coffee maker, waffle iron, iron griddle, and a shelf of teas, coffees, hot chocolates and various other drink mixes sat along another. Four more long shelves along the opposite wall held just about every kind of alcohol I could have asked for; bottles of whiskey, vodka, rum, gin, various liqueurs (fruit flavors like coconut and orange), tequila, port, Hennessy, and margarita sat assorted on them. Another, smaller shelf held cooking sherry, brandy, and bourbon. A wine rack nearby held several bottles and, I was surprised to see, one bottle each of Petrus 2012 (costs about $30k in real life), Armand Rousseau Chambertin Grand Cru ($19k), Versos Amontillado ($13k) and Vieux Chateau Certan Pomerol ($6k, and all of these are ones I’ve had in real life).

“Wow,” I said, taking out the Petrus and examining it. “I guess his family is rich.”

“What makes you say that?” Yiren asked while looking at the coconut liqueur.

“The fact that they have a bottle of wine in here that costs about thirty thousand dollars, and a few other expensive ones.”

“Huh, make sense.”

After looking into the pantry, which was the size of a walk-in closet and had enough food to feed a small town, we made our way to the staircase to upstairs. Six bedrooms took up this floor. We went straight to the master, which was as large as a neighborhood cul-de-sac.

The bed’s size could be compared to that of a midieval portcullis, with a deluxe king size mattress and nightstands on either side. A few dozen pillows were laid delicately across it, each with its own gold-laced pillowcase. An intricately carved wooden frame with a canopy structure and drapes held up the mattress. A pair of French doors were built in on the opposite wall from the door, which led out to the balcony, which spanned about twenty feet. Gorgeous scenery was what I laid my eyes on when I looked through the doors, a great view of the surrounding mountains and forest. The bathroom was off to the left from the entrance and Yiren made a beeline for it the moment we entered the room.

I followed her inside and was stunned. The same gold-framed mirror stretched across the wall, with three sinks and a vanity under it. White LEDs rimmed it, lighting up the bathroom when Yiren walked in.

“Oooh!” She squealed, looking around excitedly. I knew well by this point that the bathroom was her favorite and most valued part of a house, so it was always what she looked at with the most judgement. But she found nothing to criticize about this one, and looked very pleased to have access to it for the next two months.

“Like it?” I inquired, amused at her expression. “I’d say it’s pretty impressive.”

“Tell your friend I love it!” She said, positively radiating joy and excitement. “This is amazing!”

She ran to me and hugged me, then went to look around again.

I took a look into one of the drawers below the mirror and saw a vast array of hair and skin care products, no wonder my friend had good skin and hair.

Beyond the mirror space, there was the tub, which she was already scrutinizing. It held the same old feel with the weathered stone slabs making up the rim, but the pristinely white jacuzzi tub looked like it had been crafted yesterday. Bordering the bathtub was a large glass shower, with a rainfall showerhead on the ceiling and a nozzle clipped to the wall just below it, with multiple different kinds of shampoo, body wash, shower gel, and conditioner. A closet was off to the left of the door into the room, and after appraising the tub and shower we made our way to it. It was as big as the kitchen downstairs, and that was saying something. Multiple racks full of clothes were set into their pole grooves, and several racks of shoes rested on the floor. They weren’t ours, so we didn’t mess with them.

The floor above that was just one enormous game room. Pool, air hockey, foosball, mini golf, and several others were strewn around. A walled-off area seemed to be designated to archery and airsoft target practice, something I approved of. Another bathroom was at the far end, something I didn’t need to explore again. After looking around for a bit, we went back to my car to unload our baggage.

The cabin was about ten miles from any kind of civilization, which made for a nice and secluded area for a summer getaway, but it would be a bit of a pain in the ass driving back and forth through the unpaved roadway to the nearest town. But we had brought food, and there was food in the house, so we were fine for the time being.

“Oppa?”

I heard Yiren’s voice call from upstairs a while later.

“Yeah?” I called back.

“Are you up for a hike? I hear they have great trails up here.”

“Sure, I’m down.”

I got up off the couch and went up there to see her.

“You did bring the hiking boots, didn’t you?” She asked, seeing me upstairs.

“Yes, of course. We can’t go to a mountain lodge without hiking boots.”

“True. Hold on for a minute, I have to change.”

She disappeared into the master bedroom and the sounds of rustling clothes could be heard from inside. I leaned my head over a bit to see past the doorway and found her raised eyebrows staring back at me while she slipped off her jeans, taking her panties with them.

“Peeping, oppa?” Her playful voice sounded as she turned away to her bag, and I would have challenged a Buckingham Palace guard not to look as she bent over slightly to retrieve her leggings.

I walked slowly into the room where she was rummaging in her suitcase and stopped behind her as she straightened up, leggings in hand, and placed my hands on her waist. She leaned backwards into my touch and sighed as I stroked her hips.

“Oppa, don’t tease me…”

I paid this no attention and moved my hands lower, sliding my palms over her naked thighs.

“Stop it, we’re going to hike, wait until later.”

Reluctantly, I paid her some heed and went to the dresser to get my bag and keys while she got dressed. And thus, a few short minutes of driving later, we arrived at the entrance to the trail.

…

The trail was nice and peaceful, with flat paths and beautiful scenery. It was rather tranquil, with the occasional squirrel or chipmunk darting across the rocky path in front of us. But of course, Yiren couldn’t let me enjoy the little things like that, she had to wear something skintight on both halves, and had to walk in front of me, which distracted me from any of the scenery.

So it was with slightly exerted legs and a straining bulge that I completed the trail, a fact Yiren was perfectly aware of.

Mind almost numb with lust by the time we got back into the care due to her deliberately dropping her phone and bending over to pick it up, I started the engine of my car and drove away toward the cabin.

I was again surprised by its immense size even though I had seen it an hour previously. We walked to the door, unlocked and opened it, and that was as much time as Yiren needed to latch onto me the moment I closed the door.

I turned around from the door and she was instantly there, wrapping her arms around my head and pulling me into a deep kiss. A moan sounded from her as my tongue sought entrance into her mouth, and I pulled her by the hips closer, so she could feel the bulge in my jeans. She started grinding herself against it, still kissing me with intense passion.

I half-carried her up the stairs to the bedroom and set her down on the mattress, where she laid on her back with her legs spread enticingly, eyes glittering with lust.

After shutting the drapes around the bed, I removed my shirt and saw her bite her lip at the sight of me shirtless, a fact I took heed of and tossed my shirt elsewhere, settling my hips between her thighs. I made sure she could acutely feel the tent in my pants against her, and she definitely did feel it.

Her breaths became shorter and more frequent, a sure sign of growing neediness. Her hips started moving of their own accord, grinding up against me. I felt this and got off her.

I hooked my thumbs under the waistbands of my jeans and boxers and pulled them off, finally freeing my cock from its denim prison, while she quickly removed her own clothes in my peripheral vision. She looked at me once I straightened up, bit her lip again, and her hand sneaked along her waist towards her pussy.

I was amazed for the millionth time by the fact that she had a body like a Greek goddess. To verbally describe the intensity of the lust her body induced would have been impossible.

I stepped forward and grabbed her hand, tearing it away from her leaking pussy, replacing the fingers with my tongue.

Her reaction was immediate. Her hands shot to my head and pulled, and she gave a short cry every time my tongue penetrated her. I targeted the spots I knew would pleasure her the most.

“Yes, fuck!” Her mouth was wide open and she was taking shallow breaths, giving short moans and gasps on the exhale. “Yes, don’t stop oppa it feels so good!”

I pressed by thumb to her clit while I continued the circular swiping motion with my tongue, which was quite effective to say the least. Her cries became sharper, her breaths more shallow, all building up to her climax.

“I’m gonna cum oppa, keep going, I’m cumming! AHH!”

How turned on I was could not have been described in words as her juices gushed out, into my mouth, and over my face. Her hands trembled as they clutched at my hair, and she had a small out-of-body experience as the pleasure of a second orgasm briefly took her to another realm of consciousness. I was in heaven right along with her, nothing was more satisfying that pleasuring her to an orgasm.

When she came back to earth I had gotten up, dried my face, and laid down on the bed beside her. The section of sheet under her lower half was soaked, as were her thighs and pussy. Her eyes were unfocused and dreamy, her chest heaved while her extremities still trembled.

“Oppa…”

She had turned her head towards me and I could almost see the hearts in her eyes as she looked at me.

“That was…so good…”

She spoke each phrase between breaths. If she thought what I had just done effortlessly was good, she had yet to feel what would happen when I was pounding her and completely abandoning any restraint.

I turned myself towards her and put my arms around her, though the effect was kind of ruined by my stiff cock poking her in the thigh, which made her giggle. She turned over and maneuvered down between my legs, placing her hands on my thighs as she stared fixedly at my length like a lion looks at its dinner, and I could tell she was about to go to town.

��I’m really hungry oppa,” she purred deviously, each word laced with teasing, while her hands performed slow strokes over my length, “I think I need to be fed, hmm?”

I took the cue and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her lips down over my cock, and then everything else disappeared. Her lips parted and then slid smoothly over my shaft, a fresh coat of saliva washing over me.

“Fuuuck,” I groaned, unable to contain the immediate pleasure that filled me. “Fuck Yiren, that feels amazing!”

Each bob of her head made its way closer to my base, and she got a little more than three quarters before she started gagging. She moaned, gasped, gagged, and choked, but she didn’t give herself a break, even for a moment. She was hungry, and I was the only thing that could sate her appetite. Hearing my moans, she upped her speed. Her tongue slid over the underside of my cock, stretching out to flick my balls, while she forced her own head further down on me. My entire length was lodged inside her mouth and throat, and I felt myself very quickly nearing a climax.

“You’re going to make me cum,” I panted, getting even more turned on by her moans and small ‘mmm’s of satisfaction. “I’m gonna fucking cum down your throat, keep doing that!”

She took heed of this and slid her head all the way down my cock once more and held there, and with an almighty groan and a bed-rattling thrust of my hips I buried myself in her throat and spurted my load down it, a fact she was very pleased with. She bobbed her head rapidly, throating my cock a final few times and swallowing every single drop. And she couldn’t resist holding her head down on my now hypersensitive rod for another few seconds, simply loving the feeling of having her throat penetrated.

I lost count of the seconds she held herself there, I wasn’t really paying attention. Twenty, thirty, forty, somewhere around forty-five I lost count, and then she pulled up, dislodging me from her mouth and gasping for some much-needed oxygen, though her face showed pure enjoyment.

She dragged herself up the bed and settled next to me, sighing contentedly.

“I love you oppa.”

I drew her closer under the thoroughly stained blanket with one arm, using the other to run my fingers through her hair.

“I love you too, Yiren. Always.”

I could practically hear her purring as the warmth from my body emanated off me, and she snuggled in close, planting a small kiss on my jaw. I turned my head to receive and respond to her second kiss, and put my hand around her head.

Before I knew it, she was on top of me and we were kissing passionately, soft moans leaving her mouth as our tongues met. I found my cock returning to full life, and she most assuredly did, since her already-wet pussy was handily positioned right above it.

I flipped her over and pressed myself down on her. My tip rubbed against her sensitive folds, causing her to give tiny sighs of pleasure.

And then I pushed into her tight warmth. The insane tightness of her walls squeezing every part of my shaft was making me see stars, and there was quite a lot of resistance as I determinedly pushed inside her.

She moaned as I bottomed out inside her, my tip brushing spots inside her that I didn’t even know existed at that depth.

“Fuck me oppa.”

That was my cue to begin my thrusts, quickly increasing the speed and intensity of them. I landed a slap on her jiggling ass and immediately her pussy clenched around me and she cried out. I timed my spanks with each thrust of my hips, and her various obscenities also fell in rhythm.

“Oh - god - fuck - yes!” She said, each word coming out in time with the spanks. “Feels - so - good - fuck!”

I took her ponytail in my hand and pulled back, forcing her face up, her moans becoming higher in pitch at my pulling. Her back bent up so she was almost kneeling as I fucked her, and with my other hand I paused the spanks and reached around to squeeze her breasts, only heightening her arousal. Her hands gripped the hand caressing her chest.

“Please oppa, fuck me harder,” Yiren half-whispered, which I knew to be a sign that she was nearing an orgasm. “Your cock is so deep in me, it feels so good!”

I did as she asked and fucked her harder, abandoning all restraint as I slammed my hips into hers, the sounds of skin on skin getting louder as my hips met her ass. It was becoming difficult to resist the hypnotic jiggle of her ass and the way her pussy was exquisitely gripping my cock, massaging as I pistoned in and out. I was about to cum, as I realized it, and there was nothing I could do about that now.

And then, before I knew it:

“So fucking good, yes! Fuck oppa I’m cumming, FUCK!”

“Shit, I’m cumming as well, fucking take it all!”

We met our orgasms at the same time, sharing that moment of bliss together. Her juices splattered my legs as they sprayed out, accompanied by her scream of pleasure, always reserved for just such a moment of satisfaction. The feeling was pervading up my entire body, immense pleasure before my actual release. Yiren gasped twice and moaned quietly at the deluge of hot cum that flooded her tight pussy. I kept fucking her at a slower pace, now the only things audible were the wet slaps of our skin and her occasional murmured expressions, as she rested somewhere between this bed and heaven itself.

“So good…feels so…feels so good…ohh yes just like that…”

I got the impression from what she was saying that she was very near unconsciousness. It wouldn’t surprise me, since she had just had a very intense orgasm. I pulled out of her with a lewd squelch and a large quantity of cum rushed out of her.

“Ahhh…ohh yes…I love you oppa…”

I settled in front of her as she flopped over onto her side, breathing very heavily. I rubbed her back as she moved close, nimbly stroking all the spots I knew she loved, and she purred into my neck.

“I love you too, baby.”

…

I got up a while later, put on my clothes, and after giving the half-asleep Yiren a kiss, I went up to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. It was a quality that especially attracted her to me, the fact that I could cook, and well. She always said that a man who could cook was a man who wouldn’t have trouble finding women.

Jjajangmyeon was a personal favorite of both of ours, and so it was what I started making. I was nearly finished when the sound of the bedroom door opening sounded behind me and she entered the room wrapped in a blanket, yawning.

“Did you sleep?” I asked, industriously stirring the noodles.

“Yes.” She yawned again. “For a little bit.”

“Good,” I replied, “because you’re not going to be doing much of it tonight.”

She giggled and peered into the pot.

“Jjajangmyeon?”

“Indeed.” I put the spatula down and turned to her. “Just how we both like it.”

She hugged me, the top of her head barely brushing my chin.

“Aww oppa you didn’t have to, I could have done it.”

I put my arms around her shoulders and pulled her into a tighter embrace.

“I know. That’s why I’m doing it.”

Yiren hugged me tighter and buried her face in my shirt, and I could feel her smile against my chest.

“I love it when you do this.”

Her words warmed my heart, and I smiled as well.

“I do it all the time, you’d think some of the novelty would be lost.

She snorted. “Well, it hasn’t.”

I turned back to the wok and stirred my stir fry, my arm still around her shoulders.

“What do you say we pop open some of that Hennessy after dinner?”

“Sounds good to me. That stuff hits hard, though.”

“Precisely.” I said. “We might not even have to use a lot.”

“That looks like it’s done.” She said, nodding at the pot of noodles.

“I’m aware.” I replied. “Would you get out the bowls?”

She got out the bowls and two pairs of chopsticks as I turned off the fire on the stovetop. I dragged the noodles out of the pot and into the bowls and spooned the sauce onto them. She took them to the table and set up two chairs across from each other while I got out a bottle of choice Pinot Noir from the rack along with two glasses.

“Wow, you really are trying to get drunk, aren’t you?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Not really, but I’m not trying not to, if you catch my drift.”

She just smirked, absolutely catching my drift and knowing the outcome. I sat down after pouring the wine and setting the glasses down in our places.

Dinner passed quickly. The bowls had been cleared fairly quickly. I had sipped my wine away already, but Yiren always left hers to sit out for a while, the reason for which I never knew.

By the time she picked her glass back up I had poured myself some water as a beforehand countermeasure to the many measures of Hennessy we would be sharing.

While I was thinking about it I got up and grabbed the bottle of Hennessy, setting it down on the table.

“Cheers,” she said happily, raising her glass. I raised mine and then drank from it as she followed suit.

“Good choice.” She said, after a moment of consideration. “Very nice hints of different flavors.”

“I know,” I said, taking another mouthful of water. “Pinot Noir is always good. But my friend imports his wine from places France and Spain and Italy, places which do wine the right way.”

“Speaking of your friend, where is he on vacation?”

“In Switzerland right now, but in a few days he’ll be somewhere else in Europe, I don’t know. I’d have to ask him.”

She took another small sip of wine before speaking again.

“Well, I can truthfully say that there’s no place I’d rather be then right here with you.”

She leaned across the small table and poked me in the chest, a playful smile gracing her lips. I caught her hand before she could draw it away and pulled her into a kiss. Her body seemed to relax into it, and a slightly muffled sigh was audible. When we broke the kiss off and sat back down, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were alive with desire.

“Damn, we haven’t even started drinking yet and you’re already losing it.”

Yiren blushed harder at my sentence. She said nothing, but something changed in her expression. She got up from her seat, abandoning her wine, and strode around the table to me. The next thing I knew, she was sitting in my lap, hands pulling my face towards hers. She moaned as her lips locked with mine, tongue entering my mouth, meeting with my own.

She pulled away, looking at me with the dim-ish light dancing in her eyes, a deep blush spread across her cheeks.

“How about that Hennessy now, huh?” She said.

I reached for the bottle and unscrewed the top, as she turned to the side. I took a healthy swig of it myself before reaching for the shotglasses. The alcohol burned in my throat as it went down and I took a deep breath in.

We both downed a shot together. She coughed and winced as she swallowed, but nodded when I looked concernedly at her.

"I'm alright."

She reached for her second shot and swallowed it with me.

"How quick does this stuff kick in?" She asked as the glasses were once again refilled.

"Quickly."

After successfully downing three shots and of the liquor, we sat back and waited on the couch. I had made the mistake of impatience while drinking once before, and it was not going to happen again.

And then it hit.

And when it hit, it hit hard.

"Whoa," I slurred as the room started spinning before my eyes, "Yiren, you feeling it?"

She gave a tipsy giggle and fell forward, still laughing.

"I dunno, I've never been drunk bfore..."

Through the haze of drunken stupor I was seeing, I looked down and saw her ass, so sexy and perfectly positioned...she was even bent over my lap, too...I had no chance of resisting the urge.

"Ah!" She yelped as I slapped her ass, then giggled again. "Oppa..."

"More..."

I gladly complied, landing more punishing smacks on her ass. With each spank she tensed and gave a small, cute cry.

Normally my dominant side stayed at a minimum, but I had to admit to myself that in my drunk state it was starting to take over my brain. I found myself increasing the intensity of my smacks and taking pleasure in it, causing her cries to rise in volume quickly.

"Nngh yes, keep spanking me oppa!" She whimpered, swiftly approaching her peak. "Ah! Fuck yes, keep doing that!"

I kept spanking her and reached around to caress her breast with my other hand. Her moans kept building until finally she orgasmed with a squeal, the crotch of her shorts becoming very wet.

Yiren took quick, shallow breaths to calm down after cumming, and when she had sufficiently recovered she rolled over on my legs to face me.

"That was fun oppa, we should go to the bedroom."

I blinked hard. "Shit, I dunno if I can walk."

She scoffed. "Come on, let's go."

I clumsily got up off the couch and weaved my way up the stairs and to the bedroom, stumbling three times on the way there. I dimmed the lights as I entered, then fell forward onto the bed, rolling over and scooting up to let my head rest on the pillow. My shirt was going to be an unnecessary accessory once she got up here, so I removed it and tossed it aside.

She entered the bed and slid the drapes shut behind her, wearing only her soaked shorts, panties, and a bra. I was already hard from the light spanking I had given her, but the mere sight of her sexy, half-naked body was enough to double my stiffness.

She clambered across the bed and straddled me, leaning down to kiss me. I accepted it only for a second, then gripped her hips and rolled over, so I was on top.

I kissed her more aggressively now, pressing my tongue against her lips to gain entry. She eventually gave in, but we both knew she was tantalizing herself by holding out, she wanted me. She gave a tiny sigh of pleasure.

I broke off the kiss and left her blushing and panting, eyes sparkling.

"God, you're so sexy when you're drunk." She murmured to me, holding my face with both hands.

"Really?" I said, locking eyes with her. "Then maybe I should do it more often."

Normally and drunkenly, Yiren's submissive side stayed at a minimum. It balanced with her enjoyment of being in control for a pretty neutral attitude. But I could see in her deep brown eyes a need. Whether she could feel it or not, I could tell that she needed to be dominated, badly.

"Hello?" Her voice said from a long way off, the sound trying desperately to be heard over the pounding of my own heart in my ears. "You gonna do something? Or will I have to do it myself?"

She was baiting me, and I knew it. Trying to spur me into fucking her. But it wasn't going to happen yet.

"Yeah, I'm gonna do something." I growled. "And you're gonna take it, like it or not."

A shudder ran through her at my words, but she maintained her cocky, playful attitude.

"Ooh, he's getting feisty. Someone's a little drunk."

I could feel annoyance rising at her words, which was exactly what she wanted, of course. She observed me with satisfaction.

"Okay, that's it." I got off her, opened the drapes, and stood up, removing my jeans and boxers. She automatically got off the bed and knelt in front of me as I sat on the edge of it, knowing my intention. I wasted no time in grabbing her hair and forming it into a ponytail in my hand, grasping none too lightly. She gasped at my sudden roughness, and I used the opportunity of her mouth already being open to shove my cock into it.

She choked as my tip poked the back of her throat, but didn't resist as I slowly pushed further in, bringing her face to the base. She gagged, and I pulled her head back by the ponytail before slamming my hips into it again, driving my length down her throat. Over and over I brought her face back before plunging it back down, spearing her throat with my cock.

Tears gathered in her eyes when she choked, gagging obscenely on my dick. After a bit she started moving by herself, her neck on autopilot, ramming her face into my crotch. Saliva spilled down her face and dripped off her messy chin to her bra-clad breasts below. Light mascara streaks tracked down her face, joining the mess at her lips.

Yiren brought her head down one more time and held it there for a second, a choking sound resounding, before pulling off, gasping and breathing heavily. She looked at me, panting, and I felt the promise of an orgasm drifting away.

"Why'd you stop?"

"I want you to cum inside me."

I reached forward and lifted her onto the bed, setting her down none too gently on her back. I held my hand on her throat, choking her, not enough to cause damage.

She caught her breath at the rough treatment, clearly turned on. But I wasn't going to hold off on that domination.

"You want?" I breathed into her face, her pupils dilating in arousal. "Maybe you need a reminder of who's in charge."

She said nothing, but I could see a subtle change in her expression. I grabbed the waistband of her shorts and panties and pulled them over her slender legs and off her feet. Her pussy was already soaked and shining with arousal.

Yiren, still keeping up her cocky demeanor, gave a huge fake yawn and smirked cheekily. I narrowed my eyes and then reached up and tore the bra off her, making her yelp. However overweening she was acting, I could see in her face a desire to be dominated. And that was a desire I was more than willing to satisfy.

I crawled forward, lifted her legs up, and sheathed myself to the root inside her tight, wet pussy. "Fuck!" She cried out as I pushed into her. She moaned and gasped when I bottomed out inside her, firmly prodding her cervix. Her quick, high-pitched breaths heightened my arousal.

My brain was far too cloudy to control my desire, so my thrusts were fast and rough. I relentlessly pounded her, not holding back a bit and not sorry at all. I gave her ass quick smacks randomly every few thrusts, making her yelp every single time.

Her brows contracted and turned up, and her mouth stayed slightly open, her face falling into that angelic expression of bliss that never failed to make me shiver in pleasure myself.

"Oh - fuck - yes - harder - please!" She whimpered in time with my strokes. I lowered my face to her ear.

"Now remind me," I growled, her moans filling my own ears, "who's in charge?"

She barely managed to get the words out inbetween her cries. "You oppa! You're in charge! I belong to you!"

I gave her ass a hard slap, somewhat dissatisfied with her answer. "Then say it right, slut."

"I'm yours, sir!" She cried again, "I belong to you only!"

"Good girl." I said in a low voice, and I felt her shiver under me. I slowed my thrusts to a calmer pace, more to tantalize her than anything else. She was near an orgasm, I could tell, so I kept the strokes at a steady pace with a lot of force.

"Sir, please," She begged, her juices leaking out around me, clearly turned on by my dominance, "Fuck me harder, make me cum for you." Cleverly worded so as to make it like this was for me, not for her. I was not, even in my drunk-as-fuck state, going to fall for that.

"Why would I do that?" I said to her dismay, evilly grinning. "You were such a bad girl earlier, why should I reward you?"

"I'm sorry, sir!" She said breathlessly, her eyes full of desperation. "I'm sorry I was bad! Please, sir, fuck me and make me cum!"

I couldn't really help but give in, since my libido was screaming at me. So I picked up the pace and resumed my uncontrolled plowing of her tight cunt, the resistance smoothed somewhat by the enormous amounts of slick she was producing.

With every subsequent thrust, her moans became louder snd her words dirtier as I brought her nearer to her peak.

"Mmhh yes sir, fuck me harder! It's so good, fuck! I'm gonna cum for you sir!"

I pushed myself up from my elbows and held a hand to her neck, pushing down just enough to make her enjoy it. She took a sharp breath and opened her eyes, pupils dilated.

"Shut the fuck up and take it, slut," I said, groaning despite myself.

"Yes, sir," she gasped, moaning, as I pushed deeper. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum!"

She wasn't lying. Her voice died momentarily as her eyes rolled into her head and she bucked her hips up into me, a gush of cum spraying my abdomen. She found her voice after a second, and let out a short, loud "ah", mouth open. Her hips continued their motion seemingly independent of her pleasure-addled brain.

Her moans subsided, and an idea came to me. I reluctantly pulled out of her, a lewd squelch sounding. She lay there, unmoving, eyes open and practically heart-pupiled. I walked to the french doors leading to thr balcony and opened them, a rush of cool night air sweeping over me.

Yiren lifted her head slightly at the sudden cool draft and pushed herself up with slightly trembling arms. I went back to the bed and lifted her off it easily, then set her down on her front on the soft white couch oustide. She gave a tiny gasp as a breeze of cool air moved over her naked pussy.

"Sir...

"Fuck me again..."

I was still rock hard despite the cool air, so I climbed onto the couch with her. Her head was laying sideways towards the dark scenery, her arms were stretched out in front of her, and her ass was sticking up in the air, perfectly positioned for me to fuck.

I slid my cock back into her wet heat, drawing a languid whimper from her mouth and clenching my jaw with a groan. I started off slow, with gentle, even thrusts, Yiren moaning softly beneath me.

"Mmm fuck yes you're so deep in me oppa..."

I kicked the pace up a little and started thrusting faster and harder, quickly turning her moans to cries as I pounded her tight pussy.

"Mmhh fuck! Pound me harder please sir! Pound my little pussy! So good, fuck, yes yes please harder! So fucking big inside me, yes! Nghh oh god yes, use me, fuck!"

Her words flicking every arousal switch in my brain to 'on', I went even faster, giving it everything I had to keep pushing into her. Beads of sweat formed at my hairline at the effort. Yiren was reduced to a mewling, whimpering, moaning mess, unable to form coherent words in her pleasure. I slapped her ass hard and she cried out.

"Please - sir - harder! Oh - yes - slap me - sir!"

I spanked her harder and she arched her back, a small yelp escaping her with every thrust I gave. Pleasure was building in my lower abdomen like resistance from a compressed spring, my abs and obliques tensing in preparation.

"Yes sir, give it to me! Fuck me harder please! Nghh yes, I'm gonna - I'm gonna - fuck, I'm cumming sir!"

"Fuck!" I groaned, as she gave a particularly sexy cry that sent shivers down my spine, "Yiren baby I'm gonna fucking cum!"

"Yes - please - sir!" She managed through her high-pitched whines of bliss. This, combined with her usage of "sir", was all the initiative I needed to cum inside her.

"Oh my god yes, FUCK!" I almost roared, slamming my hips into hers one last time, burying my cock so deep inside her that it touched her cervix again and blasting her insides with hot cum. My release triggered hers, and she orgasmed again with a scream, spraying her cum out onto me.

I rolled over and off her, sliding out to let a large amount of cum come spilling out of her. She gave another soft moan and then rolled over to face me. I pulled her closer and her face and body were very hot despite the 6°C temperature outside.

"So good... oppa I love you..."

"I love you too, baby."

...

I must have fallen asleep, since when I awoke it was about 8 o'clock in the morning, judging by the sun's position. Yiren was snoozing peacefully beside me. As I slowly returned to a waking state I realized that I was stiffer than a wood plank again. Yiren's sleeping body was looking incredibly sexy, and I was entirely unable to control my sudden desire. I pulled her closer to me and pushed into her again, quietly groaning. She gave a soft moan in her sleep. I started very slowly, but even this was enough to stir her from her slumber. She breathed in deeply and shifted slightly, and I continued my thrusts, making her whine faintly. She steadily returned to conciousness, moaning more and tightening around me.

"Oppa?"

"Yes, baby," I groaned through gritted teeth, listening to her soft mewls of satisfaction. "Oh, fuck..."

Her eyes opened partially, looking lazily out at the trees, and then they closed and her eyebrows contracted upwards as I reached around and started rubbing her clit, making her gasp and whimper.

"A-ah...oh yes, k-keep doing that..."

Her head leaned back into my collarbone and I could smell vanilla in her soft hair. I grabbed her hips and slammed mine into them, driving my cock deep inside her and making her cry a loud "ah".

"Ohh yes yes yes, please keep going, I'm gonna fucking cum again, don't stop oppa!"

I reached and put my hand around her slim neck, squeezing lightly, just enough to give her the sensation I knew she liked. Her intonations of pleasure became unintelligible.

"Yes - fuck - harder - oppa - mmm yes - so good!"

"Fuck, you like that baby?" I squeezed her neck harder.

"Ah! Yes, sir! I love it! Fuck my little pussy harder! Use me! Your cock is so big, so deep inside me sir!"

"Yiren, I'm gonna cum baby," I gasped, moaning in her ear, and I felt her shiver in arousal under me.

"Cum inside me, sir," Yiren panted, arching her back into me. Her hands went to her own breasts, squeezing and massaging, pleasuring her to greater heights. Her eyes closed once more and she let out a shriek of pleasure and a long moan as sbe squirted on me again, arms and legs trembling uncontrollably as her mind whited out.

I briefly lost touch with reality as my own mind was flooded with sensation and I released inside her again. My body shuddered in pleasure and I let out a few swears through gritted teeth, thrusting my way through my orgasm. Yiren gasped and moaned throughout it, loving the feeling of warmth pouring into her.

My muscles relaxed, and I slipped out of her as we both settled down again, panting and satisfied. It was a few minutes before she spoke again.

"Oppa?"

"Yiren, baby?"

She sighed contentedly. "I love you."

"I love you too." I replied, planting a row of kisses on her neck.

"You know what I think oppa?"

"What's that, babe?"

She turned over and faced me, a devilish smirk twisting her lips.

"I think it's gonna be a really fun summer."

#kpop smut #yiren smut #everglow smut #yiren

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hometoursandotherstuff · 7 months

Text

Stunning 1880 Italianate Victorian Painted Lady in Claysville, Pennsylvania. 5bds, 4ba, $475K. For that price, this gorgeous home is a bargain.

So many original features are seen the moment you enter the hall. There's a beautiful newel post, a large stained glass window on the landing, and on the left you can see a bit of a fancy fireplace.

The first sitting room has a lovely carved fireplace.

The millwork in this home is amazing.

The fireplace that was glimpsed from the hallway is in this sitting room.

The dining room looks like a step back in time.

This is a good kitchen reno. They chose vintage-y cabinets with wood that matches the rest of the house.

Pretty tile backsplash and although it's more of a galley kitchen, it's pretty big.

At the other end of the kitchen is a nicely sized everyday dining area, plus a counter with stools.

The stairway features a gracefully curving rail.

The landing is beautiful.

This bedroom has a fireplace and a little ivy mural.

This bath is professionally painted and has a nice reproduction tub and sink.

The primary bedroom is elegant.

Amazing primary en-suite has a copper tub, Victorian water tank toilet and a repro Victorian shower. A sink cabinet was made from an antique dresser.

Another pretty room and look at the mirror over the sinks.

It also has an etched glass door on the shower and a jetted soaker tub.

The hallways are so pretty.

In the back of the house is a carport, a large wraparound porch, and look at the pattern on the roof, plus the tower. This home is gorgeous.

#italianate victorian home #victorian architecture #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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bapple117 · 2 months

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Memory Reboot - A One-Sided Radiostatic One-Shot (Vox x Alastor)

Third person - Fluff, Pining, Angst - mild adult references

~ A03 Link ~ text is also included below after the break ~ excuse the crappy art ~

Summary: Every now and then, Vox allows himself a trip down memory lane; back to when he and Alastor were good friends. This night, Vox rediscovers an old bit of memorabilia that has him reminiscing, all about one night when he and the Radio Demon shared a drink or two. The memory is a bittersweet reminder of what could have been, and what almost happened; lips meeting for the sweetest of stolen moments.

---------------------------------

Vox stumbles into his room, clumsy and heavy with drink. He bashes his head into the door as it rebounds; groaning, he rubs at his screen with a grimace.

Drinking alone is always a bad idea. With the other two Vees both out for the night, Vox had allowed himself a little more stalking than he usually does; drinking in his surveillance room, watching and rewatching clips of the Radio Demon going about his day. It’s obsessive; Vox knows it is. He still can’t help himself.

He teeters wildly on his legs now, looking through his belongings for some painkillers for the inevitable screen-ache he’ll have in the morning; where the fuck are they?!

Not a single drawer he searches yields any results. Vox tosses items left and right, searching through masses of cables and piles of clothes. He rifles through his bathroom cabinet, knocking down an assortment of pill bottles in the process; none of them what he needs right now.

“Fuck my life,” the Television Demon mutters to himself.

On his hands and knees, he pulls out a bottom drawer from a huge dresser. Vox moves sloppily with inebriation as he pilfers through all the junk and bric-a-brac. And then - his hand is on something that feels familiar yet forgotten all at once. Vox pulls it out; and there it is.

His electric heart shudders within his chest.

The tiny die-cast CRT TV model that Alastor had gifted to him years ago. So many years ago. So long ago, in-fact, that when Alastor had presented Vox with this small model, it had been exactly what Vox’s own head had looked like. A chunky, heavy, 70s television. Long outdated technology, these days, of course; Vox has upgraded several times over the years since then.

Vox can hardly believe his tired eyes; it’s been years since he thought about this. He remembers the night Alastor gave it to him all too well - too painfully well. Vox sighs; his sadness threatening to leak into the forefront of his drink-weakened mind.

The search for the painkillers now given up on and forgotten, Vox crawls to his bed and lays on it in the dark, the small metal totem still in his hand. Neon lights from the city outside dance and skitter on the walls. Vox stares at the ceiling.

He can’t help himself; the memory begins to play in his mind, like an old VHS recording, discovered and dusty. Vox usually represses these memories, but for some reason, he allows this one to consume his thoughts this night. He drifts off into it; a broken heart indulging itself despite the pain.

---------------------------------

It’s the past. Long, long ago; some time in the 1970s. Vox is drinking with Alastor - the Radio Demon, his friend. They are drinking together in Alastor’s old apartment, sharing each other’s company in the easy way that they used to. The apartment is full of antique furniture and vintage radio paraphernalia; Vox has been here many times, and yet he always eyes Alastor’s decor with the same dry observations.

“You really need to get with the times, Al,” Vox says. “Get some more modern stuff.”

The Television Demon gawks at himself in an ornate mirror on the wall; his on-screen features blink back at him, set in his wide CRT TV head.

“Nonsense,” Alastor calls from the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong with my decor choices. Some things never go out of style.”

Vox huffs in amusement to himself. Secretly, he adores Alastor’s presentation. Vox looks up to the Radio Demon; he admires him. Vox wants to be just like Alastor, really. Powerful, respected, smart, classy. Alastor is everything Vox wants to be. At this point in time, Vox is a much weaker Overlord than Alastor, having only been in Hell for less than twenty years. It’s never an issue between them, of course, but Vox knows he is inferior. One day, he’ll be better.

The Television Demon joins his friend in the kitchen then; Alastor is pouring new glasses of drink for them. Something expensive.

“Woah,” Vox says, laughing. “What are we celebrating?”

“Well, I was wondering when you’d ask,” Alastor says sassily. “I took down another one of my rivals today.”

Vox blinks. His screen buzzes.

“Another Overlord?” He asks, both impressed and appalled.

Alastor nods, pleased.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Alastor says, grinning. “It was no effort at all, really. Hardly worth you looking so gormless over. What fun it was though!”

Vox laughs nervously.

“Well, uh, that’s great, Al!” He says, accepting the drink. “You gotta promise not to ever try and take me down like that though, huh?”

It’s a weak joke; both demons know that it stinks of a true fear. Alastor scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vox,” the Radio Demon says. “How long have we known each other now, hmm?”

Vox scans his memories to try and answer accurately.

“Uhhh… Well years,” he says. “Almost two decades.”

“Exactly. And have I ever once betrayed you?” Alastor asks, gesturing for them to sit at the table.

Vox follows Alastor’s lead and sits.

“I guess not,” Vox says.

The two demons sit in silence for a while; which is odd, given how prone to idle conversation they both usually are. Alastor hums along to a jazz tune playing in the background; Vox fiddles with his glass.

Alastor is deep in contented thought; eyes closed, a red claw tapping at the table to the rhythm of the song. Vox takes a gulp of his drink, still not knowing what it is; his question is answered as soon as it hits his throat. Some kind of very strong spiced rum, neat on ice. The Television Demon coughs a little, white noise filling the silence. Alastor grins.

Vox looks up at his friend then; sees his smile. His own grin creeps up on to his screen. How simple it is between them; how easy it’s always been. Just the two of them. Alastor doesn’t have many friends; Vox is honoured to be one of them. Friends. Vox wishes they were so much more.

“You know,” Vox says then, staring at his drink. “We could be something. Together, I mean.”

Alastor’s neck snaps a little as his head twitches to the side in confusion.

“Something?”

Vox hastens to clarify.

“You know. A team. Take down Overlords together,” he says.

Alastor seems to genuinely consider this for a moment; he drifts away into the thought of it. Vox lets himself hope for a second; his hopes are dashed just as quickly.

“Hmm,” Alastor says. “You know me, though! I prefer to work solo.”

Vox slumps a little. His work shirt sleeves are rolled up messily; one begins to loosen from its turn-up, so he focuses on re-rolling it.

“I know,” he says. “Doesn’t it ever get lonely, though?”

“I don’t think so,” Alastor says, amused.

“Oh.”

The Radio Demon ponders this for a beat longer; he senses he has insulted his friend somehow. This is meant to be a nice evening celebrating his latest victory; Alastor supposes he should show a little courtesy to keep things jovial.

“I suppose it does, sometimes,” Alastor says.

Vox feels his inner wiring twisting in his abdomen.

“Oh?”

Alastor rolls his eyes; must he elaborate?

“Well, I suppose having more allies couldn’t hurt,” he says.

“Oh, well,” Vox says. “I could… I could be that for you?”

Alastor grins.

“In your current state, I feel you may not be of any use to me, Vox old pal,” Alastor teases. “Come back to me when you’re stronger, hmm?”

The Radio Demon knocks playfully on the side of Vox’s clunky CRT head; it echoes within him. Vox knows that Alastor only means this as a cheeky gibe between friends; it wounds him all the same.

Vox lets out a nervous laugh as response and tries to conceal the hurt.

The night is salvaged somewhat; the two demons continue to drink into the early hours. They chat, they listen to music, they share stories about various occurrences in Hell. Despite the fact they are undying souls in burning eternity, they are also both something else; two beings who both died as young men, now frozen in time.

Alastor isn’t who he’ll truly be just yet; neither is Vox. In this memory, they are their younger, slightly sweeter selves. It’s enough to make present-day Vox cry with how much he’d give anything to have those days back.

Towards the end of the night, the two demons sit side by side together, wasted. They use the sofa as a backrest as they sit sloppily on the floor. Vox hiccups and it sounds like a channel being changed; Alastor laughs.

“You know,” the Radio Demon starts. “I do enjoy these little chats of ours, despite our conflicting technology.”

Vox is giddy; he nods, eager.

“One day I’m gonna be great, Al,” Vox says, suddenly. “I’m gonna build an empire. It’s gonna be huge.”

Alastor smiles; it’s the soft, fond smile of a friend humouring someone.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Vox says, slurring slightly. “And I’ll be as strong as you - no! - even stronger.”

Alastor is laughing; genuine and warm. Vox grins wide at the sound of it.

“I’ll take over all of Hell!” Vox says, clenching a fist.

Alastor chuckles.

“Hm. That sounds nice,” he says, drunk and feeling it.

“Well,” Vox starts. “You’ll be there with me, right?”

Alastor quirks his head.

“Will I?”

“Sure! We’ll do it together,” Vox says, wicked intent on his screened features. “We’ll rule Hell together. No fucker will cross us with our combined skills.”

Alastor is giggling; Vox wants to climb into the sound of it and live there.

“Well, that is a lofty concept, to be sure,” Alastor says. “But it is pleasing, I have to admit. You truly do get some devious ideas don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah I do!” Vox says, delighted.

Alastor smiles to himself, looking away.

“Well, if that ever comes to fruition, you can count on me being there,” he says.

“Yeah?!” Vox is beaming. “I can’t wait for what the future brings, Al. This old thing will be the first to get an upgrade, that’s for sure.”

Vox taps his own head; even now in the late 70s, his TV set head is looking a bit vintage. Vox just needs to wait for Earth technology to advance and filter down; he can’t wait to be better. Stronger. Faster. Alastor tenses as a thought seems to come to him.

“That reminds me!” The Radio Demon says. “I have something for you.”

Alastor retrieves something from his pocket and hands it to a captivated Vox; it's a tiny metal die-cast model of a Sony Triniton KV-1820UB television set. It looks just like Vox’s current head.

“Here you are,” Alastor says, pleased with himself.

Vox is enamoured; the Radio Demon doesn’t do gifts. This is special; it means Vox is special.

“Al, I don’t know what to say,” Vox says, his nerves alive and crackling. “I can’t believe you got this for me… I love it.”

Alastor grins wide.

“I got one for me, too,” he says, holding up a tiny model of an old radio. “I found a charming boutique selling all kinds of little novelties. Aren’t they fun?”

Vox is astonished; not only did Alastor get him a gift, he got one for himself to match. This surely is symbolic? Vox’s receivers are scrabbling to interpret the signals Alastor is giving off.

“Wow, yeah, that’s uh… That’s cute, Al,” Vox says, shakily. “It’s not like you to give gifts.”

Alastor laughs.

“Well. My conquest today put me in an especially good mood, I suppose,” he says.

Vox nods.

“Thank you, Al,” he says, screen blinking. “I will treasure this. I mean it.”

Alastor’s quota for sincerity has reached its limit; eager to return the conversation to playful jibes and gossip, the Radio Demon scoffs. Vox grins; he knows Alastor hates to be perceived as kind, despite the fact he can be. Vox shoves himself into Alastor’s shoulder in a playful bump.

“You’re goin’ soft on me, old man,” Vox jokes; Alastor pretends to be aghast.

“Old man?” He scorns. “How dare you, Vox. I only died two decades before you and we were both more or less the same age at death. Watch your tongue.”

Vox chuckles to himself. The two demons sit together for a little while longer in peaceful quiet; Vox’s mind is full of static. He’s processing, thinking. Vox has tried to broach this topic before, but he can’t help himself; he needs to push it again.

“Hey, uh, Al?” He says.

Alastor looks at him and hums an acknowledgement. Vox’s gaze shifts around nervously.

“Do you remember that… conversation, we had a while ago?” Vox says.

Alastor does remember; he pretends for now that he doesn’t. He shakes his head. Vox exhales shakily.

“Look, I, uh… I know you don’t like talking about… feelings, and stuff, but…”

Alastor wants this nipped in the bud as soon as possible.

“Is this about your infatuation, hmm?” The Radio Demon says, trying to sound casual about it. “I’ve told you Vox. It will pass, it’s just a-“

“No,” Vox says, urgent. “It won’t, Al, and you know it.”

Vox grabs Alastor’s hand; the Radio Demon doesn’t recoil. He lets his claws sit limply within Vox’s; a tiny concession for this display of vulnerability. And anyway; they’ve linked hands before, when dancing or fleeing a crime scene, or such. No big deal. Alastor sighs.

“You know I can’t give you want you want,” he says, radio filter slipping away. “This is all I can give you. My time. My friendship, my consort to you as a fellow Overlord.”

Vox is exasperated.

“Can’t you give me just a little bit more?” He asks.

Alastor avoids the Television Demon’s gaze.

“I don’t think so,” he says.

Vox grabs Alastor’s chin in his, then; pulling it in his direction to make Alastor look at him.

“How do you know you won’t like it?” Vox says. “You’ve never even tried it.”

Alastor blushes at the sudden contact, the intrusiveness of it. He’s flustered simply because Vox is being so forward; any sign of aggressive intent is entertaining to Alastor, of course.

“Why don’t you let me just try?” Vox says, his voice a thin whine.

“Vox, old friend, come on now-“

“Why won’t you let me just kiss you?” Vox whispers. “Please, Al.”

Alastor hesitates; if he relents, will it be enough to just shut Vox up about this once and for all? This topic cropping up every couple of years is getting tiresome. And... he does care about Vox. Alastor loves him, in his own way; platonic but true.

“Please, Al,” Vox murmurs, his eyes fixed on Alastor’s lips. “I’m begging you. I know it’ll feel right when it happens.”

Vox’s hand tightens around Alastor’s chin; he’s trying to pull him inwards. Alastor’s heart rate quickens; annoyingly. He’s a deer in headlights; drunk and unsure how to retaliate. Vox is closing the distance between their faces; Alastor can feel their hot breath exchanging in the small gap between their mouths.

Alastor’s ears are flat against his head; Vox is staring at his lips.

“Please,” he whispers again.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Alastor whispers back.

“Please,” Vox begs, desperate.

Alastor huffs in defeat, and Vox knows he has won. Vox leans in and presses his screen to Alastor’s mouth; for a moment, the Radio Demon is rigid. But then… his mouth is moving; Vox is elated. Alastor is relenting. Vox cannot believe it. Alastor is kissing him back; his hand at the edge of Vox’s screen. Their mouths move together quickly, the taste of rum amongst it all. Vox's mind is awash with joy.

Yes, YES. Fucking YES! This is it, this is IT!

Vox moans into Alastor’s mouth; he risks letting his tongue breech Alastor’s lips, tries sticking it down Alastor’s throat -

Alastor pulls away; Vox is devastated. Too far.

“Hmm!” Alastor says, recovering, trying to sound light-hearted. “No, still not for me, I don’t think.”

Vox is panting, red in the screen. He’s hard; of course he is. Vox’s eyes dart all over Alastor, looking for signs - proof that he did like it.

“No, Al, come on,” Vox says. “Please, you know it works, WE work, c'maaan!”

Alastor is sad; a part of him does wish he could give Vox what he wants. It would make things so much easier; it would ensure keeping his loyalty, for one. And… well. It would make things a bit less lonely. But Alastor just can’t let himself go there.

“I’m sorry, Vox,” he says, genuinely melancholy. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want from me. I really am.”

“No,” Vox is angry. “It cannot be like this, please, we were so close-“

“I think it’s high time we went to bed, hmm?” Alastor says. “You’re in no state to get yourself home. You can sleep on the sofa.”

“Al, stop, just, can we talk about this? Can we try again, I’ll go slower, I promise,” Vox says, grasping at straws.

Alastor smiles weakly. He reaches up and turns one of Vox’s dials fondly; Vox’s erection twitches in his jeans.

“You’ve just had too much to drink, hmm?” Alastor says. “We’ll sleep this off and tomorrow it’ll all be forgotten about.”

Alastor stands then; Vox groans, his screen in his hands.

“We’ll be back to normal tomorrow, eh, old pal?” Alastor says with forced jollity.

Vox sighs; it’s guttural. He looks up at the Radio Demon, agonised.

“I’m never going to be back to normal,” Vox says. “I’m always going to want this. I’m always going to want you.”

Alastor hesitates; he looks forlorn. Only in the eyes, of course; but his smile is a tight, thin line on his face.

“I know," he says.

Vox's heart shatters in his chest; not for the first time.

"Do try to get over it, though, won’t you?” Alastor says, and he turns to leave for his bedroom. “Get some sleep.”

Vox is left alone in the living room; ruined.

---------------------------------

The memory of that night, so many decades ago, drifts away from present-day Vox, just as cruelly as Alastor had slipped from his grasp.

The pain of it - and indeed, remembering what came later - is unbearable; Vox can only cope with these memories now by wanting Alastor dead. Just so he’d be gone for good; just to rid himself of the pain of knowing Vox never got to keep him. He came close, of course; some years later, in the 80s. For a while, Vox had had Alastor; it had been so sweet. Vox doesn’t let himself think on this, for now. It’s too brutal. He’d be a mess; for now, he needs to compose himself. Vox places the die-cast vintage TV model on his bedside table and looks at it for a few beats.

I wonder if Alastor still has his radio model.

I wonder if he still thinks of me.

Vox curls into a ball in his bed; the truth hums around him, thick and heavy, like electricity in the air before a thunderstorm.

He’ll never love me like I love him.

He never did.

---------------------------------

This story continues in:

Bluest Monday

Read all my stuff on AO3 🍎

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skzsauce01 · 8 months

Text

Over the Moonshine

Synopsis: Although you enjoy dancing during your outings to 44th House, you are far more interested in one of the bartenders working there. Your siblings will never let you live it down, but their teasing is a small price to pay if you can spend time with Chan. 1920s/Prohibition AU.

Warning: alcohol

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: f!reader x bartender!Bang Chan

Other Notable Characters: Yeji and Hyunjin as your siblings

Prohibition was meant to be a boon for the country, but it has been more of a nuisance than anything. Father has the doctor coming to the house nearly every week to write him prescriptions of whiskey, and Mother awaits new shipments of grape bricks from California to turn into wine. Lest one think that only your parents defying the law, your brother knows runners for rum, and you and your sister have successfully made moonshine multiple times.

Really, if you think about it, it’s the government’s fault for foolishly believing they could force temperance onto its citizens. Prohibition. What a seductive word. It practically encouraged misconduct.

As you step out of the car, the autumn chill sending shivers down your spine, a familiar thrill envelops you. Speakeasies are nothing new, and though this is your fifth time visiting 44th House, you feel as if lightning is coursing through your blood. Inside your beaded bag hides a sample of your latest moonshine batch. Yeji has secured her own silver flask to her garter for her to sip on throughout the night, but you intend to share your portion with someone special.

“I should have worn my cape,” Yeji says as she links her arm through yours. The beads of her dress clack against yours, and her fur stole tickles your bare arms. “You were smart.”

“You’ll dance and drink the cold away,” you assure her, eliciting a laugh from her. “Hyunjin, what’s taking you so long? Your hair’s fine.”

He gives his reflection one last check in Yeji’s compact mirror before handing it back to her. You were deliberate with your appearance tonight as well, yet you itch to tease him for his vanity. The temptation grows even stronger when he pauses his walk down the pavement to adjust his tie.

“The wind mussed everything up on the drive,” he complains.

“Should’ve taken the coupe like I suggested,” Yeji replies. She glances over at you, and a familiar mischievous expression crosses her face. “Unless you’re trying to impress someone with the Rolls Royce? Finally got a girl, have you?”

Before Hyunjin can retort, you archly add, “Who’s the lucky lady? Should we start planning the wedding, or will you break her heart like you did with the last one? She still calls the house, you know.”

“You’re both awful.”

While you and Yeji titter over your brother’s missteps in love, he knocks on the front door of the building. Above the golden “44TH STREET ANTIQUES,” the small window at eye level slides open. A set of dark brown eyes peer out, and a disembodied voice asks what they can assist you with. Changbin, you realize, which means that someone else is working the bar in his place, most likely Chan.

“I’m looking for a silver pocket watch engraved with the name ‘Paris Singer,’” Hyunjin says.

The door unlocks and swings open, revealing the interior of an antique shop. Mahogany dressers and wing chairs line the walls of the establishment, and silver tea sets sit behind locked cabinets. Though the items themselves are pristine, the faint smell of dust hints at the amount of history the shop holds. Whatever many secrets these pieces hold, the only secret you wish to uncover is hidden behind a silk screen printed with birds: the staircase leading to where the true 44th House is. With only flickering light fixtures for guidance, you descend.

“Excited to see your beau, Miss Railroad Heiress?” Hyunjin says. The jazz music grows increasingly loud as you near the basement. “You think he’ll give me the good gin if I ask him nicely this time?”

How Chan managed to pick you out amongst the crowd is still a mystery to you, especially since you were nowhere near Hyunjin and Yeji at the time. The Hwang sibling trio is instantly recognizable together but separate? Just ordinary, albeit beautiful, faces.

“He’s not my beau.” Yet. “And how do you even know about that name?”

Yeji hops down the last step with grace, landing onto the stone floor with a satisfying clack. “Because we’re not deaf, Miss Railroad Heiress. Now come back with something good for us, please and thank you.”

She smiles innocently at your exasperation, takes your arm, and guides you to the final door. When Hyunjin pushes it open, the whole world erupts with jazz and laughter, bringing an instant grin to your face. Men in pastel striped shirts and women in gold embroidered dresses swing and sway together, arms and legs snapping back and forth. The live band and flapper girls on stage encourage onlookers to join the rest of the party.

As expected, Yeji and Hyunjin forget about teasing you in favor of the dance floor. Meanwhile, you stick to the sides, weaving between the tables to make your way to the bar. A tipsy woman runs her hand through your fur cape and compliments you, and another woman trills with glee when she notices the number of beads you have on your person.

A man drinking with his friends calls, “Find me for a dance later!”

“Oh, I will!” you shout back. You blow him a kiss, to the amusement of the table, before disappearing into the crowds once more.

Even from a distance, you spy Chan chatting up a patron as he pours him a drink. Minho is on the other end of the bar, showing off his skills with a tin shaker. Neither of them have a jacket on, only a black vest, so they must be exceptionally busy. Saturday evenings always are. Well, that has never stopped you from flirting with Chan before. You’d rather dance with him rather than a stranger, but a dance is a dance, no matter who it’s with.

After Chan finishes someone else’s cocktail, you take their place, prop your arms on the wooden counter, and flash him a coy smile. “Hey, bartender. Can I get two bee’s knees and two of something made with this?”

You pull out your flask of moonshine and slide it across the bar. Your initials are monogrammed on the front in curling letters, and your heart jumps when he brushes his thumb over the grooves. “You can give it a try if you like. Made it myself.”

“Did you really, Miss Railroad Heiress? You didn’t strike me as the sort to mess with a distiller,” he remarks. Nevertheless, he unscrews the top and takes a sip. “Not half bad. Be better in a ward eight though. Two, you said?”

“Yes. One of them’s for you.”

His arm hangs in mid-air, the bottle of lemon juice forgotten. “For me? How come?”

“I brought my moonshine because I wanted you to have a taste, so why not? Besides, you just said it would taste better in a ward eight. Let’s put it to the test.”

He laughs and starts again. You watch him pour and mix with fascination, and a childish delight washes over you when he drops two maraschino cherries into one of the glasses. You’ve asked for at least one cherry in every one of your cocktails at the 44th House. Changbin rarely obliges if the recipe book doesn’t call for it, but Chan never forgets.

He hands you back your flask and taps his glass against yours. “Here’s to you, Miss Moonshine.”

The drink is perfect—sweet with a hint of lemon. You pluck out a cherry floating at the top, pull off the stem, and thoughtfully chew on the fruit. “Is that my new name?”

“There are two Miss Railroad Heiresses running around, after all. I need some way to tell them apart.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that Yeji also knows her way around a distiller. But as far as you know, Chan has never spoken to Yeji before and likely never will since she sends you to the bar in her stead, so your skin tingles with fire as you hear the words “Miss Moonshine” roll off his tongue. It’s just as alluring as “prohibition.” Maybe it’s the whiskey talking.

(It’s definitely not.)

“Let me get your other drinks,” he says. Then he leans in conspiratorially close, his eyes glimmering under the honey-colored lights. “Stay until closing? I’ll do my best to sneak a dance with you.”

Before you can reply, a man in a herringbone suit saunters up to the counter and asks for a Chicago fizz. He glances over at you with practiced nonchalance, and you realize that it’s the same person who you blew a kiss to. He’s quite handsome up close, even if his airs are rehearsed.

“Hello again,” he greets. His smile is dangerous, reminiscent of a serpentine path you drove on once in the countryside. “Are you free, by any chance? If I remember right, you promised me a dance.”

Chan has reverted to being a bartender, measuring syrup with a careful eye while eavesdropping on the conversation occurring in front of him. You’re a flirt but only with Chan; he has nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, he can’t read minds, so he sets down two bee’s knees in question: Will you stay until closing?

You consider pretending that the music is loud enough to drown out the stranger’s voice, but he seems to be the persistent sort. Reluctantly, you pop the remaining cherry in your mouth and tug the stem out from between your teeth. “What was your name again?”

“Seungmin.”

“One dance,” you agree. “But before and after that, I’m busy until the night ends. Thank you again, Mister Bartender.”

Chan relaxes and nods in acknowledgement. While Seungmin waits for his Chicago fizz, you take the drinks and roam around the speakeasy, looking for Yeji and Hyunjin. The room has grown more crowded, and a thin layer of perspiration graces your back. You press one of the sweating glasses to your cheek as you scan the groups that have formed. Yeji was the smart one, not you.

You eventually find Hyunjin surrounded by a gaggle of women. His hair and button-down are more disheveled than they were after the drive, yet he doesn’t seem to care a whit now that he has admirers. He may deny it, but he thrives off of attention.

“Whose heart are you breaking tonight?” you ask as you slink up to the table. With two out of the trio present, a few of the more timid ladies make way for you. “Should I prepare apology flowers in the morning? And where’s Yeji?”

To his credit, he doesn’t blush at your comments. He’s more enamored by the cocktails in your hand. “Somewhere. What are these?”

“Gin. I still have some of my whiskey, if you want. We’re staying until they close tonight, by the way.”

After being subjected to tasting your previous moonshine experiments, he no longer enjoys whiskey, so he accepts the gin. “Sure. Did your friend make this?”

A wave of giggles courses through Hyunjin’s flock, and an image of your name in the society papers appears behind your eyelids. If you are to land in the papers again, it will be of your own volition, not Hyunjin’s mouth. “Any one who can make a good drink is a friend of mine. I’ll call the florist later.”

Before he can retaliate, you scurry off to find Yeji who is “somewhere.” After mistaking a woman with a similar stole for her and dodging a gallery of swinging limbs, you spy her in the middle of the floor, doing the Charleston while spectators observe her. With a blood orange drink in hand, Seungmin is among them, watching Yeji with curiosity. When she finally spots you, she dances her way over to you, onlookers cheering her on, and snatches the refreshment from your hand.

“Send Chan my thanks,” she says in between breaths. She leans against your shoulder and tries to pass off her stole to you. “Please? You’re not doing anything.”

As if he can sense your exasperation, Seungmin emerges from the sea of people and extends his arm out to you. “How about it?”

You shoot your sister a pointed look. “I’d love to.”

You’re not as nimble as Yeji or as limber as Hyunjin—few people are—but your footwork is on par with theirs after years of practicing with them, and your passion makes up for the rest of your lacking skills. Seungmin is a decent partner, in spite of his attempts to chat with you throughout.

“You sure you’re not free later?” he asks after the song ends. Flushed with exertion, he loosens his tie. “Not even for a drink? I’ll buy.”

“I can buy my own, thank you.”

You say your goodbyes to Seungmin and collapse against Yeji, who has sweet-talked a departing party into giving up their table for her. As she helps you shrug off your cape, you open your bag for your flask. The whiskey pleasantly stings as it goes down.

“Have you given up on Chan already? Your new guy is a looker, but I like Chan more.”

You explain to her the details of your arrangement, fully anticipating her to tease you throughout. And she does. The wedding invitations will read “Miss Railroad Heiress and Mister Bartender,” and the wedding itself will take place at 44th House in honor of your first meeting. As she continues, you shut your eyes and do your best to concentrate on the surrounding conversations. You don’t care about the latest stove innovation, but it’s far less maddening than Yeji.

In the midst of it all, having missed the company of his sisters, Hyunjin joins the table. No one trails after him, no one comes up to drag him away, which would have been favorable. What a disappointment; no hearts will be broken tonight. Worst of all, he, too, gives you grief for being enamored by Chan.

“Should I let you drive the car home, so you can impress him?” he says, earning a sigh from you. “Now that I think about it, you did insist on taking the convertible.”

“And you took an awful long time fixing your hair before we left!” adds Yeji. “Really, you and Hyunjin are more alike than you think.”

“Hey!”

How else will you pass the time if not for your bothersome brother and sister? You let Hyunjin argue for you and permit your eyes to wander to where Chan is still working. Dozens of patrons surround the bar, so you can only catch glimpses of him through the gaps between heads. You doubt he saw it, but what did he think of you and Seungmin? While some people get easily jealous, others recognize that sometimes fun is fun, no ulterior motives.

After enduring another five minutes of Hyunjin and Yeji’s bickering, you decide it’s time for a change of scenery.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Mojito, extra lime. Make sure he knows about the Rolls Royce.”

“And don’t forget to tell him the wedding date. Jack Rose for me.”

The crowd hasn’t thinned out in the short time it took for you to arrive, so you patiently wait by studying Chan’s bartending skills. How long has he done this for? From handling a large bottle of vodka to garnishing drinks with mint leaves, all of his motions are deft. During the fifth cocktail, he notices your presence out of the corner of his eye and begins adding flairs to his process—a little twirl of the stick, an extra tall pour. When it’s finally your turn, he leans against the counter and meets you halfway. His eyes flicker with golden light.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he says before you can get out a word. “Miss Moonshine, can I be the next to dance the Charleston with you? I promise I’m a better dancer than the last guy.”

Astonished, you blurt out, “You saw it!”

“Of course I did.” Almost sheepishly, he adds, “You’re all I see.”

Your skin prickles as if you’re standing outside in the cold, but your cheeks are aflame. “The speakeasy doesn’t need you?”

“Minho’s got it handled. Come on now.”

You highly doubt Minho can man the bar by himself, but you nonetheless take Chan’s hand and lead him to the center of the building. You hear Yeji’s giggles and Hyunjin’s smug remarks as you pass by, but your annoyance is soon drowned out by the merriment of the other patrons. Soles slap against the floor in quick succession, and you nearly lose an eye to a flying string of pearls.

Chan places his other hand on your arm. “You’re pretty good, but do you think you can keep up with me?”

His teasing rouses you further, so you put more energy into your steps. A little more bounce and a little more snap, just as he did when he was mixing drinks. The people surrounding you slowly inch away when you grow more excited, and you gladly use all of the space around.

“Show-off,” Chan laughs when you momentarily let go of his hands to perform a series of kicks.

You finish with a flourish and playfully bow when he starts clapping. “It’s what I do best. How long do I have you for?”

“Not that long,” he admits, taking your hands again, “but come back tomorrow? I’m off then, so you’ll have me all to yourself.”

He winks, leaving you in a stupor as he guides you back to Yeji and Hyunjin. This is not how it’s supposed to be; you’re the one who does the flustering around here. You’re certain you have a silly smile on your face because as soon as he leaves, Yeji pounces for answers.

“What happened?” she questions. “Did he kiss you?”

“More like she kissed him,” Hyunjin drawls as he snaps his fingers in front of your eyes. “Have you died or what?”

You push his hand away, glaring at him when he pretends to have been injured. “No one kissed anyone. Just a dance. Geez, it’s like you two are trying to get me in trouble. Let’s go before someone actually hears you.”

Hyunjin grabs your cape for you, not in a gesture of kindness, but so he can toss it at you and laugh as you struggle to catch it. “You could’ve at least gotten us our drinks before you decided he wasn’t worth it. Where are we heading now? Bellamy’s?”

“I’d rather go home,” you answer.

Yeji links one arm through yours and the other through her brother’s, effectively creating a human fence that others have to walk around. “So you can sleep and dream of him?”

“One day,” you declare, “you’ll get a crush, and I will never let you breathe again without mentioning their name. Hyunjin will join in, and you’ll get a taste of your own medicine.”

As expected, the drive home is riddled with poor jokes and pointless retellings of the night. It is the same when you head back to 44th House the following night. You’d rather Yeji and Hyunjin not be in the establishment at all, but reassurance is always welcome, even if it does come with a side dish of pestering.

Minho is the gatekeeper this time, and he regards you with some contempt for last night’s endeavor. Your half-hearted apology is responded with a grunt and a reluctant opening of the door.

You inhale the scent of the antique store, run a finger across the back of a velvet chair for luck. Your whole body hums with energy as you descend, and the trumpet horns on the other side of the walls only increase the tension. Why are you nervous? You have no reason to be.

At the bottom of the steps, you say with gravity, “Both of you, stay away from me tonight.”

Then you run into the crowd before they can follow. As the uproar rings in your ears, you scan the interior as you cut across the room, wincing when the overzealous tuba player blasts a note in your direction. Someone spills part of their drink onto the tops of your heels, and though you feel the liquid seeping between your toes, your main concern is finding Chan. You pause whenever you see a man in a black vest. Would he wear a similar outfit to his uniform on his night off? Likely, no, but you have no other basis for his attire.

“You’re here! Finally.”

You turn around to see Chan that has found you first. His grin shines like a crescent moon against his dark pinstriped suit, but there is nothing sinister about his expression.

“How do you do it?” you ask, slipping your arm through his. His face colors with a faint shade of pink. “You always seem to know where I am.”

“To be honest, I’ve been watching the door all night. Should we get something to drink first?”

As it turns out, you are correct to tell your siblings to stay far away from you because after sharing some potent moonshine, you kiss Chan by the bar. Everyone in the vicinity witnesses it, so you’re bound to end up in the papers tomorrow, but you don’t care. It’s Yeji and Hyunjin’s fault for putting the thought into your head. Most importantly though, this is the happiest you’ve been.

Prohibition. What a lovely era.

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russett-pots · 2 years

Text

Prom date

Kim Minju

Tags: Fluff, prom

Word: 0.7k

Part 1 of the trilogy

With your most awkward smile and a black suit with a purple tie, you look at yourself in the mirror. The shower room is still steamy from your long, arduous, and scolding bath. Hair still wet, suit barely fits but booming with confidence. You have never thought such beauty will be going out to prom with you and there you are with two prom tickets in hand and a bouquet in the other. You make your way to the living room and there is your mom and dad looking proud at their young man.

Your mom looks at you with her eyes almost crying. “Oh my! My baby is now all grown up.” She gets the camera and quickly takes a snap of you.

“Oh come on, mom. You don’t have to be so emotional.” Your hand shrugs her off.

“What do you mean emtional?! My baby is going to prom. By the way, when should you pick up your date.”

“My date?” You look at your watch. “Oh sh—.” You cover your mouth to prevent yourself from cursing. “I mean I should get going. I’m going to be late.”

“Say hi to the Kims for me. Say regards to Mrs. Kim. Make sure to send extra pics.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, mom.” You reply to your overbearing mother. But before you get your keys to your fifteen-year-old Toyota corolla that you got from your grandfather, your dad grabs your hand and puts something in it. You open your palm and it is the keys to his Porsche.

“Don’t you dare scratch it.” He grins in your face.

You get over the moon and hug him tightly. Never had he let you get near the car much less than drive it. “Thanks, dad!”

“No problem.” He jokes “Take care of both of them. Your date and my girl.”

You run to the garage as your parents wave at you. The doors open as your get inside the car. The intricate arrangement of flowers on the passenger seat is ready for your date. You grab on the steering wheel and feel the grippy leather, then shift to reverse and now on the road on your way to your date’s house then off to prom.

*Ding Dong*

The door opens. Out comes a cute 12-year-old girl.

“You here for my sister?”

“Uhhhh, hey, little Yujin.” You try to pat her hair. “Where is your sister?”

“Ya!” She moves your hand away. “No touchy. She is still preparing just wait inside.”

Still with your phone in hand and not minding you at all, she escorts you to the antique living room decorated with intricate ornaments, a red velvet couch, and china cabinets with small trinkets. A contrast to the modern technology Mr. Kim’s technology company is known for. Speaking of the devil.

“Ahem.”

Out comes Mr. Kim. He has his arms crossed and is still in his business suit like he just came home from work.

“So you must be my daughter’s date.”

You stand up and bow in front of him like what your date has told you to do once you meet her dad. “Yes sir.”

“Hmmm, there are certain rules about taking my daughter out.”

“Ummmm….. okay sir.”

“Midnight?”

“Yes sir. I’ll bring her home before midnight.”

“Second. One piece.”

“Uhhhh one piece?”

Soon you can see Mr. Kim trying to contain his laughter. He giggles and giggles until he cannot take it anymore. “Nah boy. I can see you’re a good person. I trust you with her.”

You nervously laugh with him. “Ummm my parents say hi.”

“Yeah Yeah. Tell them I say Hi too.” He continues to laugh.

Then a shout comes from upstairs. “Dad! Is Oppa here?!”

“He is, honey. Hurry up!”

“Yeah! Yeah! Five more minutes please.”

You go back to sitting and waiting. Five minutes pass by and as an expected girl wouldn’t be read and neither has she. But as your sit on your phone, you finally hear those words.

“I’m ready!”

Then each step from the top of the staircase inches down. At each moment you anticipate your date appearing. After what feels like forever, you can finally see her. Your date, the one you’ll take to prom. Maybe have a secret crush but one thing is for sure. You aren’t going to forget this night.

You take her hand and escort her with you.

“Oppa, are you ready?”

“Never have I been ever ready for anything.”

#izone fluff #kpop fluff #kim minju #minju fluff

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werdlewrites · 5 months

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masterlist - ao3 - kofi - twitter @ djomamma

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summary: “I’ll ask my dad,” she forces out. “Y’know, after the whole skipping school business." He smirked in response, head nodding down the hall in a gesture for us to continue on. “He’s more mad about that? Not the weed?” She shrugs, avoiding his gaze with cheeks puffed out. “Parents, right?” warning: Hopper and Steve being sweeties, cursing, mentions of drugs wc: 2,580

The holidays come and go, and the bottomless pit to rot within Autumn is slowly filled. “To hope,” they said, and he refused to allow her to slip into doubt and darkness. He’s called for time off. Time spent away from countless complaints and paperwork. He had called in the very next morning, handing over all responsibilities to Powell to bask in this new life for just a few more days. On any other day, maybe there would have been some guilt. But he makes promises with the intent of keeping them, no matter the risk involved. Hopper had endured the chaos of Black Friday only as a sheriff, taking calls for assault or stolen goods. The madness of saving money, flipping the switch of humanity, and turning most shoppers into monsters—though Hawkins had been a little different. Such a small and sleepy town became more lively, but rarely did he witness flying fists or true rage to tear people apart. It was a shocking comparison to the bigger cities; even some of the locals took their business elsewhere for more extravagant goods. That Friday, he chose to join the masses with a girl by his side.

“Don’t wander,” he warns with a firm tug of a baseball cap over her brow. “I never lose sight of you, capiche?” The girl holds up a sign for "ok," responding in amusement, “Capiche.” It’s not funny, knowing the threat is still out there. Whether it be her father or the man he works for, he is out on the hunt to get his hands on something once within his reach. Yet still, he smiles back at her, despite the bile brewing as his nerves kick into high gear. They spend hours out there, bumping shoulders with shoppers or staring through glass windows at the many deals waiting for them. She would ogle at the fineries but ultimately move on down the block, simply enjoying the chance to be out and free. Hopper is never far away, walking in her much shorter shadow with eyes cast in every direction, looking for eyes that lingered a little too long or anyone he could recognize. But there’s nothing. Hopper can feel his tension ease just enough to find some joy out beneath the sun, nearly colliding with the girl as she’s paused at another glass pane. Autumn stares in silence at the refurbished furniture, and there’s a visible interest as she leans in closer. “See anything you like?” She jumps back at his words, nearly forgetting he was there. Her response is hesitant, shrugging as she searches for the right words. “I-I like antiques. But who doesn’t?”

She’s about to continue onward, but Hopper is quick, as he’s already at the door, waving her inside. It’s a cruel joke, but she humors him, and they move between the various pieces of furniture. It’s not as busy as most stores, but busy enough for Hopper to cast questioning looks. His attention is locked on the girl as she stands near a cabinet, her fingers moving along the details. The wood is natural, though deep red wine in color. Two doors hide shelving within, and a mirror is featured in a showcase. She does nothing but admire and leave it behind, though Hopper is quick to snatch the tag. “What the hell are you doing?” Her tone is as if he’s offended her—a clear shock in her eyes while he gleams. “You need furniture for your room,” he states rather simply, while the gears seem to stick in her mind and slow function down. “Y-well, yeah, but-” “Keep lookin’ around,” he suggests as he pockets the tag—a sign that the piece is no longer available. "You might find somethin’ you like.”

They spent the weekend heaving and hauling pieces of furniture up into the attic, sweat on their brows and wild laughter as neither of them considered how the pieces would get up there. But they manage, and her room seems almost normal. Almost.

It’s Monday morning now, and Hopper is forced to head back to work while Autumn blends in amongst the students. She’s slow-moving, feeling almost jetlagged from the time spent away from class, and still struggling to work it all back into routine. She manages to drag her feet out into the dewy morning, heavy steps scuffing along the dirt as she moves towards her Jeep. Her guardian isn’t far behind her. He's nearly stumbling out in haste with a paper bag held high in the air. “You forget somethin’?” Realization hits him as he stands in the cold—there's no Steve. No boy is waiting with music playing and a silly grin on his face; she stands alone with her fingers already tucked beneath the door handle. Her other hoists the bag up for his view, stating, “I have my own. That’s yours.” Lunch is the least of his worries, as his fists fall to his hips. “Where the hell is your ride?” With a laugh, the teen shakes her head. “Waiting for me at school. Bye, Hopper.” She doesn’t tell him about the boy's confession of their deal; instead, she makes her own. He provides the space she needs, giving her time to herself as she rides to school but is glued to her side until the bell rings. He worries, and seeing her reassures him. Hopper stands at the final step and watches as she pulls away, the green Jeep slow to vanish from his sight with the lack of brush. A heavy sigh escapes, and he’s prying the fold apart to peer inside. Leftovers from the dinner prior: Beef Stroganoff scooped into Tupperware with snacks to tide him over in the long hours. It’s not what he’s used to. Not having put in a thought to his lunch and winging it when the time came. A child somehow manages to think for him when her only focus should be herself.

At Hawkin’s High, her actions are pushed back to the furthest corner of her mind. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, and even if it were, Steve was too busy occupying her time. There was no room for second-guessing. He’s at her car door within seconds of her arrival, waiting and watching out for the girl with the eyes of a hawk, swooping in the moment he spots her. He’s nothing but sunshine, and it’s hard to deflect the warmth as it sinks in through her skin. “How was your vacation?” They walk side by side, unable to feel the judgment once given, as students have now lost interest. “It was... good, actually.” “Yeah? Next year, let me come over. My dad was a prick the entire time. Almost makes me wish he’d go on another business trip,” he finishes with an awkward laugh, though it’s quick to die and fall flat in his chest as he reconsiders his wording. Kind eyes are now full of dread and regret, seeming ungrateful as his family was complete while hers was torn. “I’m sorry,” the boy suddenly states. His fingers are lightly gripping the sleeve of her sweater to guide her attention back to him—to see his sincerity as he speaks. “I-I didn’t mean-” What comes next isn’t what he expects, cut short in surprise as her lips pull into a smile. “You worry too much.” It’s almost baffling to watch her ease by the school doors, unbothered by his words, while he remains stuck in guilt. The boy has to push his way through the bodies to join her side again, sparing a confused look as he studies her. “Weekend was that good, huh?” She gives a small shrug. “I’ve had worse. Like, a strange man doing a B and E.” Steve scoffs in reply, shaking his head as he mimics her expression. But all seems to fizzle out as she pauses in the hallway, her lack of presence hard to ignore. When Steve looks back, the joy has been stripped from her eyes and replaced with something he can’t quite figure out. Her brows are pulled tight with a stare unwavering from something up ahead. “What? What is-?”

It’s Jonathan Byers. The boy always seemed to have a sleepy look about him, but he seemed more disheveled than the week before. His eyes are sunken; you can tell even from a distance that he’s been awake for too long. The boy seems almost in a daze, moving sluggishly and staring hard at the supplies in his locker as if he were trying to break through a heavy fog. “Must be his first day back. I haven’t seen him since... well, y’know.” Her eyes are lingering, and he can see the obvious interest, though nervous, as her fingers tighten around the strap. “C’mon, Aut,” he encourages with a gentle nudge of his elbow. Unknowing of the guilt she still holds close for letting Will slip from her grasp. “Go catch up.” A look of uncertainty is given, and he can only smile back, a hand now resting on her back for further reassurance. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay? Same table, same time.” He manages to pull a snort from the girl, and now satisfied, he drifts away, vanishing in the crowd. At some point in the exchange, Jonathan finds her among the wild animals. An empty hand raises to give a small wave, almost seeming like a stranger despite all they have gone through. Before the monsters and up to now. It doesn’t give her the confidence she needs, but she pushes forward to meet him at his now-cleared locker. No posters or ugly words scrawled on the surface. Exhausted eyes have lowered by the time she’s within reach, organizing all he needs for the morning in his bag. “Welcome back?” she begins, trying to pull herself out of the treacherous waters of discomfort. There’s a faint hint of a smile—weak—before lips fall to a flat line again. “What joy,” he states in a heavy sigh, flipping the door until it slams shut, his eyes landing back on her. The girl waits a moment, studying him in silence and coming up with a plan of action as he is clearly out of sorts. Will had come home, and the monsters were beaten back into the shadows. She’s certain he would be joyful on some level.

She elects for a distraction—something out of pocket to lure troubled thoughts away. “Steve’s been up my ass since you’ve been gone.” It was only half true. Knowing it had been... far longer than that, by now. He chuckles—it's lazy and halfhearted—and his eyes fall to flip through his notebook. “Y’know what they say. Kill together, stay together.” He’s not meeting her eyes; that alone is enough to set her off course. The tone in his voice only added fuel to the fire. “Yeah, a real bonding moment,” she spits back with a narrow gaze. Without further comment, he moves on, his back now facing the girl. It’s almost gut-wrenching, and she can’t bear this sudden cold shoulder—unable to place where it came from. They fought side-by-side, didn’t they? Negative thoughts are cast out as speedy steps race after him, pushing her way through bodies to walk at his side. “What gives?” He hums in response, confused and still not meeting her eyes. “Wha-?” she tries to repeat, half expecting the boy to put on the brakes for them to talk in private. He keeps moving, and she’s forced to take hold of his arm, forcing him her way. “What’s going on?” A heavy sigh deflates his body, his focus flickering elsewhere until it lands on her. “Nothing,” “‘A’ for effort,” Autumn retorts. “Try again. This time, really give it your all.” With the roll of his eyes, his body falls to lean against the wall at her side. “I don’t want t’be here.” It’s not a satisfying answer. Her neck craned forward in hopes of encouraging more from him, and he caved under her stare. “M’not sleeping. Neither is Will."Hearing his name has alarms sounding off in her mind. Having not seen him or Jonathan since the hospital, she was unable to seek either boy out to check in. “Because of-?” The teen nods at first before continuing. “He’s not sleeping because of what happened. And I’m not sleeping because of him.” There’s a feeling of guilt for asking, causing her stance to relax before it joins him on the wall. “I shouldn’t even be here,” he states in anger, frustration evident on his face as he thinks of his baby brother with one less person to care for him. “I need t’be at home. Mom can only handle so much. I-I just feel helpless here, y’know? He’s struggling, and I have t’do book reports.”

Autumn waits in silence, letting his anger simmer out until it’s only embers in a pile of dust. Dying out, yet ready to spark with light given the chance. “It’s bullshit,” the girl says with a hard sigh. The conversation felt a little too similar to the one she had with Nancy last week. “It is bullshit.” The girl’s head lolls to the side, studying the dark circles under his eyes and the far-off look he held. As if something in the distance held him frozen there. “How is he?” He meets her eyes briefly, his chest filling with a breath to prepare for honesty. “Not good. I-I mean, he has moments where things seem fine. Then, it’s like he’s somewhere else entirely. Like-” “Like he’s back there,” she finishes for him, almost lifting the weight from his chest. “Yeah. Then, the nightmares. But he’s trying.” Autumn lets out a long hum in thought, the idea of a boy still locked in distress, leaving her unsettled. She was squirming in her skin. “I promised him Mud Pie.” Another short chuckle is heard off to her right.

“You left him there.”

The words ring out and rebound off every nerve. She’s rattled and burdened by guilt, despite not knowing if she could have saved him. Maybe Will had come to his senses with time to recover. Now understanding, and the thought of her leaving him behind only brings discomfort. It’s a pain she can’t seem to stomach, so she bites her tongue. “You should come by,” he suggests. “I half expected you t’be camped out in our living room.” Like a deer in the headlights, Autumn is left bewildered and uncertain of what to do—or say, for that matter. “Y-yeah,” she begins with unease. “It’s just... all been so crazy.” A timid smile rises to the surface, and he doesn’t seem to catch on that she’s hiding something. Blame it on the lack of sleep or total ignorance, but he wears a look of true happiness. “I know he misses his favorite storyteller." It’s hard not to be warmed by him or the thought of the younger Byers boy nodding along to his words. “I’ll ask my d-” It’s almost too easy to say. She fell into the routine of asking her dad for permission to leave or simply telling him outright. That routine was stripped away and replaced with unfamiliarity. “I’ll ask my dad,” she forces out. “Y’know, after the whole skipping school business." He smirked in response, head nodding down the hall in a gesture for us to continue on. “He’s more mad about that? Not the weed?” She shrugs, avoiding his gaze with cheeks puffed out. “Parents, right?”

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indiatrendzs · 10 months

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Authentic Farmhouse Antique Furniture

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aelfheimerandrobots · 23 days

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Sims Au: The Primehood, Downtown Crystal City, The Optimal Estate| Optimus Prime/Elita One & Rodimus Prime

Welcome to the first home on our tour of the fabulous properties and homes of what's affectionately known as The Primehood! This prestigious district is said to have been home to the Original Thirteen Primes, and may even play host to their successors. Our first stop is at the lovely suburban cabin home of the infamous Optimus Prime, his lovely wife Elita One, and their college-aged son, Rodimus Prime! Starting at the street view we can see how welcoming the rustic charm is of this colonial style cabin with it's wrap-around porch and front-facing, second story deck. With plenty of old growth trees and lovely greenery this home is certainly a welcome sight to anyone looking for a safe place to kick-back.

We continue our tour by taking a closer look at the lovely wrap-around porch and it's cozy, rustic charm. With plenty of plants and places to just sit and admire the neighborhood, there are plenty of chances to grab a bit of sun or to simply welcome in the neighbors.

On the eastern side of the house we can see where Elita has made the space her own, filling it with places to garden, arrange flowers, and just sit to discuss the local goings-on with a friend while enjoying the outdoors.

Mirroring Elita's space is a spot Optimus can call his own with places to tinker, plan the local scout meetings, and carve either wood or jack o'lanterns for Halloween. This space is open, rustic and full of sincere purpose and a love for the outdoors.

Of course it's not a home fit for a prime if there's not space to grill and entertain. With a half-size basketball court, a built in grill area, and an in-ground pool there's plenty of activities to do here year-round. Particularly for a family who enjoys having people over and spending time outdoors.

We busted out the drone to get a better shot of the entire backyard, revealing the cozy jacuzzi space, the charming gardening area, and the outdoor court in all their glory. With a diving space and plenty of room to swim together the fun never stops here.

Entering from the back porch we come into the large, spacious, and charming kitchen that serves up plenty of block party meals with flare and classic rustic charm. The mix of stone and wood is a good grounding point for the blending of colors we can see in this space as Elita and Optimus' palettes blend and compliment one another.

From this angle we can see the breakfast bar and pantry space, allowing for plenty of storage as well as dining options for guests during large dinner parties. The large family table is also kept pristine with flowers that are rotated to match the seasons.

The dining room moves seamlessly into the entryway where two coat-cabinets frame the wide and welcoming front doors and allow for plenty of space for friends to gather without feeling crammed whether coming or going.

Moving across the entryway we enter the ground floor living room and here we can meet our hosts, clearly getting ready for a Christmas get together. Or at least, Optimus and Elita are. Rodimus appears to be finishing up a tv binge watching session. *ahem* Regardless, the space is charming, welcoming, and screams of cozy charm that's sure to cling to you like a warm hug.

The guest bathroom here on the ground floor features an antique bath and wooden shower stall which serve as a compliment to the wood sink and rustic decor.

From the guest bathroom we enter the gaming room, which I'm told used to be a sun room. The space certainly has plenty of natural light as well as plenty of fun storage for all of the family's games to enjoy with one another.

Heading downstairs first, into the basement we discover- Oh. Oh dear. Oh this is...clearly Rodimus' space isn't it? No. No I can tell. The uh, glowing bar sort of gives it away. Welp, abrupt departure in style aside the space does still exude a sort of welcoming air. Even if it fits a more, let's call it, college party spot style.

Coming around the corner we can see that not all of the rustic charm has been lost in our descent downstairs. Merely buried beneath the more youthful additions. Regardless it's quite clear that Elita and Optimus have cared about their son and his friends and provided them a safe space to have fun and relax (under some supportive supervision of course).

Heading down the hall we enter the door on the right and find the guest room. It might be small but the space has certainly ensured that plenty of wayward youths can crash safely without feeling claustrophobic.

down the hall from the guest room is the laundry room. This space also serves as storage and utility space as it's home to the houses large waterheater and has plenty of space to store party supplies and family heirlooms lovingly cherished but currently without a place.

Finally the basement tour comes to. Oh good lord. Rodimus' room. This boy clearly never outgrew his highschool phase. This is one hell of a disaster college boy's crash-pad.

He's really confident about making it as an influencer/gaming streamer isn't he? Well he's certainly, I'm not sure dedicated is the word but something close to that.

Moving into Rodimus' bathroom and, honestly I'm not sure what I expected but this space COULD have been worse. It's honestly pretty stylish with it's modern touches and open shower space.

The wallpaper pattern in the water closet is certainly. A choice. I wouldn't call it bad. Just... a choice was made.

And heading out of the bathroom we get a look at the corner jacuzzi tub where- is that a fried egg rug? Okay. That's it. We're going back upstairs to where the grown-ups live.

See this? This is tasteful! It's charming, it's rustic, it has class and a sense of history and care given to it. Lovely.

Heading to the left side of the hallway first we enter the master bedroom. This space has clearly been thoughtfully and lovingly put together to suit both Elita's elegant tastes and Optimus' more down-to-earth style. The mix has resulted in something that is truly charming and warm.

The master bath has plenty of space as well as storage and charm to suit either of the couple. With touches of pink and blue melding charmingly. There might not be a double-sink but you'd hardly need it when the bathroom feels this well put-together.

The water-closet features some bold wallpaper patterns but is still brought back down to earth by the antique style of the toilet and general accoutrements.

Moving across the hall we enter Optimus and Elita's office space which also serves as something of a romantic escape for them both to relax and reconnect at the end of a busy day. To the right you can see Elita's classic charm and softer color palette reallly come to life in her personalized work space.

And around the corner Optimus' workspace shows off his love for the traditional as well as his insatiable reading habit with plenty of storage space for his large book collection.

Finally we come to the upstairs balcony from which our power-couple can look out at the neighborhood and surrounding area in peace. With a cozy and charming coffee bar and space to sit and eat together outside the space reveals their love for each other as well as their love for nature and their fellow man.

But of course we end our tour here, in a spot ideal for the two of them to relax together and cuddle up while watching the sunset. We hope you've enjoyed this tour and will join us on our next adventure into The Primehood!

#optimus prime #rodimus #elita one #maccadams #sims au #humanformers #transformers #transformers fanart kinda

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aiglesperch · 21 hours

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Valentine's Day and a Winter Night

Fandom : Project Zomboid

Word count : 1457

Summary : Recalling one's valentine's day shenanigans with his fiancé, Jean Antonique recalls his memories and prepares himself for surviving the outbreak.

Content warnings : Apocalypse, gore, zombies, losing a loved one, illness, paranoia, violence, murder

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It was a late winter evening in the month of roses.

Chill had begun to fade slowly from Arizona, and soon, it'll be sweltering heat all over. A few ravens flew past the lone picket-fenced houses and settled near a garbage bin in proximity to a middle-aged man, head bent down, in reverence or in lifelessness, studying the trashcan closely.

A lone survivor sat on an antique couch, staring listlessly at a blank TV screen. He got up and stretched his limbs and shambled onward to the bathroom to check out the cabinet - hair gel from Get Set, a silver hand-mirror, a make-up kit, and a band-aid.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror - a man in his late twenties with overgrown coal-black hair. He would really need a haircut, it seems.

The man went back to the living room and glanced at a door with a few decorations here and there. It was labelled 'Yves rests here'.

He opened the door to reveal a plain-looking room. It had a bed with snowy bed-sheets, a desk with a bunch of magazines lying haphazardly, a dark dresser near the bed that contained 2 notebooks, sleeping pills, and vitamins.

Inside the notebook was a letter.

"Jean," it began. "I have reasons to believe that a bite I sustained while fighting those..."people" may be fatal. Perhaps, it may be even life-altering. Do what is needful with this information, and remember, I love you with my whole heart. Even if I die from this wound. Love, Yves."

The letter was a flesh wound re-opening at his heart. Strong emotions - anger, fear, pain, sadness - they tugged at his heartstrings. Jean cried bitterly against the pillow against which Yves formerly laid his head. He wished he was still alive and awake. But alas, he had bid adieu to him.

That day came in mind.

After Jean and Yves had said their vows, exchanged the rings and kissed, finalizing their love and allowing them to enter a new chapter of life, they had to run away from the makeshift chapel as hordes of 'people' with rotting limbs and broken necks, bearing a newfound taste for human flesh, chased them. While Jean hacked wildly at them with his axe, Yves kept shooting them with his gun. This they continued until their vehicle was nearby.

Yves failed to notice his former neighbor nearing his forearm. Right when he was opening his car door, she crunched his shoulder. Jean managed to chop her off with his axe right in time before escaping out of the place with his husband out of Kentucky.

It was a long journey. Jean tended to Yves' wounds and foraged for camping and food while Yves drove the car. Eventually they reached the desert state of Arizona and decided to stay there until the disease had vanished.

Foolish hopes they had...

Yves' condition became worse day by day. Occasionally, he complained of having anxiety about his survival. At times, he vomited on the floor. Jean became his caretaker and while he brought him soup, medicine and bandage, Yves would try to teach him some skills. On rare occasions, Yves would feel try slow-dancing with him.

Jean remembered how warm he felt underneath his strong arms, how soft his kiss was. What he couldn't comprehend was how he didn't succumb to the same infection as his husband did. Wasn't the infection transmittable?

The day eventually happened when Yves had lost himself - his anxiety translated into paranoia, and despite the efforts Jean put to ease him, it barely went away. He couldn't eat or drink anything, nor could speak. All he could do was to silently comfort a crying Jean and bleakly look out of the window.

One day, Jean brought him the usual medicine and food to his room. Yves lay still as an un-breathing corpse. He accidentally locked the door behind him. From the bed rose an un-dead 'Yves', mouth foaming in hunger and body half-rotten.

"Juhhhnnn...uooodd" he growled as he pounced on him. Jean dodged him and tried to reason with him, not wanting to kill the love of his life. He finally brought down his axe on his neck and watched his head roll away.

"Yves!" He cried in pain. He was careful enough not to open the nearby window and let anyone take a good look at his tear-laden face for a good munch.

A groan ensues from the porch

The ravens perched on him as he stared at the asphalt road. Wearing a bloodied shirt and a smelly pair of jeans, the man groaned at his discomfort and shook the birds away.

Jean exited his house, axe in hand, and crouched as to not attract any noise.

"That man is definitely not alive" he thought.

He scampered silently behind the gentleman and landed his axe on his neck before he could turn back.

A dead un-dead. What a save.

He pulled out the magazines and junk mail from the mailbox and ran inside before any other 'un-dead' decides to show up.

"Breaking news : Traces of Knox Infection suspected around Muldraugh, KY. Residents of Knox Country are warned to quarantine themselves until the infection subsides."

"What do you think is the source of the infection, Dr. Mullen?" asked the nervous reporter.

"The infection is currently air-borne; people are advised to wear masks and stay at home at any cost. Infected people are requested to quarantine themselves until their infection subsides. Some of the symptoms are : nausea, anxiety, stomachache. We have reasons to believe this is a severe case of flu and have deployed doctors to tend to this medical emergency."

The host finally concludes with "News9, more at 11. Stay safe!"

The evidence is strong. Knox Infection was the reason why those 'people' tried to bite him and Yves. It was the reason why he felt anxious and nauseous in mere days.

But the burning questions is - where did it start? And how did it even begin? No one suddenly turns into a rabid, flesh-eater within a few days...

Whatever it was, it was evident that this infection had arrived at Arizona - whether it was the refugees from Kentucky, or the roaming un-dead, he had to survive.

And surviving alone is no joke.

Preparing for an Unclear Future

Jean decided to tidy up his place. He arranged the magazines in the bookshelves, kept the food and utensils in their proper position in the kitchen, closed all the curtains and locked the door.

He had to learn from the magazines in the way Yves intended. With that resolve, he picked up a trapping magazine and began reading it. After that, he went for the mechanics magazines.

Some of the magazines were meant for Yves - advanced and full for technical terms he didn't understand.

He didn't knew how to cook.

"I wish I could've learned to make a damn soup before this apocalypse began" he lamented as he searched for some easy recipes and found none. Back then, Yves used to tend the cooking while he went out to hunt and chop wood. And while his husband was ill, he merely made him a salad haphazardly out of canned food.

"And I can't even go out without risking my life! What a world this has become..."

Jean looked here and there. His eagle-like vision helped him notice another un-dead walking into a bush. Two more were shambling down the road - a mother and her son. He went down a cul-de-sac to avoid the parent-and-child duo and to attract the bush-walker down the narrow lane. He then hacked him down with his axe.

Jean noticed that this guy might've been a former gardener, given his clothing. He searched his body, holding his breath to tolerate the rotting flesh, and found some seeds amidst the bloodied mess.

He left him alone and continued to walk down the lane across a building with glass doors and steel fences. Someone must've known about this outbreak to build these fences without the others noticing.

There was a police station seemingly abandoned by the 'residents'. It had a jail, two stinky bathrooms, a room full of lockers, a classroom for some reason and the head office.

Jean took a bunch of paper, a few magazines, a pencil and eraser and some cigarettes. He felt in his scruples that he IS stealing items from the station. However, does it even matter anymore?

After washing himself on the sink, he exited the building and decided to go left. A stench was emanating from that direction, indicating more 'residents' in that place. He instead went to the cul-de-sac and exited via the left side to reach a grassy lawn.

"What the-"

He saw a sight he had never seen before...

#french aigle #project zomboid #zombie #fanfic #fanfiction #i hate jumpscares #apocalypse #zombie apocolypse au #arizona #kentucky #isometric #video games #gaming #bittersweet

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eddies-puppet · 2 years

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𝙇𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙄𝙣 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙚 | 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧 𝙍𝙚𝙞𝙙

Chapter 7: The Storm

Warnings: Alcohol. Smut (p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving)).

Word count: 3,000

Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

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"I'm so sorry," Spencer laughed as he opened the door to his apartment, gesturing for Becca to step inside. "Come in and get warm."

"Spence, you're an extremely capable guy, but you can't control the weather so stop apologising," Becca laughed as Spencer closed the door behind them, pushing his wet hair back from his face.

"Let me find you some clothes and I'll put yours in the dryer," Spencer said as he made his way across to his bedroom door. "It's been a long time since we've had a storm like this," she heard him call. "I love storms though."

"Me too. You should live in England, they're almost a weekly occurrence," she laughed as she looked around the lounge.

It was exactly how she'd expected. The walls were lined with bookcases, almost bursting at the seams, and an old record player sat in the corner. His furniture all looked antique, the exception being what looked like an almost brand-new TV sitting atop an old bureau.

"You can probably tell I've not long had that," Spencer told her quietly, reappearing through the doorway. "Max thought I lived in the dark ages and made me buy it," he laughed.

"I mean, I don't disagree with her," Becca giggled.

"I hope these will be ok just while your clothes dry," Spencer said softly. "You can change in my room. Shall I order us some takeout as the storm ruined our dinner plans?"

"Sounds like a good plan," she smiled, taking the clean clothes from him.

"Pizza ok?"

"My favourite," she nodded, making her way to Spencer's bedroom and closing the door behind her.

She took off her wet clothes, putting them in a small pile by the door. She pulled on the white shirt Spencer had given her, laughing as she realised how it dwarfed her. He'd also left her a pair of his black boxer shorts. As she pulled them up her legs, she looked around the room.

The walls were a deep grey, the furniture and bedding dark. Very much a continuation of his lounge.

She bent down, looking at a pile of books on his bedside table, chuckling to herself. Arthur Conan Doyle, Leo Tolstoy and John Fowles. Hardly light bedtime reading!

She paused at the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door, wiping underneath her eyes and thanking God for waterproof mascara. Her hair hadn't been so lucky, getting frizzier as it dried. She spotted a hairbrush on the cabinet, and luckily she always had a hair tie around her wrist, so she pulled her hair back into a high ponytail before picking up her wet clothes and making her way back to the lounge.

Spencer jumped up from the sofa, turning to face her, his eyes travelling down her body. "I know, not my best look," she laughed quietly.

"No, you look, um," he stuttered, pausing to swallow hard. "It's a good look," he added softly as he walked slowly towards her. "The pizza's on its way. You can probably work that thing better than I can," he smiled, gesturing to the TV. "Why don't you pick a movie while I put your clothes in the dryer and get changed?"

He took her clothes from her, the tips of his slender fingers brushing the back of her hand as he held her gaze, the tip of his tongue resting in the corner of his lips. She nodded slowly, clearing her throat as she tore her eyes from his, sitting down on the sofa.

She smiled as she noticed Spencer had already filled two glasses of wine and left them on the coffee table. Picking one up and taking a sip, she grabbed the remote and navigated the TV to a streaming site.

"Have you seen The Conjuring?" She called loudly.

"No, I haven't." Becca was startled as Spencer appeared beside her.

"Sorry," she laughed. "I thought you were still in the other room."

"I thought maybe you had concerns about my hearing," he chuckled as he made his way around the sofa and lowered himself down beside her, picking up the other wine glass from the table.

"Anyway, I think you'll like The Conjuring, it's one of my favourites," Becca smiled as she hit play on the movie, pulling her feet up onto the seat, her thighs pressed against her chest. She took a deep breath, feeling the warmth from Spencer's arm against hers. She glanced at him as he took a sip of his drink.

As much as she knew she shouldn't be thinking about him in this way, she could look at his beautiful face all day. His hazel eyes that seemed to constantly twinkle, his full lips, the jawline that could cut glass. Her eyes must have lingered on his face for a fraction of a second too long, as he turned to look at her.

"You ok?" He asked softly. She nodded slowly, not trusting her voice to speak, his eyes seeming to darken as they surveyed her face, eventually settling on her lips.

The corner of his mouth turned into a small smile as he moved his glass into his other hand and lay his arm across the back of the couch behind her neck, his fingertips moving gently against her shoulder. She could feel her whole body flushing under his gaze and as his eyes moved back to her own, he leant slowly towards her, his breath warm against her lips.

They both jumped at a loud knock on the door, Spencer laying his head on the back of the couch, groaning frustratedly. "Pizza," he chuckled, getting up from his seat and answering the door.

She watched him walk away, his grey joggers hanging low on his hips, his white t-shirt showing his toned forearms, his soft hands, his lean fingers.

"Thank you," he smiled to the delivery guy, before closing the door. Putting the pizza down on the coffee table, he bit gently on the inside of his cheek, his eyes meeting hers once again. "Do you need a plate?"

"No, I'm good thanks," she smiled.

He nodded, sitting back down beside her as he held her gaze. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear, licking his lips slowly.

"Let's eat," he whispered.

----------------------------------------------------------------

"I topped your drink up while you were in the bathroom," Spencer smiled as Becca sat down beside him. She pulled her feet up onto the couch in front of her.

"Dr Reid, are you trying to get me drunk?" She laughed. He turned his head slightly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Is it working?" He asked cheekily.

"You know, I think it might be," she giggled, leaning against him, her knees flopping sideways onto his thighs. Spencer chuckled, and as he turned his attention back to the movie, he casually laid his hand on her leg, his fingertips tracing tiny circles on her soft skin.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, gently biting her lower lip, trying to steady her heart, which was beating so fast, so hard, that she was sure he must be able to hear it.

"You're supposed to be watching the movie, not me," he said softly, turning to look at her. She smiled.

"I've seen the movie enough times," she whispered.

Before she knew what was happening, his lips slammed against hers, kissing her passionately, his tongue sweeping across her lips. She buried her fingers in his hair, a guttural groan escaping from him as she tugged on it gently. His hands ran down the sides of her torso before he grabbed her hips, pulling her on top of him, her knees either side of his hips.

She pulled away from his kiss, their lips barely touching as their eyes locked, their breath hot and fast. She could feel his hard cock beneath her, and she moved her hips on top of him, his head falling back as he groaned loudly. She smiled as he lifted his lips back to hers, kissing her hungrily, his hands holding her face to his as she grabbed at the fabric of his t-shirt, her fingers scratching at his chest as she pulled him tight against her.

"Bedroom?" She whispered into his kiss. Without a word, Spencer stood up, lifting her with ease as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and carried her through to his bedroom, their lips never parting.

He placed one knee on the edge of the bed, laying her own, her legs falling down on either side of his. She reached up, grabbing the front of his t-shirt and pulling him down, his weight bearing down on her as their lips reconnected.

She groaned softly as Spencer's fingers moved slowly down her body, her skin prickling beneath his touch. As he reached the waistband of the shorts she wore, he slowly eased his index finger beneath the elastic, Becca groaning softly as he moved his finger across her stomach towards her navel.

"Is this ok?" He whispered. She opened her eyes, her desire burning within them, and nodded eagerly, her breath fast and shallow, kissing him again as her hands ran up his sides, pushing his t-shirt up. He climbed up onto his knees, pulling his t-shirt off and throwing it into the corner of the room as he looked down at her, his eyes shimmering lustfully. Spencer was tall, slim, but his body was tight, well-toned and smooth, aside from a couple of scars.

She watched him as he removed her shorts, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin. She gasped as his lips brushed the inside of her thigh, her hands gripping the bedsheets beneath her, trying desperately not to crumble beneath him.

"You're sure?" She could feel his warm breath against her inner thigh as he left a trail of soft kisses up towards her slit.

"I'm sure Spence," she panted, her hips jolting as his tongue danced across her clit. "Fuck," she gasped, one of her hands abandoning the bedsheets and grabbing at his soft curls. He moaned softly against her, the vibration causing her to cry out again, her head pushing hard into the soft mattress as she tugged gently on his hair, trying to pull him back up towards her.

He pulled away from her, kneeling between her legs, licking his lips slowly as he took her hands, pulling her up so she sat in front of him. He pushed a stray strand of hair back from her face, smiling as he held her gaze, his hands moving to her shirt, slowly unbuttoning it.

The air between them crackled, the heat between them intensifying with each passing second. She leant towards him, desperate to feel his lips on hers again, to feel his body against her, but he leant back on his heels, his eyes glinting darkly as he smiled.

"Patience," he whispered, his hands pushing her shirt slowly down her arms, his slender fingers dancing delicately across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Rising onto her knees, she lay her hands on his thighs, slowly running them up towards his waist. She smiled, biting her lower lip as her hand grazed Spencer's erection, his eyes falling closed as a deep moan rumbled in his throat.

Her fingers tightened around the waistband of his joggers, pulling his hips towards her, allowing her to slide his bottoms down to his knees, leaving a trail of kisses along his collarbone as she went.

She gasped as his hand closed around her ponytail, pulling it forcefully and slamming his lips into hers as her head snapped backwards. She buried her hands in his hair, responding passionately as his tongue found hers, and lay back onto the bed, pulling him on top of her.

She dug her fingernails hard into his back, writhing beneath him as he kicked his joggers to the floor, his hand forcing its way between their bodies, slipping two fingers inside of her, and she cried out loudly as his thumb moved against her clit. She felt his fingers curl inside her, finding her G spot each time, and the knot in the pit of her stomach grew, her muscles tightening around his fingers.

"Tell me what you want," Spencer breathed against her lips. She opened her eyes, looking up at him, trying to catch her breath.

"I want you inside me," she panted. He smiled, nodding slowly as he gently took her lower lip between his teeth, tugging it lightly as he removed his fingers from her pussy, wrapping his hand around his hard cock and lining himself up with her wet entrance, groaning deeply as he pushed his length inside her. She exhaled sharply as he stretched her out, the pain quickly subsiding, giving way to pleasure.

"You ok?" He asked softly. She nodded her head quickly, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into her, earning another guttural groan from him as he buried his face into her shoulder and began to thrust into her, slowly at first while her body adjusted to his size.

As her cries of pleasure grew louder, he thrust faster, her fingers tightly gripping into the soft skin of his back. Her heart was racing, pounding so hard she could hear the blood rushing in her ears as she moved her lips along his shoulder, leaving tiny hickeys behind.

She could feel the knot in her stomach tightening as he reached behind him, taking her hands in his and pinning them to the bed above her head. He could feel her walls tightening around him.

"I know, nobody else has made you feel like this, have they?" She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak as her breathing became frantic. "Cum for me baby," he whispered, his lips meeting hers once again.

She felt herself unravel around him as her orgasm ripped through her, her whole body quivering as she cried out loudly. Her body pulsed around him, responsive to him in a way she'd never felt before.

She felt his thrusts getting sloppier, and as her walls throbbed again around his cock, he felt himself fall over the edge, his arousal spilling inside her as a feral growl rumbled in his throat. He drove hard into her, their moans mingling together as he bottomed out inside her with each movement.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Spencer collapsed on top of her, struggling to catch his breath, his hand gently resting on her cheek as he left soft kisses against her neck.

"Remind me to make sure we watch a lot more horror movies if that's the mood they put you in," Becca laughed breathily. He lifted his head, smiling exhaustedly as she pushed his hair back from his face.

"I don't think the movie had anything to do with it," he said softly, gently pressing his lips to hers. "Don't move. Let's get you cleaned up."

Spencer groaned softly as he pulled himself out of her and walked into the bathroom. She could hear the tap running and hurriedly looked around for her abandoned shirt, spotting it laying on the ground beside the bed. Wincing at the dull throbbing between her legs, she leant over and grabbed it, pulling it on swiftly.

"I'm pretty sure I told you not to move," she heard him say as he emerged from the next room.

"Sorry, I just suddenly felt, well, naked," she laughed.

"I see no issue with that," he smiled. "Now lie down and let me clean you up," he instructed her as he pulled his joggers back on, the material hanging low on his hips.

"Spence, I can clean myself up."

"I said," he muttered, placing his free hand to her cheek. "Lie down." His voice was deeper now, darker, and she lay back, her head resting against his plump pillows. He sat down beside her, his thigh resting against hers, and ran the cool washcloth up the inside of her thigh. She inhaled sharply as the cool cloth touched her sensitive slit, her legs tensing, and his lips pulled into a smirk.

"The walk to the metro might not be a fun one," she giggled.

"Stay," he whispered.

"Oh Spence, sorry, that wasn't a hint."

"I know it wasn't. But you should stay. The weather is horrible, and it's late. I'd feel better if you stayed," he told her. "If you want to, of course," he added nervously. Becca smiled, sitting up and laying her hand on his thigh.

"So long as you don't mind, that would be great."

"I can take the couch," he said, moving to stand up, but before he could, she took hold of his hand, their eyes locking.

"Spence. What just happened here... that means it's ok for us to share a bed," she giggled, leaning forwards and kissing him. This kiss was different. Not like the burning lust for one another. This was slower, gentler, his tongue sweeping across her lower lip, their lips melding together perfectly.

"I'll get you some water," he smiled, pulling away from her kiss and standing up, leaving the room. She climbed under the covers, yawning as she did so, and snuggled into the soft mattress.

Spencer came back into the room and placed a glass of water on each bedside cabinet before climbing into bed beside her. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and snuggled closer to him, her hand stroking his smooth chest as she tangled her legs around his and buried her face in his neck.

"Good night Spence," she whispered, gently kissing his neck as he laced his arms around her, pulling her tighter against him.

"Night Becks."

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