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peachesofteal · 2 months

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Simple Math / Part Ten

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Masturbation, dirty (self) talk, brief daddy kink. This fic contains mature themes. Domestic violence. Grooming. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Nurse!reader. Kissing. Lots of dialogue. Bun considers making a friend. Penny is cute. Flirting. Touching. Comfort. Bun refers to herself as "heavy". Simon is Simon. POV switch. Dinner date.

“I’m Philip.”

The handsome brunette smiles, grabbing onto your hand. You blink, trying to understand, trying to make it make sense, when he prompts you with a teasing grin. “This is the part where you tell me your name, sweet thing.”

Oh. You stumble over it, tongue tied into a million knots, sweat from the Texas sun beating down your back, sweat slicking your shirt to your skin.

He’s still holding your hand, and you’re standing there with wide, doe eyes, shell shocked.

He’s… so handsome. And older. Older, and handsome. Polished type, with good teeth and good hair. He looks like he just stepped off the golf course.

Why is he talking to you?

He glances down at your drink.

“You even old enough to be drinkin’ that?”

“I-“ You’re terrible at lying, and like he can read it on your face, he chuckles.

“You live around here?”

“I go to Rice.”

“A bit young for college, aren’t you?”

“I just turned eighteen!” You’ve heard it a million times. You’re too young to understand something, or know something, or do something. You don’t get the way the world works yet. You’re not an adult.

He holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I bet you’re one of the really smart girls that make all us men look like Neanderthals.” Your face heats.

“N-no. I just… I graduated early. I’m not a know it all.” You defend yourself, desperate to create distance from the usual stereotype, the way most people see you. The way boys see you.

Too smart. Face buried in a book. Awkward and stiff. Uncool.

He traces you from head to toe, appreciative gaze grazing over the swell of your hips, the generous curve of your ass. “I didn’t think you were. Too mature for that, I bet.” He croons, and your knees go weak.

“Y-yeah. A lot of people say I’m really mature.”

Two things compete for your attention when you open your eyes.

One: there is a soft, lovely song playing downstairs, something spring-like and sweet, vibrant without being too loud.

Two: the house smells like pancakes.

You check your phone, shocked to see you’ve slept for yet another 12 hours. There’s a text from Nia, and a text from your boss.

>You have a lot of time accrued. Take as much as you need.

That settles that, you guess.

There are also text messages in the group chat, one from Simon, and one from Johnny, coming in only a few minutes ago.

Simon: >Penny gets pancakes on Saturday mornings. They’ll be plenty, come down and eat when you’re ready.

Johnny: >I’m missing all the good stuff.

You stretch, cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes, spreading your limbs as far as you can without pushing it too much. You’re sore, uncomfortably so, and still exhausted, but if you stay in bed any longer, you’ll rot.

In the kitchen, Simon holds Penny and a mixing bowl, alternating hands to get a whisk through the batter while humming to his daughter on her hip.

You stop dead in your tracks.

He’s… he’s not wearing the mask.

You stare at his face, his whole, naked face for the first time, taking in the broad jaw, every shiny white scar, and his (twice, if you had to guess) healed broken nose. He’s handsome, differently from Johnny but no less striking, and you can’t look away, stunned by his raw, depthless and rugged beauty. Penny’s leg has kicked up the hem of his shirt, exposing his midsection, and the flash of skin there feels like a scandal, something you shouldn’t be seeing but cannot get enough of. He looks nothing like you expected and yet… everything you hoped for.

“Morning.” Pen tucks her face into his chest shyly, peeking out from the corner of her eye, curious and cute. “Can you say good morning to bunny?” He bounces her a little, and she giggles.

"Bunny." She says quietly, and Simon laughs.

“That’s right. Good job.” After a second of silence, you try to ask him about the missing mask, but the question gets confused on your tongue, and what comes out instead is clumsy and stunted.

“Your mask.” You cringe, immediately. It’s the first thing that slips loose, insensitive, and uncouth. “I uh, I’m sorry, I’m just… surprised?” you falter, and makes it worse. You think about trying to run back upstairs, hightailing it for the hills when he smiles, and points to the empty stool at the kitchen counter with a batter covered whisk.

“Sit.” There’s already a stack piled high, plain, and ones with big, juicy blueberries. Your favorite.

“So, pancakes every Saturday?”

“Mhmm.” He settles Penny in her highchair to your left, and pulls an already cooled pancake from the stack, cutting it up into little, tiny pieces with a child’s knife and fork. “Pen and her Da,” he pads some butter across the top of his handiwork, grabbing her sippy cup and filling it with milk. “Have pancakes every Saturday when he’s home. It’s their favorite. Right?” He points at her, “your favorite?” and taps his middle finger to his chin, others outward, straight up. “Your favorite?” Signing?

“Are you teaching her sign?”

“Trying to. Pen’s birth mum is deaf. It’s important to us, that she’s able to connect with her when the time comes. Plus, my hearing is shot. So is Johnny’s. It’s a great way for her to communicate with us.” He strokes some fingers through her curls, and she doesn’t even look up, too busy shoveling as much pancake into her mouth as she can. You have a million questions now, curiosities bubbling to the surface, about Pen’s mum, about her life, about how she came to be their child. All too rude, and too invasive to ask. “Or, to use when she’s feeling sassy and can’t find the words. That happens, too.”

“She’s what…sixteen months?” You watch her intently, unable to not smile when she cheeses at her dad with a mouthful of food, even though your tender skin stings with the movement.

“Yeah. Top percentiles in a lot of things for her age. Said her first word before she was one.” He’s rich with pride, a deep well of love shining in his eyes, and you force your own down to the plate, stifling the ache bleeding from your heart.

“Of course she is.” Penny holds pieces of sticky, syrupy pancake with both hands, attacking them with vigor, smearing her cheeks purple with the squished blueberries.

You need to eat something, but your brain is buzzing, unnatural discomfort stretching long in the back of your mind.

What’re you doing? Sitting here eating pancakes like everything is normal? Like everything’s okay?

Everything is not okay.

You drift, back to your apartment, back the venom of Phillip, the hands around your neck, the twist of your shoulder, back slamming into the wall. You can still feel him, still hear him, these memories like all the others, your body beaten on the floor, mind nearly broken. Trying to shift away from the hot end of a cigarette, screaming for help, running through a-

A hand covers yours.

He coaxes the fork from your fingers, metal vibrating within flesh.

“I think… I think I should go back to bed.” You whisper.

“Are you tired?”

“No… yeah. I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to run away, you know.” He flips a pancake onto your plate from the stack. “Just because you were somewhere else for a little bit.” Your cheeks burn. “We’ve got a pretty nice couch in the living room though, if you want some time alone and don’t feel too keen on the stairs.” Saturday morning pancakes and curling up on the couch? It sounds so nice, so normal, and must show on your face, because he chuckles. “Help yourself. You might have to share the TV though, in a bit. We watch baby Einstein on Saturdays, and she’ll need some entertaining for a minute while I get ready.” Your lips twist, an entire hearth lighting up in the bottom of your heart.

“Alright.”

Baby Einstein is as enthralling as you thought it would be, though Penny disagrees. She stares at the screen, wide eyed, open mouthed, sippy cup long forgotten, and even Simon struggles to get her attention after returning from getting dressed.

You force your eyes away from the strain of his thighs in blue jeans.

“We’re goin’ down to the hospital.” He tells you, pulling her upward over the back of the couch and rubbing his nose through her curls. It’s still… weird, to see his whole face. To clearly watch his expressions, sublime bliss pushing his mouth upward whenever he looks at his daughter. “Want to come?”

“I can’t, not if I’m taking time off. It… looks bad to admin. I can probably go in at night but, during the day is just a recipe for disaster.”

“Of course.” He looks around, for what you don’t know, shoulders tensing, then relaxing. “Well, you’ve got the remote. And my number. Are you… going to be, okay? Alone?”

Say yes.

You can’t. All you can do… is nod.

“Okay well if you’re not. Just call.” You nod again, getting to your feet. Once you’re standing, you’re out of place, flailing in their living room, about to be here alone, with your memories, your poisoned mind.

What’re you doing? You’ve ruined everything. Broken all your rules.

“We can stay.” Simon steps close, hand grazing the middle of your back, and you shake your head.

“No, no- I… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t-“

“Yes, I do.” Your voice shakes, and you slam your eyes shut. You can’t do this. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m putting you in danger, and I… I’m putting myself in danger and I’m being so- so stupid, Simon.” His gaze is heavy, serious, and he steps around you, sliding Penny into her bounce seat, turning it to face baby Einstein.

“Listen to me.” As he returns, he reaches, carefully pulling you close, close enough you’re nearly in his chest, timing the rise and fall of his diaphragm. “We are safe, you are safe, sweetheart. ‘m not going to let anything happen to you, or Penny, or any of us. Alright?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Tell me.” You almost laugh, but something comes over you instead, something delirious and desperate. You lean into him, letting him hold you, hand smoothing over the back of your head. “You can tell me. You can trust us. We’ll take care of you.”

God, you want to. You want to so bad it aches, burns a ravenous fire in your heart. You want tell him, let them in. Tell them everything.

“Bun.” He murmurs, bringing you back, a finger under your chin.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s… it’s too much.”

“It’s alright.” He soothes, but doesn’t pull away, and you’re drawn in like a magnet, rising to the balls of your feet, stuck in a trance, luring you closer.

He meets your halfway.

And then-

He’s kissing you, plush lips on yours, pancakes and fresh laundry and stained-glass windows of sanctuary on his tongue.

You’re standing in the sun, in the trance of another spell.

It’s a mouthful of butterscotch and maple. Sweet, delicious breakfast in bed, lazy Saturday mornings and whispered, tender words. It’s life unlike your own, a home, the promise of a love not fractioned, chipped away, or strangled… but multiplied, magnified. His touch is painfully gentle, slow and easy, encouraging you to follow his lead, carefully constructing a tiny universe to disappear to, where shadow cannot touch. A fantasy, cocoon of stars, ambrosial and sacrosanct, an escape from the hell nipping at your heels, the hell chasing you through your dreaming and waking hours.

The anxious hum radiating through every cell in your body flatlines.

The girl in the mirror weeps.

Everything goes silent. Your breathing slows. Your hands fall to the side, listless and stunned.

Penny grunts. The moment shatters.

You can only stare with wide, terrified eyes.

“Johnny.” It’s the first word out of your mouth, the only thing you can conjure. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m sorry.” Johnny. Johnny’s not here. How can he kiss you when his partner isn’t here? His heart will be broken, you’re destroying their family, you’re-

“I kissed you, bunny. Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Simon hums, still holding your face. “Johnny’s okay. He’ll be a bit jealous he didn’t get one too, but he won’t be upset.”

“How?” the question squeaks, and he takes your hand, tugging you towards the couch, settling you back into the cushions, easily guiding you with deft hands. He's so careful, so gentle, the touch of a man who raises a daughter, who loves his partner, adroit and nimble, anticipating movement before it happens.

“After Penny goes down tonight, let’s have a drink. Or some late dinner. We can talk, and I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can. How’s that sound?” He strokes a thumb across the apple of your cheek. Talking can’t hurt, can it?

“O-okay. Yeah.” You try to shrug, pain lancing through your shoulder, and you try to smother your wince. He frowns.

“I want you to get some rest today.” A small grin creeps across your face.

“You always tell people what to do?” He nods, solemn.

“It’s my job. Takin’ care of you lot is an added bonus.” He breezes by the grouping of you with his family, like it’s a normal thing, rubbing circles in your palm. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

“I can-“

“I’m here. Let me help.” You don’t say anything at first. Can’t say anything, can’t formulate a response that encompasses everything you’re thinking and feeling, stuck on the mile high wall that is your fear and denial, afraid to jump. Afraid to fall.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask you to respond, He just… settles you, cautiously arranging the pillows to support your injuries, lets you sit there atop the wall, staring down at the ground where they wait. Patiently. He rubs your back and your good shoulder until you’re drifting away in heady, hazy dream world, unable to stir when he slips free, tucking the blankets in around you, and pressing another long, lingering kiss to your brow.

You wake in a panic to the doorbell ringing. Your heart races, and you’re up off the couch, tucked around a corner of the hall, hiding, in a blink, even though your shoulder and neck scream at the sudden change of position.

Breathe. You’re losing it. Philip wouldn’t ring a doorbell.

The door clicks open.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice echoes to where you’re still curled around the hallway, back pressed flat, eyes closed. “Hello? Anyone home?” Who is that?

You peek, like a child. Peering around to see a familiar woman with grocery bags in her hands, depositing them on the kitchen counter.

She spots you immediately.

“Hi!” She’s grinning, pretty and bright, pulling a carton of milk from a brown paper bag and putting it in the fridge. “I’m Lou. Sorry, did I scare you? I tried to ‘announce’ myself.” She makes bunny ears with her fingers before and after the word announce, with half of an eye roll. “John’s always telling me I have to when I come over. Can’t be giving anyone surprises, and I knew you were here. Just wasn’t sure if you’d be up for visitors. Sorry if I gave you a fright.”

“No, I…” you trail off, readjusting, giving her your name. She nods and smiles again. “I remember you. In front of the elevator that day.”

“Yeah, that was me.” She’s earnest in her focus, beaming at you, almost like she’s excited.

“You look a little different out of your cute scrubs.” That gives you a small laugh, and you smile honestly at her, flattered.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Oh no, you’re not. I was just… I’m fine.” She pulls a flat of eggs free and stacks them next to a colorful pile of produce.

“I do the store runs for Simon right now. It’s too much, with Johnny in hospital and taking care of Pen. We’ve been trying to lighten his load.” Guilt twists. And here you are, adding onto it.

“That’s very nice of you.” She waves it off.

“They’ve kept my husband alive a million times over. It’s the least I can do.”

“Right… they… work together?”

“Simon is semi-retired but yeah. They’re in a global task force. It’s the four of them. Have you met Kyle yet?”

“Oh, yeah. At the hospital one day.”

“Best guy, really.” Her clothes swish, warm and sweet aura practically glowing.

“Yeah, he was really nice.” She rests her hands on her hips and looks you over.

“You okay?” This woman is direct. She's got a no nonsense approach, and through intense, there's true ardor in her, passion and care.

“Yeah, I’m just… still recovering.” You don’t know what she knows, not sure what they’ve told her or John, so you’re not sure how much, or what even, to say.

“Simon told us, about you being mugged. I’m so sorry, it’s just awful.” She’s sincere in her sympathy, big brown eyes sad and considerate.

“It’s okay, thank you. I’m okay.”

“If you need anything, I’m always around. Or if you want to talk to another girl that isn’t a toddler.” It’s an olive branch of friendship, you realize, or the beginnings of, and you’re startled, considering it, wondering if it would be so bad… to have a friend.

“Thank you.” She gives you her number, and you tap it in, shooting her a text with your name.

“You should sit.”

“I can help with these.”

“No, no. No offense, but you look half asleep. I’ve got it.” You laugh even though it hurts, awkward half shrug with good shoulder, and agree.

“Yeah, I’m still recovering. It’s been slow.”

“I’m sure.” You sit at the counter, watching her organize the fridge with scary efficiency. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. Just had to drop these off.”

“Oh, you’re fine.” It’s nice. You’re nice. She feels safe, the proximity to Simon and Johnny naturally leading you to feel comfortable, knowing she’s welcomed by them, she’s a part of their life. It makes you feel more at ease, and you try to convey it without getting tangled up in awkward words.

You don’t know how. Not really sure how to make genuine friends anymore, so you just sit there and watch, listening to her talk, enjoying how she rambles a little bit, laughing at herself.

When she says goodbye at the door, she promises to text you the next time she’s coming by, so you’re not surprised, and you linger there, watching her go, wondering if it’s real, surprisingly mourning the loss of companionship already.

“Johnny misses you.” The ice in Simon’s rocks glass clinks together as he sips his bourbon, corner of his mouth lifting in a partial smirk. “Not too fond of his new nurse, I’m afraid. Think he’s spoiled now.”

“How is he?” You’re on the edge of your seat for an update, but not wanting to pry too much. It’s a delicate line, one where you don’t know on which side to stand.

“Good. Wrist fracture is nearly healed, so he’ll be able to start on crutches soon. Once he does, he’ll be doing physical therapy for most of his day, and ready to come home. Should be soon.” He really smiles now, and you mirror it, unable to deny the infectious bloom of happiness spreading from him to you.

“And his liver?”

“No complications. Grafts for his burn are in great shape. Hip is the trickiest part.”

“Yeah, they take a lot longer to heal, but I’m sure he’ll do a great job of it, just like everything else.”

“Thanks to you.” You sip your wine, citrusy peach and passionfruit coating your tongue. It’s a nice bottle, and you were surprised when Simon brought it home, bag of takeaway in one arm, Penny in the other.

“No.” Your cheeks heat. “I was just there. You guys did the hard work.”

“Wouldn’t have made it without you though. Think I would’ve lost it. Him too.”

“You would’ve been fine.” You brush it off, and he shakes his head.

“You’re too modest.” He drains his pour, uncapping the bottle on the coffee table between you and refilling it halfway. Glass on glass chimes, and you sink deeper into the couch, relaxing, tucking your knees up until you’re half curled into a ball, wine glass cradled between your palms.

“So…”

“I told you; you can ask me whatever you like.” You knew this was the case, but hesitance is still brimming in your heart, uneasy feelings festering beneath your skin, burning question shoving to the surface.

“Did you tell Johnny we kissed?”

“I did.”

“Was he upset?”

“Only because he feels like he’s missing out. I told him we’d make it up to him.” Fire enflames your skin. We?

“And by we you mean… us. Together. Like… the three of us.”

“I do.” The girl in the mirror screams. She doesn’t understand, why you continue to act against her better judgement. Why you’re entertaining something so, so dangerous, something so stupid.

“Simon, I… I can’t.”

“You keep saying that but look where you are, bun.” He motions to the table, takeaway cartons scattered across the top, half empty bottle of wine, his bourbon, and a baby monitor. It looks like a nice night in, a simple, sweet life, not even close to being your own.

Still, the girl in mirror combats. Still.

“This isn’t… this isn’t a thing it’s just… we’re hanging out. I’m not going to be here forever, I’m looking for a place and I-“ His face changes, flicker of shadow fading across his brow before being chased away by the sunlight in his eyes. You thought he'd be easier to read, without the mask, imagined you'd be able to place his expressions but you're just as confused and lost as ever.

“Slow down. There’s no need to look for a place to live.”

“W-what?” The wine has made you a little slow, a little sleepy, and you blink through the stupor.

“You’re still healing, sweetheart, and I know you're scared. I’ve known since the first day you stepped into Johnny’s room.”

“No.” You shake your head. Pain fizzles, numbed by alcohol, and your head swims.

“I know you weren’t mugged.” How? “I know you’re running from someone.” Oh god. The urge to get to your feet and bolt washes over you like a wave.

“I- I’m not.” The lie is bare-boned, pathetically unconvincing, and you know it. He knows it too; you can tell by the look on his face.

“You’re not ready to tell me, that’s fine. I’m patient. But you won’t be going anywhere if I don’t know you’re safe. And right now, to me, it doesn’t seem like you’re safe.” The pale yellow of your wine shines in the low lights of the living room, and you get lost in it, swirling around in his words, trying to put them together and pick them apart, desperate to understand what he means.

“Are you… are you saying you won’t let me leave?” You gulp. It’s a ridiculous conclusion, but the first one you jump to.

And in that, you know you’re giving too much away.

His face softens, and he reaches, pulling your free hand into his own, petting some sort of sequence into your skin.

“Of course not, sweetheart. I’d never, ever force you to do something you didn’t want to do. But I do want you to stay, here with us. Where we can keep you safe, take care of you.”

“I don’t need-“

“I know you don’t. I know you take care of yourself just fine.” The indignant roar in the back of your mind settles. “But I’d love an opportunity to do it instead.”

“Simon…”

“Did you know the cells in our body hold onto trauma? They carry imprints of traumatic events. It can change your biology, the way you function.” He squeezes your hand. “It’s hard to realize… that it’s not normal, the way you might be, the way you think, or do things, when you’re carrying the physical memory of terrible things.” He’s not talking about you. There’s a fleeting flash of sadness in his eyes, ghosts circling the drain around his irises, and your heart aches. “We can help you. I don’t know who you’re hiding from, but I can guess what they’ve done- look at me.” You force your eyes back to him, and he cups your cheek. “You do not have to be afraid here. You are safe with me, with us. I know you don’t believe it, and I’ll tell you as many times you need, but it will never not be true. We can help you.”

“You don’t know… you don’t know what you’re saying.” Your denial is steadfast. They cannot possibly understand.

A small seed of light blooms under darkness. It’s the sun, struggling to break free, trying to drag you into its warm, golden rays. It tugs and tugs, clawing towards you, illuminating the path forward.

The words come out before the girl in the mirror can stop them.

“You don’t know him. He’s sick and… powerful. He’s a monster but he’s smart, has connections, has ways of doing things that… I don’t even know. He’d kill you.” You clap your hand over your mouth in shock, surprised at yourself. It’s the most you’ve said about Philip in years.

You expect pushback. Expect Simon to flinch, or cower, or have good sense… a rational reaction to being told someone might try to hurt him.

He smiles instead, settling back on his side of the couch.

“I’d just have to get to him first, then.” Is he… is he? Simon watches you, reaches into your brains to peer inside, rooting around in your head. The way he looks at you, like he knows everything you’re feeling, can see what you're thinking, makes you shiver, makes you feel like you’re a tiny mouse in the shadow of a mountain. He sighs. “Give us a chance.”

“A chance?”

“A chance, to know you. Let us in, let us try. Stay here, with us, spend time with me and Johnny and Pen. No strings attached. If you decide it’s not for you… we’ll understand.”

No strings attached.

You could pick up and leave if you wanted. If you had to.

What’re you doing?

“How does it work? Would we all…” you trail off, confused.

“Date?” Simon finishes gently. “Yes.”

“So, you guys are… bi?” He chuckles.

“Yes, sweetheart. We’re bi.”

“Is this… a thing? Something you guys do?”

“We’ve never taken another partner before, no.” Your eyes widen. “You’re our first.” You don’t know why, but knowing is exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time. You’re their first.

He’s talking about it like it’s already happened.

Fatigue settles in around you, thick fog of it draping over your shoulders and clouding your head.

“I… I don’t know.” You stifle a yawn. “I need to think.” He abandons his perch for one next to you, pulling your wine glass free and setting it on the table.

“Tired?” His fingers sweep over your cheek, skin warming under his touch.

“Mhmm.” You mumble, sleepily. Your head is very heavy, suddenly, hard to hold up.

“Alright.” He stands, bending to slide an arm under your knees, the other supporting your back in one fluid movement.

“What are you doing?” You squeak, grabbing onto him as he rises, lifting you into his chest at full height. Panic floods your nervous system, fevered tone pitching into a plea. “Put me down! I’m too heavy. Please, I’m too heavy, you can’t-“

“I’ve lifted a car off a teammate before.” He tells you, the thick of his body beneath your ear vibrating. “And I’ve dug Johnny out of a collapsed concrete wall. I’m made to pick things up, bunny. Heavy or not.” He holds you right there, all the way up the stairs, down the hall to the guest room, before settling you back on your feet, big hands around your waist for balance. Your back is to his chest now, and his nose drifts across the top of your head, slow path of his fingers stroking down your hip. “Alright?” He asks, and you nod, throat too dry to speak.

He squeezes. You stifle a gasp, resist the urge to press your thighs together.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched, since anyone has handled you with reverence, with affection. You almost don’t recognize it.

His hand drifts, slipping between your thigh and cheek. “This okay?” He murmurs, and you manage a rough yes, word sticky and thick in your throat. Yes. Yes, don’t stop. A fingertip strokes along the crease there, back and forth, before trailing upward. He takes as much of your flesh in his palm as he can, squeezing again, caressing, mouth skimming along your neck.

“Oh.” you breathe. The room is warm, barely lit by the bedside lamp, and you burn in the dark, sensations sparking alive that have long laid dormant.

The girl in the mirror curses you.

“Need help getting to bed?”

“N-no.” Yes! “I’m… fine.” His lips touch your cheek, then your ear, breath blowing over you, firm, solid warm mass at your back exhaling shakily.

“Get some sleep.” He steps away, but not before he swings, slowly, softly, into the pillow plush of your ass. It’s a gentle tap, but the fire between your legs roars. “Goodnight, bun.”

“G-goodnight.”

Simon's got his sweatpants and boxers off before he's even fully in the bathroom, running right into the shower, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock as the water flicks on. It's not hot enough, but he doesn't even notice, cock heavy in his grip, tip already smeared wet with pre-come.

"Fuck, bunny." He grits, trying to stay quiet but unable to hold his tongue.

He's awful, for this. Awful for doing this after you've had such an emotional night. Awful for touching you when you're still healing, awful for grabbing a handful of your ass and imagining sliding his dick through the space between those cheeks. He can't stop, strokes himself long, squeezing the base and pulling up and back as he imagines you on all fours, perfect globe perked up in the air for him, his cock sinking into your soaking wet pussy as you moan. He knows you would make the prettiest sounds for them, sweet gasps and cries, bouncing on Johnny's cock in his lap.

"Hop like a bunny." He'd coo, and you'd whine, riding Johnny as Simon coached you until you were so close, almost there on the edge. "Show daddy how bad you want to come, little bunny."

He jerks himself harder, eyes closed, imagining the ripple of your flesh, the way you'd bounce so perfectly, how Johnny would be gripping your hips with his head tipped back, throat exposed for Simon to nip and suck a mark into.

His bunny. His boy.

His toes curl. Water streams down his back, slicking his skin, forearm burning with each stroke, imagination running wild as he gets closer and closer, thinking about you and Johnny and him together, finally, your legs spread wide in front of their faces, perfect pussy on display. He can almost hear the way you'd whisper their names, and it blinds him, fills his head with white light. He knows you're beautiful when you come, as beautiful as you are when you let your guard down and give him a real smile, as beautiful as you are everyday, so pretty and perfect, kind, even as a ghost. He imagines it, pictures it, the sight of his and Johnny's come leaking out of your hole, fingers shoving it back inside, marking you as theirs.

He comes with your name on his lips, a strangled whisper, painting the tile with himself.

He falls asleep with a new addition in their bed, on top of Johny's t shirt and the baby monitor... there's now a long sleeved tee, plucked from your dirty laundry this morning as he was getting ready to leave. It smells like you, something he wishes he could bottle, and he holds it close, tied in tandem with Johnny's, curled in his arms on top of the pillow.

#simple math #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #ghost x soap #if you saw my technical difficulty earlier no you didn't!

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shanieveh · 8 months

Text

“ forget me not... ”

synopsis: neuvillette, too late to confess his love to you, is drowning from the suffering and regret that came along with it, especially after knowing that you felt the same all along.

tags: gn!reader x neuvillette, depression and low self-esteem, bittersweet ending, mentions of freminet, lynette and melusines, heavily implied reader death and neuvillette also kinda wanting to die

a/n: people want this and i have came to deliver (hopefully) enjoy~ this is my first long fic that i published

How can this be….?

Neuvillette sat in the corner of his office, all your letters in his right hand. How can you say you loved him… how dare you describe the love, the passion, everything you felt for him when he can't even say it back.

How can you love someone so unlovable?

His silent cries can't match up to the violent outbursts of the skies outside. Days went by when he first found out, the melusines were scared to death about who would report it to him. The way you dissolved into water, not even seeing you for the last time—not having the privilege to have a proper funeral.

He failed you… the monsieur wasn't too sure on many things but this one was certain.

Reading your diaries, knowing your thoughts and hopes for the future. It was an invasion of privacy but also in a way… the last remnants of your existence. One such entry was that of three years ago where you first met.

Encountering this, a profuse blush colored his face. The adjectives being used "handsome", "tall" and "kind" for your first meetingwith the chief justice. Far from the truth really, although Neuvillette knew you meant every word.

You always did.

You always were an honest person.

The very first day his lavender eyes met yours, to the very last. There was never a trace of impurity or a hint of a liar. Of course, the verdict went in your favor, because to him a precious rose like you can never steal and the plaintiffs were wrong.

Reading it now, not even a slightly negative comment was made to those who wrongly accused you.

"Maybe they had their reasons, after all, I was also in need of money at that time." you wrote. Adding on that you defended the "Monsieur Neuvillette" when people called "such a man of honor and kindness" a "merciless and arrogant man".

A man of honor and kindness? Your words became running thoughts in the hydro dragon's head. That day was one of the only days he didn't cry after a trial. Neuvillette was just happy that such a person of integrity was cleared of their name.

He turned through the pages of the diary, how you taught him to socialize and even mend his relationship with the hydro archon.

"Monsieur Neuvillette was too adorable! Being with a person of lowly status and treating me with such respect and humility, he truly is the epitome of mercy and loveliness."

How can you be so blind? Anyone with eyes will know that it's a privilege to be with someone so beautiful, especially to be with someone like Neuvillette. A cold and repulsive soul. You make him sound like a good person, when in fact he isn't both good and human.

He was a monster… these words of humanity you always used to describe a monster. Why do they sound so genuine? Why do they look so real? Maybe only you can make him like that, you and only you.

A few pages later he finally saw the words…

Words that should've made him scream in euphoria… tore him to a million pieces. Because even before this he already loved you… because you had so much time to confess but never did… and never will.

"I think I'm in love with the chief Justice."

And after that, he couldn't even get himself to read, he couldn't. His eyes got so blurry to see, his heart became too heavy to feel. Why were you… why you? In a world filled with monsters, they chose an angel. They chose a soul that still wanted to live, love and give. Those demons… despicable.

Remembering his shortcomings, maybe in some way he could've avoided all of this. Neuvillette shouldn't have given you his blessing to investigate the serial disappearance case.

But that glint of adventure in your eyes… he was too soft to reject you.

It was all his fault.

Wiping his tears he looked at the last entry of the diary… Oh.

Oh.

"After this investigation, I'll finally confess to him… I surely hope Neuvillette feels the same way, I even planted some forget-me-nots to give him in the backyard so that he'll know when it rains and he weeps. I will always be here."

The chief justice didn't know what was coming to him but he started running… and only then can he see the state of Fontaine. Many flowers have wilted and only a few people were outside. What had he become..?

"What's up with this weather? It isn't even the rainy season yet?!" A shop owner complained.

"I know! My crops have been drowning these days, at this rate if it doesn't stop we'll have a famine!"

It was all his fault, his running turned to a slow walk taking in all that he had done. This was all because of him. The lonely streets, the lowered morale. This was all because—

"Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, please don't cry!"

He turned to the voice and saw a young boy in the distance. Neuvillette remembered now, his name was Freminet. That child on which you doted extremely, giving him sweets and hushing his tears. The chief justice quickly let go of his gaze and continued to walk.

"You see Freminet, it didn't work... let's go inside."

The response was that of a stoic young woman, but he just continued his legs even if they wanted to rest all to see the last thing you cared for… those flowers. And when he finally was at the destination he saw it immediately outside.

It was in the bushes, he couldn't miss it. Every corner of your house was haunted, every tiny thing was a memory. The chairs you painted, the drawings pinned in the cabinet of you and him with the melusines. It was precious. All of it. Just as you are.

He finally saw them, most were almost to bloom and some were wilted. Picking one he unconsciously kissed it, perhaps mistaking it for you. These flowers were made to remind him he was never alone, but now he is.

More alone than he can ever be in one lifetime. Your scent still filled every corner, a remembrance of the biggest "what if" in his life. Your will stated that every single thing of yours is his just as you were always his. Bittersweet was he when reading it.

Neuvillete forgot that too included your house, maybe he was too consumed with your thoughts to visit this place. He was twisting the poor flower that looked so tiny compared to his hand. Perhaps that's what it's like to be with him. It's a curse…

He continues to caress the flowers, to treat them as if they were you. You were wrong on one thing about this, even if there were no flowers he will never forget you. Never, no way! The love he has for you can destroy nations and can cause millions of sacrifices. Just to keep you, to see your smile again.

But he can't even do that, you didn't give him the privilege to do something for you. If only he knew, he would've… done everything for you. The love that can create the strongest of floods failed to protect the one person he was supposed to protect.

At that moment, he felt the waters, the ocean, his home… you. It made his crying bearable, somewhat. Grief that could surpass a lifetime, wasn't enough. Nothing he can do will ever be enough to have you again. Perhaps he should also leave this world to stop being a burden to the people… and maybe to see you again.

"Neuvillette…"

Now he was even imagining your voice, or was he? Maybe he was delusional but he still followed your voice even if it took him to an unknown path. But the end was in a small pond, where you used to keep the fish, all of which were alive and well.

"Neuvillette…?"

At this he didn't even care if was going insane, your voice sounded like a melody even if it uttered his name. It sounded like a rare jewel, a myth, a prophecy too good to be true.

"Darling?" He replied in a hopeful tone. He looked through his surroundings, no longer was he in a pond but a terrain of boundless water. In the middle was a flying Oceanid, a spirit. Was it—could it be?

"Even I could feel the heavy pouring of rain, monsieur… don't be sad."

It was indeed your spirit, a part of you that remained before that bastard—he'll make whoever did this pay. It wasn't for justice anymore, this one is for revenge.

"How can I not? When I have failed you over and over again, I couldn't even get to say…"

"That you love me?"

His eyes widened, looking at you. Even if it didn't look like you, he knew… he always did. A nod soon followed after that, it was barely noticeable even at this rate the chief justice was a bit shy saying it.

"I just don't know why you could ever say you love me, how you could even think of me so kindly. Why? How? How can you love me back?" He was clueless to what you mean.

"How can I not?"

The reply you uttered was one of a teary-eyed person. Even to this moment you still haven't accepted you had died, not when he was still alone needing you.

"Just as you said… how can I not? You out of all people my dear… know of the sacrifices we make for the person we love."

It was that moment where you took your normal form, you looked beautiful as the day he lost you. As beautiful as the day you met. And as you walked towards him, the clock ticking until your final goodbye, it was time.

"I love you Neuvillette, i always had and continue to do so." For the last time, you cupped his cheek and kissed him.

"I love you, darling from the very beginning and every single lifetime to come." He let go of the kiss and hugged you tight, closing his eyes, until you disappeared not knowing he was hugging his own.

Opening his eyes, the rain was long gone, and what remained were the flowers in the bushes, the ponds, the fish, and him. Maybe… just maybe he will bring you and the other victims to light.

Until then, this one last encounter and goodbye will make him content. He was sure… that finally his love will be at rest.

#neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x reader #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x gender neutral reader #neuvillette #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette angst #neuvillette imagines #neuvillette drabbles #genshin angst #genshin imagines

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picturebird · 1 month

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Some Asexual/Aromantic Reminders for Fandom

1. There is no justification for thinking “I like this character better when they’re not aro/ ace.”

Aces/aros aren’t better when they’re allos.

Gays aren’t better when they’re straight.

What that really says: “I don’t like asexuality. I don’t like aromantics.” No matter how you dress it up.

I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain why this is wrong. No character is better when you make them less special.

2. Saying “asexuals can have sex” is a huge oversimplification. When aces have sex it doesn’t make them allosexual, they don’t feel the same things. It doesn’t mean they even enjoy sex. It doesn’t mean they can have sex with a partner. It doesn’t mean they can do it more than once. And it doesn’t mean they have “fixed” themselves and can now love properly.

When bisexuals have sex with someone of the opposite gender it doesn’t make them straight. It doesn’t mean they “fixed” their homosexuality.

3. Erasure can happen in cannon and head cannon. You don’t have to be a professional to participate in it. When social media is flooded with images of an asexual character in sexual situations with no acknowledgement of asexuality, it’s impossible to see the asexuality through it. Maybe it’s not erased, it’s buried in an avalanche.

4. I can name five canonical Aro or Ace characters. The rest are allosexual. In every movie, book, tv show, and comic that’s ever been written. Throughout all of time.

Sherlock Holmes (original novels) who is constantly paired non platonically with Irene Adler or John Watson in his incarnations. No hate on those ships, just pointing out an example.

SpongeBob SquarePants who is asexual because real life sea sponges are asexual.

Rafael Santiago (Shadowhunter Chronicles) who was portrayed in the books as cold and indifferent to people’s feelings.

Isaac (Heartstopper) whose entire story is about being Asexual.

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) who actually has a personality, a backstory, goals outside of being accepted as asexual, a dynamic story arc, and complex relationships with friends/enemies that are actually fun to watch. Honestly the best ace/aro rep I’ve ever seen: a guy with no interest in sex who actually has a sense of humor!

When the ratio is a million: 5, it’s not ridiculous for aces and aros to ask people to ship someone else as allosexual. Literally anyone else. This can’t possibly be the only option.

5. Creators have a history of not defending asexual/aromantic characters. They don’t fight to make sure people respect their sexuality. It’s always better for business and social media trends to encourage shipping. Sex sells. Romance too. They may be the authority on a character, that doesn’t mean they’re an authority on aces/aros.

6. You can’t show a visual of someone being asexual or aromantic. Not in the same way you can show two girls kissing or men getting married. You can show platonic relationships, but that doesn’t prove the absence of attraction. All fan art with ace/aro people requires context. It’s not hard to scribble a note here or put in a tag or something. It’s also super sweet to see in a post.

7. Shipping and fandom should be about fun. Fun for everyone. Ship freely and kindly.

#asexuality #aromantic #Alastor #hazbin alastor #Hazbin hotel #sherlock holmes #Rafael Santiago #isaac heartstopper #heartstopper #spongebon squarepants #shipping #fandom #Sherlock #the shadowhunter chronicles

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audisive · 11 days

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♪ MILLION DOLLAR MAN. (💌)

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: you need a bodyguard, and simon's the only one you can trust. for now.

tags: fluff, angst (ish), hurt/comfort, romance, soft!simon, bodyguard!ghost, model!reader, trust issues, hints to a panic attack, you have a bad dad (and family)

There's an ugly yellow folder on your vanity, sticking out like a sore thumb.

That's the first thing you see.

There's a hitch in your breath before you speak. "Vel," you walk over to your desk and call out to the lovely girl with your coat over her arm, your favorite maid. "What's this?" With manicured nails, you pick up the folder cautiously with the feeling of familiarity and déjà vu.

Veliana tilts her head to the side, the clueless little bird she is. "A folder, miss." You huff a smile out at her simple response, the pretty little thing never knowing better. "Please give Noah a call." You tell her and she nods her head automatically, still smiling at you.

When she carefully places your coat on the rack, she scurries off to who knows where. You're left in the comforts of your too-large room, a delicate piece of work that you'd paid thousands of dollars for after your face had snatched the interests of magazines, reporters, and such. You find that there are even uglier men inside when you open the flimsy thing in your hand.

Veliana is breathless when she comes back to you like the obedient girl she is, handing over the phone with your manager's name on it.

"What's wrong, darling girl?" Noah asks, annoyance seeping into his tone despite the usual pet name. "What's with the profiles?" you question right back, flipping through the folders, carefully scanning each gruesome man with horrifying detail. You already know the answer, but you dread it.

"About time you actually considered my suggestion," he voices out. "You need a new bodyguard."

You find that your new bodyguard is just as noticeable as the folder you threw away without much thought. There's people staring at him when they would be gawking at you.

Simon Riley is a trusted man; at least that's what you try to tell your manager. A remarkable 6'4 military man who should be off in a bar with beer – he drinks whiskey, imbecile – or resting in a broke-down apartment, not babysitting his model of a friend. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded it if he acted just a little annoyed at you, but he doesn't even spare you so much as a glare. You're not sure if you should be glad or not.

You have to admit that you do feel a little smug when your manager avoids yelling at you with Simon glaring daggers at him. Then again, there's this anxious feeling pooling at your stomach when he gets a little too close. He's certainly scarier than the last one.

His large hand calms you down when it lands on your lower back and sneaks his warmth through your thin clothing. You let out a breath, as if he'd just commanded you to do so without a word.

Simon should be in his awfully empty apartment, sleeping the day off or making a small trip to the groceries for necessities fresh out of deployment. But when he opened the door to you, who's clearly so troubled and almost begging to help you out with.. whatever it was you asked, how could he say no?

"It's just temporary, I swear. I just need some time to do a proper background check on the other bodyguards."

Given that your shitty father's in jail with unfinished as well as illegal business, it wouldn't be proper of him to let a civilian walk around with danger right at her back. That's what he says to himself, anyway.

He's just not so sure he signed up for the right job as a bodyguard. Truth be told, he would've preferred to be your boyfriend.. but as long as he has rights to protect you, then he won't complain.

He's well aware of the men coming for your neck for a variety of reasons. Some out of jealousy – Simon thinks that the fashion industry might as well be a warzone. Maybe that's why he accepted this in the first place – and some because of your problematic family.

He's also heard about your past cowardly bodyguards, if you can even call them that after they'd left you in the face of death. It's a wonder how you're still alive, but he wouldn't dare question it.

It doesn't help, not really, when there's an ear-deafeaning explosion and a panicked angel in his arms, clutching onto him for dear life. "Simon," you all but whimper, labored breaths and uncontrollable tears slipping out of you.

He hushes you, coos at you as sweet as he possibly can. He soothes you and cradles you against his chest as he shoots back at death and carries you to safety when the storm of chaos calms. And he never leaves. Not once.

Not even when you're well and sitting on the cold bed of an even colder hospital room. You'd begged him to stay and lay with you, and when he does, you insist that you owe him your life, and he tells you he's just doing his job.

Still, you can't help that you push yourself closer to him. "Thank you," you whisper, "for staying."

"'M yours to keep." Simon gruffs out, "my loyalty and life belongs to you. All of it." And so does his heart.

(bodyguard!ghost is just modern knight!ghost to me :3c)

divider by @cafekitsune !

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blingblong55 · 4 months

Text

My kind of love -Keegan P. Russ

Based on a request:

Just a thought : Keegan strikes me as the guy who would hold wife! reader close to him when they sleep in their bed. Or he'd carry her when he finds her asleep on the couch. ---- F!Reader, fluff/romance, established!relationship, boyfriend!keegan, cuddling ----

A/N: thanking Bon Iver and Niall Horan for this fluff🙏

It's four in the morning, Keegan comes home after nearly ten months of deployment, his duffle bag placed on the floor. Steps soft to not wake you up, after all, he is meant to surprise you with his early arrival. As he was about to go and check on the dog, who slept by the sofa, he noticed a blanket, your blanket. He approaches you, his gaze softens the second he watches his beautiful sleeping. You look so peaceful, so calm and in this moment when things for months went so wrong, this view is all he can adore.

"My love, I'm home," Keegan whispers, in his arms, he carries you to bed. They say people have a certain amount of luck and you are proof of that. Maybe out there in the cruel world, he doesn't have much luck but in this place, a warm, cosy and safe place he calls home, he knows luck is there. No one can say they are lucky because they don't have you and he does. A million men can say your name, a million more can watch you but just one gets to come home to you. One man in a sea of billions gets to kiss you, to listen to your ramble about crazy theories, to listen to you hum a tune and to love you and be loved back.

That man is him and in this precise moment, he knows why he proudly waited day and night to hide that ring in his pocket. If he wasn't a romantic, he would propose to you right here right now but he wants that moment to be magical because his precious girl deserves it. "Keegan, it's you," your voice so soft. Fuck, why must you make his heart melt like this? Why must you- damn you! Why do you love him? Why do you see what others don't and why must you make him blush just from the sound of your voice? Couldn't you be any less cruel to his weakened heart? Oh but he loves it, he loves that voice, that touch and stare, he loves the kisses and the 'Did your job go well? Are you hurt? Did you miss me?' he loves it all.

"Of course, it's me, darling," he sets you down on the bed and covers you with the sheets. "I'll be back," his lips touched your soft skin before leaving to take a short shower. You lay in bed, not being able to sleep without him anymore, you wait for him. Once he snuggles to you, you can feel his fresh skin, how his embrace wraps you with love and with care. "Did everything go to plan?" you ask as you nuzzle your face on his chest, a low chuckle escapes his lips as he brushes your hair. "It did, which is surprising," he kisses the top of your head and drapes his leg over yours.

In a warm bed, you and he lie, legs intertwined like they are the perfect match. Your back to his chest, soft breathing filling the room. As you close your eyes, he finds himself admiring your beauty from his angle. His arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close for the rest of the night as the other arm caresses your head. His fingers brush through the hair, and slowly, they make their way to your forehead, where he slowly catches himself falling asleep.

Until morning and maybe even after being awake, he keeps you in his hold and under those warm bed sheets. "I love you to the moon and back- no, let's keep going beyond the moon," he whispers as he keeps holding you close. If only he dared to propose already and make you his missus. But only the brave wait for the exact right moment.

Tags:

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writingstoraes · 10 months

Text

secret trip 🛫

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: this seemed like a really cute idea so! lmk what u guys think 🤍 requests for charles imagines are open btw! pls send some cause my own ideas r betraying me rn lolol

about: the entire grid seems to be going to italy together, fans can't seem to put the pieces together!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, ferrarifan, wagsf1, and 234,110 others

yourusername with love, italy

isahernaez Have fun, babes ❤️

yourusername wish you were here 😣

wagslove SOOO GORGEOUS

charles_leclerc My beautiful angel

yourusername love you, handsome :D

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55, maxverstappen, and 1,334,982 others

charles_leclerc Loving the view a little too much, loving my muse the most.

f1films Charles and Y/N vacationing in Italy is something I never knew I needed

mercgirl I think they're with some of the drivers, check their stories

pierregasly Have the best time 😝

arthurleclerc No picture of me?

charles_leclerc Leave the hotel for once?

carlossainz55 and pierregasly recently added to their instagram stories!

danielricciardo and landonorris recently added to their instagram stories!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, pascale_leclerc, and 345,892 others

yourusername good food, good times, and the best people ❤️

pierregasly Someone pass the salt

carlossainz55 Why did you feel the need to ask that here pierregasly Why do you wanna know? 🙄

charles_leclerc No one told me Max gets wine drunk...

yourusername i say whoever ordered the wine takes care of him danielricciardo That champagne saving me right now 🤣

ferrarihorse I didn't know all of you were all so close omg this is adorable

charlesfearless italy with my loml and friends... now i want that

yourusername and charles_leclerc recently added to their instagram stories!

Trans: Nothing I'd love more than spending a lifetime with you.

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, isahernaez, and 501,221 others

yourusername the answer to the million dollar question — why everyone seems to have flown to italy, well it's because today, i married the love of my life who also happens to be my best friend and my answered prayer.

i have had the best time conquering the world with you, my love. from the big romantic moments to the small mundane things, you make life more pleasurable. here's to forever 🥂

tagged: charles_leclerc

charlosfan aaaa an intimate wedding! truly one of the best option, congratulations to my favorite couple <3

yourusername thank you love! it really was nice being surrounded by close friends and family ❤️

scuderiaferrari Best wishes, Y/N and Charles! We still remember your first paddock appearance as a couple; time truly has flown!

charlieferrari I KNEW ITTTT MY FRIEND OWES ME 50 DOLLARS LOL

yourusername hahaha thank you for the faith then 🙏

lewishamilton Congratulations once again, you two! What an honor to be there as you celebrate a new milestone in your life together 🎉

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, arthurleclerc, lewishamilton, and 1,982,221 others

charles_leclerc Exactly five years ago, I could not resist asking for your first name just so I could see you again. Today, you took mine.

J'ai hâte de passer ma vie à t'aimer. I cannot wait to spend my life loving you.

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly Haha you weren't best man carlossainz55

carlossainz55 You weren't either?

maxverstappen Time to bring out the wine 🍷

charles_leclerc No landonorris No danielricciardo With love, no

carlossainz55 Overflowing best wishes, mate! You owe me for actually sending Y/N the text of you wanting to ask her out 😁

---------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12

notes: believe it or not this prompt has been gathering dust on my notes lol lmk what u guys think! also lmk if anyone wants to be a part of my permanent taglist :)

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saerins · 5 months

Text

⋆୨ chapter three ୧˚ for a while, you were all mine

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: chapter two - a million miles away, still you connect me in your way <> next: chapter four - behind a box of reasons why ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 6.3k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, jealousy/paranoia, third parties, yn and sae finally sharing one bed | notes: eeep this was long i’m sorry !! more of the other girl here heh ^_< also mwah thank you to all of you who’s reading ily !! <3

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t right of you to go through your husband’s stuff. Maybe you should’ve just looked at that little black box and left it there and continue to be ignorant.

But no. In this world, you’re nosy and greedy and you wanted to know who exactly it is that Itoshi Sae of all people can’t get over and now you have exactly what you were looking for.

After extensive research—and by research you mean scrolling through your husband’s social media (all of them), you managed to find her tagged in a post buried way below on his Facebook wall. Silver lining is: there’s nothing recent. The bad part? Judging by the date, they’ve known each other for a long time.

Apparently her name is Mirin, and her family’s made up of a whole slew of top lawyers in the whole of Japan. There’s not a lot on her Facebook, but her Instagram is a whole other story. Her posts the last few years put her somewhere in Europe, and judging by the content, she’s been studying there for a while. But before that, back when the posts were all in Japan, you catch a few photos of Sae. Some of them have Oliver and Eita, and a couple of other guys you haven’t met before.

It’s really wrong of you to do this, only because you know you’re just setting yourself up for a world of paranoia, but you can’t stop. You move over to the pictures she’s tagged in, and there’s one from Oliver that catches your attention.

Because it’s dated a few weeks back.

The first of two photos show Oliver, Eita, Sae and the same guy you saw back in Mirin’s feed—the one with jet black spiky hair. They’re in a bar, you presume, sitting around a private booth with a ton of alcohol in the ice bucket on the table. You recognise his attire; it’s from the very first night Sae bothered to sit down at the dining table and eat with you.

The second makes your heart crash to the floor. In the photo, in Sae’s place is Mirin herself, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a skin-tight red dress that you wouldn’t ever think of wearing. (One, because it’s much too revealing for your own taste, and two, well, just because you’re more of an oversized t-shirt kind of girl.)

All you can take away from what you saw is that Mirin is now back in Japan. Coupled with the fact that Sae had been gone even though he was off from work for those first few days of your marriage, you deduce what you wish isn’t true—was he meeting up with her all this time? Even

Trying to avoid falling into utter madness, you grab your phone and text your ever-trusty best friend.

Reo, meet you at our usual. ASAP!!!

Just as you’re about to leave the house, Sae gets back from wherever he’s been (which now you can’t help but wonder whether he was meeting Mirin), and you run right into his chest.

“Careful, busy?” Sae asks, which is more than Sae usually does and you realise just how low the bar is set right now.

Still, you answer him like you always do. “Yeah I’m gonna meet Reo for a bit,” you tell him, biting back a snarky comment about Mirin.

Even with those doubts of Sae in your head, you can’t help but stop to appreciate how he hands you your keys from the key hanger before you forget, or how his other hand is gripping onto yours, warm and just slightly calloused. It’s the first time you’ve felt them since that day at your own wedding.

“Take your time, I’ll handle our dinner tonight,” he tells you, and you think that’s already a lot considering that he’s never really bothered with anything the past few weeks, but then you feel a soft sensation against your forehead—very brief, so unfamiliar, way too soft—and then it’s gone in just a second and it’s way too quick that it has you doubting its existence at all.

All you hear is a soft “see you” before the door shuts behind you, and then there’s only the erratic beating of your heart that fills your ears.

“Yikes.”

“Very helpful, thanks,” you sigh exasperatedly as you plop down onto the cushioned seat across from Reo.

Reo laughs, handing you your phone back, open to Oliver’s Instagram account. “Then ask for a divorce, I’m sure he’d happily oblige if all of that’s true.”

“You know why I can’t, Reo,” you remind him, close to giving up.

Reo nods, remembering about your parents and deciding not to make matters worse. “Did you ask him about it though?”

You frown, glaring up at your best friend who’s now happily sipping on his cold brew. “And let him guess that I was stalking his ex? Sure I did.”

Reo snorts at your sarcasm. He thinks it’s funny how you’re oddly meek in front of Sae, and yet you’re snappish around him. Comes with the many years of being best friends, he supposes. But on that note, “you think there’s something going on between them?”

For the first time, Reo sees you helpless, eyes staring into nothing, index finger idly tracing circles on the polished wooden surface. “I don’t know,” because all you know is that you’re already exhausted from overthinking all the things they could be doing behind your back. “But… he’s always away and he says it’s work when I know it’s not. And she’s back and they were at the same place and urgh, I don’t know what to do.”

By that last line, you’re already burying your head in your hands, slumped against the table, Reo watching on as you grumble in frustration. He chuckles, gently patting your head before you look up at him, “what if they’re just friends right now?”

“It’s still weird, isn’t it? I mean… from the looks of it, they were pretty serious at one point.” Your words are all muffled because you’re pretty sure this is you being jealous now—thanks to Sae considerably warming up to you (be it at his own sluggish pace), it’s hard not to feel anything for him. In a way, you’re learning to like a lot about him, but there’s this unshakeable doubt you can’t brush off in the form of his ex.

Reo leans back against his chair now, pondering out loud. “Hmm I wonder what that reminds me of.”

In a second, you know all too well what he’s referring to, and you find yourself unable to look him in the eye. “That’s… different. We didn’t act on it.”

He rests his elbow on the table, head resting against his fist, “yeah but… we were still each other’s first kiss, right?”

“But we didn’t amount to anything.”

“Except that we’re best friends now,” Reo tells you, and you know he’s trying to get a point across but you’re not sure you want to understand it.

“And that’s all we ever were, Reo.”

Smiling, Reo leans forward a little, cautious at keeping his voice down. It won’t do if people misunderstand and word gets around. “Listen, I don’t know about you, but you were all I wanted at one point. For more than just that one day under the cherry blossoms, more than that one time I stole your first kiss.”

It stuns you a little to hear it, because any romantic emotions between the two of you were never said or shared. Both you and Reo knew back then that your parents wouldn’t ever be in favour of him and his rebelliousness that you both just decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. At that time, when you were both foolish kids, having that something intangible was enough. Maybe it faded for you faster than it had for Reo, but he knew that it once existed. Even if only for a second.

“And?”

You’ve gone soft now, and Reo knows you understand. You’re just in denial.

“Are you sure Sae would feel the same if he knew about it? If he knew I used to love you too?” Reo asks you, genuinely wondering for himself.

You’re about to argue that Sae doesn’t even care, but putting yourself into his shoes, you get where Reo’s coming from. History is history. No matter how long ago it was or how short the relationship (or lack of one) was, the feelings still existed, once upon a time.

Still, you have a feeling that there’s more than meets the eye. Especially if Sae has to hide it all the time. He’s never even said her name to you, if they met at all.

“Anyway look, do you want me to try asking Oliver about it? I’ll be discreet, though I can’t really say the same for that knucklehead,” Reo warns you. It’s not like he knows Oliver much outside of any business dealings, but he can tell that much at least.

You shake your head anyway, knowing it’s a bad idea. For all you know, Sae would just lash out at you for prying into his business when you’re just his on-paper wife.

“Wonder why they broke up though,” you think out loud, watching the liquid in your cup swish around, close to spilling off the edge as you swirl it with your hand, almost completely lost in thought.

Reo answers you without missing a beat. “She went abroad to study and just called it off thinking it wouldn’t work.” His eyes go wide the moment your head shoots up, and he winces after letting it slip.

“You knew?”

“Yeah…”

“What the- how?” Because it’s incredulous how Reo happens to know that much more about the relationship.

He sighs, fessing up. “I was asking around about Sae remember? When I told you he’s just a tough nut to—”

“Yeah yeah,” you wave it off, wanting him to get to the point.

“Well, Oliver’s kinda a blabbermouth so…” Reo sighs, as if he senses there’s no point in keeping it in, not when you’re already halfway into that rabbit hole yourself.

And you’re all ears. Half because you really just want to learn more about it and the other half just wanting confirmation that you’re not crazy for overthinking about this. But then Reo tells you and you’re not sure anymore.

“He said Sae was never over her, loved her to bits.” Reo pauses, hesitating before he opens his mouth again. “He said Sae was waiting for her to get back before starting things up again.”

Oh.

SEVEN YEARS AGO.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Surely it wasn’t a stretch to be furious that distance would be enough of a reason for a breakup? Surely Sae didn’t have to think himself crazy for refuting such an idea?

Mirin’s hair flowed in the wind, pretty as it always was, and it would be even prettier in his memories. She looked unsure, and he knew it too. He knew her like the back of his hand, down to the injury on his ankle. She was only doing what she thought was right, and that was offering each of their own freedom, though Sae had no single doubt in his mind that that wasn’t what he wanted.

“Sae, please don’t make this harder than it already is,” she told him, her eyes swimming with tears that she wouldn’t allow to overflow.

Always so stubborn, and forever thinking less of herself. That was how he knew her to be. And as much as he hated that stubbornness at that moment, he loved her just as much.

With a hand reaching out to her, he pulled her to him, letting her rest her head in his chest, something that he savoured because it wouldn’t be long until she’ll be gone for who knows how long.

“Is it selfish of me to say I don’t want to break up with you?” Sae was asking her, genuinely. He didn’t know how to handle this—when life held different paths for two people in love, wasn’t it just common sense that they could still tread it and yet be together? Was long distance really the end of everything they had?

Mirin sniffled just a little before she pulled away and forced herself to smile, something that Sae hated. It was always the fake ones that irked him, even now.

“Is it selfish for me to think that we’re supposed to?”

Maybe he didn’t know the answer. But all he knew was that if she still felt like they should, then he’d concede. He was always weak when it came to her. It was always the same. He couldn’t imagine being weak to anyone else. It was her. Only her.

“Fine, we’ll do that, if that’s what you want,” he told her, a tone so gentle that no one but her has ever heard. But he drew close, tipping her chin up so she would look at him, his teal eyes appreciating every inch of her beautiful face, the most beautiful one he had ever seen, and the most beautiful one he thought he would ever see. “But you know something?”

Mirin swallowed the lump in her throat, the amount of love she felt threatening to swallow her whole. “What?”

Sae let out a deep chuckle, a soft one before he pressed his lips against hers, a promise laid between their lips like it was a secret only they both would keep.

“Nothing would stop me from waiting for you to come back. So come back to me, okay? Come back, I’ll wait for you.”

That night when you get home, you feel just slightly numb. After hearing what you did, it’s no surprise. You’ve always been kind of weak when it comes to feelings. You’re more heart over mind and you’d choose your heart over and over again even if you had no more blood left to bleed.

You think you’re never getting over it until you walk in and realise that Sae’s in the kitchen, setting your dinner down on the table. It’s like your tears automatically dissipate once you look into his eyes.

“Oh, just nice,” is all he mumbles before he sits down at his place on the entirely too-big dining table for the two of you.

Across from him, you sit down as you look at the spread before you. A steak on each of your plates, potato puree at the side. In the middle there’s assorted sides of mushrooms, corn kernels and what you assume to be a tray of sauces for the meat.

“Did you cook all of these?” You ask, almost breathless. You’re about to say he’s a much better cook than you are, until Sae speaks up.

“No.” He seems nearly unwilling to answer you, a delicate frown on his face. “Accidentally burnt the pans when I tried to cook.”

“Huh?” You spin your head around to find the sink filled with all your pans, and from the looks of it, Sae had been trying to scrub the burnt portions off unsuccessfully.

“We need to buy new pans.”

Sae says this all too monotonously, like he’s half-robot and half completely embarrassed, that you can’t help but laugh out loud. Besides, it’s kind of cute that there’s a faint pink on his cheeks. You’ve never seen that before.

He looks at you incredulously, like he wasn’t expecting you to laugh at him like he’s a damn clown. Flinging a mushroom at you with his fork, he rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he groans.

Pouting at him mockingly, you decide to tease him a little more. “You didn’t touch anything else in the house and ruin them, did you?”

And you were joking, until you realise Sae’s averting his gaze, stuffing his mouth full with corn kernels.

“Sae!”

“We might need to get new stuff for the laundry room too,” he confesses, talking with his mouth full. (Spoiler: you find out later that he put the wrong detergents in the washer and accidentally flooded the laundry room.)

Still, you think it’s sort of endearing that he tried to do the chores while you were the one out for a change, so you stop yourself from making fun of him too much. It’s not like whatever you learned earlier isn’t still sitting in the back of your head (because a part of you wonders if he’s doing all this out of guilt), but some part of you wants to be selfish and let yourself feel special, even if it’s delusional, at least for a little bit.

You want to feel like the wife he misses when you’re not around, like the person he would think of when his mind strays. Is this all too much to ask?

Maybe you just can’t help yourself, so you bring yourself to ask: “Sae, why did you agree to this?”

There’s a pregnant pause in the room, the only sounds filling the silence being the stainless steel cutlery hitting the plates as Sae adjusts himself. “Why did you?”

You suppose that maybe it’ll be easier for him to share if you start first, so you bite the bait. “Long story but… if I don’t then it’ll fall to my sister and she’s happy with someone else.” You swallow the meat in your mouth, the fat rendered so well it makes you crave for more. “I don’t want her to have to sacrifice that. Our parents aren’t exactly the nicest people in the world.”

Sae listens to you, an understanding settling in his chest. He could laugh from the coincidence of it all. “Same, but for my brother,” he tells you, prodding at his steak. “And he’s happy with soccer, not some girl. Can’t get a girl to save his life.”

Somehow, you can hear the quiet fondness that he has for Rin that makes you believe he’s a good brother.

“Would a marriage affect his career all that much?”

There’s a certain complexity behind Sae’s expression when you ask that question, something that you can’t decipher. But he scoffs, “let’s just say, my parents aren’t the nicest people either. I would know.”

And something tells you that it’s not something you want to ask yet, so you let his answer sit with you.

“Oh, speaking of parents,” Sae brings up his phone, switching the subject and handing it over to you. It’s a string of texts between him and his mother, apparently. You hold it up to your face, reading through and it appears they’d gotten you both tickets. “Mine got us both tickets, so.”

As you scroll, a grin appears on your face as you look at him. “Honeymoon tickets to Korea?” You’re almost squealing. It’s been a long while since you’ve last had a vacation, and ten days of distraction sounds really nice after all the information you’d just learned today.

Sae rolls his eyes, though you don’t miss the slight tug upwards at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, so get packing, we leave in two days.”

And as excited as you are, you feel a vibration and the brief flash of ‘dummy’ messaging him, the only part of the preview that you can see being: no, take me with you :(

You’re pretty sure it vibrates some more but by then, you’re already handing the phone back and Sae just locks his phone without bothering. Shaking your head, you try to stuff that image back to the deepest crevices of your mind, determined to not let it ruin your mood for your getaway.

Ex lover or not, Sae is still your husband and it’s not like he hates this (by the looks of things, it’s only been getting better and better), so you’re still hell bent on making things work.

Two days fly by way too quickly.

The day after Sae tells you about the trip, you immediately get to work at packing. Ten days is not a short trip and you plan to make full use of it, and for that, you have to be ready.

You had spent the whole day buying anything you would need—travel-friendly items and whatnot—while commuting back home to your parents’ house (at a timing you know they’re at work, of course!) to take anything you might’ve left there that you needed. Just as you left the house, nostalgia took over as you looked around at the place where you grew up.

It’s strange. People say to cherish what time you have with your parents, that one day you’re going to move out and you’re going to miss it.

You don’t feel like that’s necessarily true, because you’re living proof. The only thing you’d miss is your sister and you still talk to her everyday. Meanwhile, the only times your mother or father ever talks to you is to ask you about your marriage and warning you not to annoy Sae too much, as though it was a given and that it shouldn’t be the other way around.

Maybe it doesn’t make much sense; you and Sae (or maybe just you) trying to be a family when you both have no idea what a proper family is like. Even if it is just on paper.

Now you’re on a town car to the airport and you’re fiddling with your passport in your hands, staring out the window like a little child that’s going overseas for the first time. (Next to you, Sae’s thinking the exact same thing—you do look so much like an excited child. Or maybe a puppy.)

Of course, Sae’s parents waste no expenses in gifting you two first-class seats. Not that you’ve never been in first class, but it’s nice to be next to Sae, and you catch yourself, realising just how quickly you’re catching feelings.

“What?” Sae’s just getting ready to turn his phone to flight-safe mode when he catches you staring, a hint of smugness forming inside of him.

Even with a small partition separating your seats, you can see his teal eyes staring at you, long lashes fluttering in all its glory. Instead of offering an answer, you just shake your head and lean back, busying yourself by adjusting the screen in front of you.

Being in a state of denial is easy; it’s actually fun to sit in first class next to Sae, on a three-hour flight to your honeymoon, annoying him each chance you get, earning yourself a death stare every instant before laughing yourself silly when he flips off at you. It’s been a few weeks, but you think you’ve grown accustomed to what Sae is like that you know his middle fingers to you are never meant to be taken seriously and his silence is just how he is when he isn’t fully opened up. It nearly makes you think you’re crazy for doubting him and yet you don’t have the balls to question him about any of that. Not yet, because you’re not ready for this to end (if it will).

The itinerary had already been planned out by Sae’s mother, but it wasn’t like either of you wanted to follow it. One, Sae likes to do things spontaneously anyway and two, well, you have a feeling that he might want to treat this like a solo trip. It’s not like either of you have properly been husband and wife much to have a proper honeymoon together.

So count you surprised when you suggested that you both try to do solo trips around the city and just meet up for dinner, only to have Sae agree and yet follow you wherever you decide to go that first day.

At first, you were just wondering whether he had the same plans, but after he followed you into a Sephora looking absolutely clueless and then getting all flustered and sticking to you the moment the staff there asked him if he wanted to do a skin test, you allow yourself to think that he’s actually tagging along with you.

“What are you doing?” You decide to ask after exiting another store, carrying no less than five bags thanks to your anxiety of asking Sae what he’s up to.

On his part, he merely shrugs and looks away, hands in his coat pocket, looking absolutely like a model out of a magazine. Sometimes you wonder if he’s really yours. On paper, at least.

“This is our honeymoon, right? Makes sense that we’re together.” That’s all the explanation Sae offers, his gaze hovering over the bags you’re carrying, before he leans closer. “Besides, you’re my wife,” he says, gently grabbing your bags and carrying it for you.

He doesn’t say that it’s just on paper this time. And you can’t help but read into it. It’s perplexing how easily his words can affect you. It has your heart doing somersaults and your lips nervously pursing together.

“So, where next?” He prompts, looking at you expectantly.

And maybe you’re a little too excited for this pleasant turn of events that you’re grinning from ear to ear as you stare at him. “Wait, really?”

You can’t even hide the glee in your voice and Sae, for the first time, smiles—even if he’s doing it as he rolls his eyes at you.

“Yes, stupid,” he tells you, chuckling as you hop slightly in excited. “Are we going or are you just gonna stand here like a little puppy?”

With excited nods and a little squeal, you clap your hands together before daring to put your fingers around his wrist, dragging him with you.

Sae follows quietly behind you, staring at you as you happily tread ahead, your hands warm and guarding his against the slightly chilly air, hair flowing in the wind and he suddenly thinks you’re even prettier than he first thought you were. And then he starts thinking that maybe this part of his life that’s planned by his parents isn’t so bad after all.

Though, when you get back to the hotel, you find out that Sae has already specially asked for two separate beds, to the surprise of all the hotel staff, because of course, Mrs Itoshi had booked the honeymoon suite for the both of you. Special requests for that room usually mean flowers on the bed, or breakfast just the way they like it—not for the groom of all people to be asking for a separate bed altogether, especially when he insists there is no additional person.

“I’ll sleep out here,” Sae tells you the moment you get back to the hotel that night, gesturing to the bed set up by the television, much to your bummer. But you suppose you can’t expect too much—hand holding was already a miracle in itself.

“Oh yeah, sure,” you shrug it off, like it doesn’t even matter. Deep down you feel like a rock was dropped from your throat to the bottom of your stomach, forming a gaping hole in your heart along the way that you tried to will into non-existence.

Still, somehow, despite this little obstacle, you find yourself optimistic after being witness to Sae’s change in demeanour.

“Hey, Y/N?”

When you turn around, you see a hint of hesitation flicker across his teal eyes before he shakes his head, brushing it off.

“It’s nothing, goodnight.”

Although you’re curious, you decide not to press him about it. Offering a small smile, you nod.

“Goodnight, Sae.”

Over the course of your entire honeymoon, you find that you shouldn’t be chiding yourself for being delusional in the first place.

For once in this one-sided love affair, you feel like perhaps it’s not so one-sided at all. Because from what you’ve learned about Sae in your close-to-minimal time together, he isn’t someone that you can force into doing anything he doesn’t want to. At least when it comes to mundane activities which includes trips. (Unless you’re his parents who you have no doubt in your mind probably mirrors your own and have their ways of controlling him, per se.)

But it’s hard to think he doesn’t want to do any of this with you when he’s so compliant. He follows your bucket list of things to do and doesn’t complain once. He lets you drag him to the palace and looks only slightly concerned when you tell him you want to “do the thing where we can dress up like royalty and take pictures” but he only sighs and concedes within seconds.

When he comes out of the room looking like the most handsome prince you’d ever met, you’re too shy to meet his gaze but he tilts your head up to look at him for most of the shots anyway. With his face so close to yours, with these kinds of small gestures which he willingly initiates, you begin to wonder if it’s possible to make him happy in this possibly loveless marriage.

Spending ten days together, surrounded by just each other and doing things that couples do; it nearly makes you feel as if this is real. Like Sae really loves you and that he had asked you to marry him one day out of the blue because of it. Nothing like how you felt that first time you met him, in your dressing room minutes before you were about to become husband and wife, being talked down to and told that this was a facade and could be nothing more.

Now he’s here with you, sticking close and following you around, entertaining your requests for activities, falling asleep on your shoulder when you were on the plane to Jeju, and sometimes he absentmindedly holds your hand like he’s used to it. He helps you with your luggage always, and he makes sure you get food whenever your stomach starts growling, and he’s more observant than you give him credit for because he starts picking the radish off your plate without you asking.

Your album’s suddenly filled with pictures of you and Sae and you were hesitant at first but dragging him to the amusement park when he wasn’t for it at first was a good decision; for a while, you get to see what he’s like when all the downturned lines on his face reverse, when he looks the most like an actual guy in his mid-twenties, enjoying life instead of brooding all the time. Thanks to that, your pictures are more both of you smiling or being goofy together instead of faceless pictures because neither of you feel like showing your faces at all.

By the time your honeymoon is about to come to an end, you find that maybe there’s hope for this after all. That maybe you’d just been overthinking everything prior to this and it shouldn’t be worth worrying over after the trip ends.

But you find that hope can be flimsy sometimes.

On the seventh night there, you and Sae are both on your bed, in the actual bedroom, fighting (not literally) over a multiplayer game. Just two adults hunched over one phone playing frustrating games meant for kids. (Somehow it makes you feel like perhaps neither of you ever had a normal childhood and this is something to make up for it.) It’s all fun and games until you see a throng of message notifications from dummy mixed in with several from what you presume to be Sae’s group chat with the guys.

And you can keep pretending like it doesn’t matter, except Sae immediately stops after the current round and tells you he has to take a call. And you already know more or less who he’s going to talk to. And just like that, you feel like you’re back to square one all over again.

The subsequent nights (and days) aren’t easy for you either. After just giving up on thinking and forcing yourself to sleep that night, you’d been stuck with paranoia everyday. Especially when you realise that he’s starting to take calls every night outside on the balcony where he’s sure you’re out of earshot.

You wonder if he’s being lovey dovey with her outside when he talks to her. You wonder if he imagines you as her when you’re out together. You wonder if he wishes you were her. You wonder if all this is just a gimmick; a test run for when he does the actual things with the actual girl he wants to do them with.

Safe to say, by your last night there, you’re a mess. The moment you get back from trying to be happy all day (which was a disaster because you wouldn’t stop trying to minimise contact with Sae), you tell him you’re too tired and that you’ll just go ahead and go to bed.

Which, of course, is code for ‘you just want to lie in bed and cry all night’.

Sae couldn’t even get a word out before you shut the door on him, plopping down onto the bed and crying into your pillow. Maybe holding everything in was a bad idea. Now you’re bursting with emotions and you try to call Reo a few minutes later but you can’t even get him because he’s busy somehow and you’re positive that the gods hate you right now.

There is one thing about being on rock bottom that you like, though; at least you know how you feel. You’re exhausted and upset and envious because you wish you could be that person for your husband. But you keep getting reminded that you’re not. That somehow you’re just a mere stand-in until he marries his real wife next time. The one he promised to love forever. (Technically, he vowed that to you on your wedding day too, but that’s not the same and you know it.)

Deciding to shut off your phone and have this time to yourself to cry your eyes out, you miss the sudden swarm of notifications that come in. And thanks to you stuffing your head into the pillow, you don’t notice Sae opening the door and peeking inside, an unfamiliar feeling settling inside him at the sound of you sobbing.

He gently closes the door behind him as he walks to you, your back turned to him, your hands and feet hanging onto the bolster like a koala to a branch. Slowly, he saunters over to you, almost like he’s afraid to. When his hand rests on your shoulder and he sinks into the mattress beside you, you stiffen up for just a moment before spinning around and sobbing into his chest instead.

You didn’t expect him to even enter your room at all, much less let you stain his shirt or hold you close when you’re being emotional like this, but he stays there, hand gently rubbing your arm, up and down, a gentle kiss placed on the top of your head. It makes you wonder what kind of games he’s playing. Is this Sae not being able to make up his mind and that’s why he’s still so nice to you even when he has his old flame in the back of his head?

“Do you… want me to leave you alone?” He asks, though you can argue it’s kind of a stupid question but then you realise he probably doesn’t know much about actual relationships so you let it slide.

You shake your head in response, deciding that as stupid as it all sounds, you want to throw your hat in the ring. You’ve fallen for him, and you want him for yourself.

And maybe it’s wrong of you to project this on him, but your absence of a normal family where a home is not just a house and where parents shower their children with actual love and concern makes you yearn for one yourself. And maybe it’s not a great idea to want that from a man you married from being forced to, but thanks to this honeymoon you can see that there’s a flicker of spark there.

That Sae’s not emotionless and he’s definitely not cold to you. Not anymore. That if you guys had been given more time instead of being rushed into things by your parents then maybe the whole wedding could’ve gone without any of the hitches you experienced. That every single radish he picked off your plate, every picture he took with you, every time he held your hand, every time he pulled you close—none of that was manufactured, was it?

So isn’t it possible for you to be happy with him? So is it still foolish or selfish of you to want to be with him?

Is it too much if you ask him about it?

“Hey, Sae?” Your voice is soft and timid and more vulnerable than you’ve ever shown, but he hears you loud and clear, his “hm?” resounding against his chest, right next to your ear. “Can you stay?”

A few seconds of pause, and he replies, “of course.”

You shake your head slightly. “I don’t mean that. I mean, you know, what we said on our wedding day.” Your voice is entirely muffled, still Sae understands.

There’s an even longer pause this time, and you think that Sae’s just thinking of a way to get out of this until you hear him speak up again.

“Idiot,” he chides, but you can hear the soft affection in his voice. Suddenly, you feel his pinky wrapping around your own, and he holds it near your face. “I promise you,” he whispers, and you wish you could see the expression on his face, “I’ll stay.”

It might be wishful thinking but you think he really means it.

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thepixelelf · 9 months

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and the universe said,

06 - "take it slow"

genres/tags: soulmate au, idol au, comedy, romance, dumbassery relationship(s): ot13 x reader chapter warnings: coarse language. cat names by ursa (you'll get why it's a warning when you see them) note: we're so fucking back 😎 (she says before not updating for months again)

When soulmates are suddenly thrust upon the world, you are one in a million who wishes they weren’t – and that’s before you meet the person (people?!) making your life much harder than it needs to be. And before someone asks you to sign an NDA.

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prev ⭒ chapter six (3.3k) ⭒ next

It's no secret that Wen Junhui likes cats. He's a cat guy.

He's not, like, obsessed. He likes cats, but he's not sure he'd ever trust himself to raise one of his own. Still, any stray cat met on the street is a friend, and any time Junhui finds himself in a house where there's a resident cat, he always drifts towards them by the end of the visit.

Cats are great company. They never talk your ears off, or make awkward one-liners. If they ever scratch, it's Junhui's bad 99.9% of the time.

Plus, they're soft and fluffy. Who doesn't like that?

Junhui's preference of cats is why he will often visit Paws, a basic but aptly named cat cafe nowhere near the heart of Seoul, but not in the middle of nowhere, either. The place is hardly ever full, and even when there are customers, they pay no attention to Junhui in his usual corner.

Normally, three of the resident cats will join him in said corner, especially if there are no other customers in the cafe. They love the attention, even if they like to pretend they don't. The fourth cat, whose collar tag says her name is Rush, will sometimes amble into Junhui's area too, but she plays much harder to get.

Junhui's taken a particular liking to Rush, though. She likes chin scratches, but not too many, or she'll hiss. It's a careful science.

She never climbs into his lap like the other cats try to do, and according to the character profiles the cats have on the last page of the cafe's menu, she doesn't like being picked up.

Junhui's never tried picking Rush up — cats have boundaries too, you know?

But today, with only Junhui, the guy who's always behind the counter, and one other person in Paws, Rush is completely and utterly snuggled up in your arms, purring like the rent is due while you give her infinite chin scratches!

The injustice… the favouritism!

Even with the most affectionate cat, a black Bombay named Ti, in his arms, Junhui can't help but feel envious. He thought he'd really been getting through to Rush lately…

He watches as you lean on the customer side of the front counter, talking to the barista but not to order anything to drink. You must be a regular — or a friend, more likely, since Junhui's almost sure he's never seen you here before.

He'd surely remember someone like you.

Uhhh.

Despite needing to keep a low profile like always, Junhui finds his eyes drifting up to look at Rush in your arms once, twice, three times. By the fifth glance, he realizes he's not even looking at the white cat anymore. There's something about you… Your nose? Your lips?

The way your eyes stare out the front windows of the cafe? Moving back and forth to follow along with the guy pacing right outside?

"How long do you think he's gonna keep that up?" you ask your friend.

"Another five minutes, at least," he says with a thoughtful nod.

Junhui tears his gaze away from you to look outside, and his eyes widen. Even with a face mask on and a hood over their head, Junhui would recognize one of his members anywhere.

"Jihoon?"

Like a genius, he speaks out loud.

Both you and the barista turn to look at him, and Junhui wants to sink into his chair, then have the chair implode into a black hole.

But you don't let it get awkward, somehow. You push yourself off the counter, still holding Rush as she nuzzles into your shoulder.

"You know him?" you ask Junhui.

Like a genius, he nods.

"Small world," your friend mutters.

You step closer. "Does he have a bank account?"

Like a genius, he answers.

"Uh… yes?"

"I knew it," you say, looking outside the windows again. Jihoon looks like he's about to open the door, then shakes his head, drops his hand, and starts pacing again.

Your friend nods again like a wise sage. "Red flag."

Aware that he might’ve just doxxed one of his best friends, Junhui gently picks Ti off his lap and places her on the floor. She looks up at him with an indignant “mrrp,” and he whispers a quiet apology as he stands up from his chair. Quickly, he walks past you and the barista, giving you both a small bow and gesturing with two hands that he just needs one minute with Jihoon outside. The barista tilts his head, while you just blink at him with a blank expression. Rush purrs loud enough for even Junhui to hear, wanting your full attention.

But Junhui has bigger — well, okay, weirder — things to worry about than a tsundere cat. What is ‘the definition of homebody’ Lee Jihoon doing here?

Acting like that?

Jihoon chickens out of opening the door once more right when Junhui approaches it, and he looks like he’s going to give up for good this time when he walks off, but two metres later, he doubles back again. Junhui swings the door open in Jihoon’s face, who stumbles back just shy of bonking his nose straight into the tempered glass.

“Ah,” Jihoon says, immediately tilting his chin downwards and lowering his voice by half an octave. With the bottom half his face covered and the hood draped over his head, anyone other than Junhui might think he’s just some guy. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”

“Jihoon.”

Eyes wide, Jihoon snaps his head up, jaw dropping under his mask. “Jun— what are you doing here?”

Junhui smiles wide at Jihoon’s surprise. “Me? I should be asking you that question.”

Instead of answering, Jihoon just widens his eyes even more, both hands rising in the air in a slow panic, like he wants to run his fingers through his hair but can’t even process that in his brain. “No way. I thought for sure I was the first…”

“First?” Junhui’s brows furrow.

Jihoon ignores his confusion. “Oh, god, I didn’t prepare for this!” He looks up at Junhui with frantic eyes. “Did you tell them already?”

“Tell who what?”

Both of Jihoon’s hands clutch at his temples over his hoodie. “Shit.” It’s like he’s not even hearing Junhui. “I wanted to ease them into it… They didn’t seem to recognize me… But if they’ve already met you, then they know there’s at least two of us… Thirteen… That’s way too fucking many…”

Now, Wen Junhui isn’t stupid. Far from it. He can read between the lines.

So he turns around and walks right back into Paws, a smile on his face, though still hidden behind his mask. (And he ignores Jihoon’s panicked, “Hey! Wait for me!” because he already has his eyes set on you.)

Junhui’s known for a while that his soulmate must not know Seventeen all that well. Otherwise, the news of them all being soulmates with five straight lines as their marks — although the public doesn’t yet know about the way their marks move — would have reached them, and they’d have recognized it. Surely.

And, if so, they’d have tried to contact them somehow.

There’s something thrilling about the fact that no one has reached out and claimed to be their soulmate, something that sends a pleasant thrum through Junhui’s veins at the idea that you don’t know who he is.

Before any of this soulmate stuff happened, Junhui had a very quiet yet present fear. The thought that anyone he might enter a relationship with might know everything about him before they even met. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but he couldn’t not think about it.

His soulmate should fall for him, not Seventeen’s Jun, right?

Your eyes widen slightly when Junhui walks right up to you, and he sticks his hand out.

His mark is covered with a band-aid, a precaution the company asked the boys to take when going out outside of schedules. Their marks are their most recognizable features at the moment.

You can’t see his, but when you shift Rush’s weight onto one arm to shake Jun’s hand, he sees your mark right there on the curve of your right hand.

A perfect match.

He smiles wider at the sight and lifts his head, beaming at your confused expression. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Ju— Huijun.”

“Huijun?” Your brows raise. “That’s funny.” You nod your head towards your barista friend, who’s still standing behind the counter, eyes darting between you and Junhui. “His name is Heejun.”

“Right…” Junhui hardly acknowledges the similar names, just sending Heejun a quick, polite smile before he turns back to you. He opens his mouth to ask for your name when a harsh grip on his shoulder stops him.

“Yah,” Jihoon says in that low, calm, I’m gonna kill you and no one’s gonna find the body voice that he never uses because he’s not actually the cool, strict guy some fans imagine him to be. Nevertheless, it’s not not scary, especially when Junhui turns to witness the full force of Jihoon’s angry glare. “I said, wait.”

Junhui lets out a nervous laugh. “Can you blame me?”

Jihoon is about to respond, but then you clear your throat, and your hand attempts to slip out of Junhui’s. On instinct, Junhui tightens his hold on you just as he turns to face you again, which only makes you pull away faster. He hears Jihoon’s breath hitch.

Five solid lines extend and wrap around your arm, a song unravelling along with them. The staff climbs up your forearm and beneath your sleeve, which you’d had rolled up to your elbow. Sheepishly, you let Rush hop out of your arms and pull down your sleeves on both, but it doesn’t fully hide the beginnings of your mark, still there on the back of your right hand. You try to cover that area with your other hand.

“Sorry—” You clear your throat again, tearing Junhui’s eyes away from your hands only to see the way the mark wraps around your neck — like a delicate lace. Bringing both hands up, you rub at your neck as if it will erase the snaking staff, mumbling, “It’s my stupid soulmate.”

Junhui stares, speechless, only minutely aware of Jihoon standing next to him with a similarly gob-smacked expression on his mask-covered face.

Well.

Their marks certainly don’t do… that.

You lower your head and take a half step back.

"Alright, boys," Heejun says, clapping his hands together once. "Keep those eyes to yourselves and get those jaws off the floor, hey? As you can see—" He gestures towards you. "—they're spoken for."

You whip to glare at your friend, your hands still awkwardly covering your neck. "Don't say that. A cute guy just introduced himself to me and you immediately tell him I'm off limits?"

"You think I'm cute?" Junhui points at himself, starting to smile.

You glance at him, then point your eyes elsewhere. "Maybe…"

Shrugging, Heejun smirks at you. "I'm just telling them what they can already see, bub."

"Exactly," you snarl. "Shut up."

Heejun just snorts, crossing his arms and leaning his torso over the counter.

Junhui's soulmate thinks he's cute and they're good with cats. What could be better than this?

"'Your'..." Jihoon speaks up, making everyone look towards him. He seems nervous still as he holds eye contact with you, but there's a hint of something underneath that Junhui can't quite make out. Jihoon tentatively licks his bottom lip, like the words are loading. "...'stupid soulmate'?"

You shrink more into yourself, and Junhui kind of wants to smack Jihoon.

With your eyes trained on your shoes, you shrug. "They're constantly singing," you mumble, tugging your sleeves as far as they can stretch over your hands. "And I hate when people stare…"

Junhui does smack Jihoon. But it doesn’t deter him.

“You don’t know who they are?"

“See, it’s questions like these from total strangers that make it annoying, too,” you say with a bite to your tone. You take a breath and look up to meet Jihoon’s eyes while Junhui tries his best not to stare at the way the mark twirls over yours skin. “You think I’d accept your weird-ass apology slash cash exchange slash coffee date if I was in soulmate-ship or whatever with this person I’ve never met? Or that I’d flirt with your friend here?”

“Flirt?” Junhui echoes.

You give him a weird look. “Is that all you picked up from that?”

Sheepishly, Junhui rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, sorry… I guess I’m just a little happy to hear that.”

Your expression softens, and as Junhui goes to say more, Jihoon feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulls it out to see Myungjun’s name on the screen and walks away from the budding conversation.

“What?”

He doesn’t mean to answer like that or to sound so clipped, but he can’t help the way he’s feeling. He’d already pissed you off with the whole coffee thing— not to mention the financial institution beliefs thing. It was frankly a miracle that the hail mary phone call Vernon forced him into worked and you’d agreed to meet him today. Only, he met Junhui of all people outside, and he introduced himself to you before Jihoon could.

Junhui is such an easily likeable guy, so of course when Jihoon sneaks a glance back at you and his band member, your (cute) angry expression and closed-off stance have already transformed into an hesitant smile and relaxed shoulders.

But even beyond all that— Jihoon’s soulmate has no idea who he is.

He doesn’t mean that in a narcissistic, “greatest living rockstar on the planet” –Kanye West way, but in that, when he met you, saw you, poured coffee on you, he knew. Sure, he had the evidence right there on his hand, but it felt like everything clicked into place at that very moment. He thought maybe the ice cold coffee he’d drenched you in shocked you into not realizing it then, but now?

He’s right in front of you, and you don’t know it. Not really.

You think it’s someone else. One person who’s your ‘stupid soulmate’.

“Well, hello to you too,” comes Myungjun’s response, but he doesn’t get hung up on Jihoon’s attitude — he’s paid to put up with thirteen celebrities. He gets right to it. “I need you to sing.”

“What?”

Myungjun lowers his voice. “There’s a girl here; I don’t know what connections she has but she managed to get someone in the company to let her in because of her mark.”

You laugh, and Jihoon’s eyes are drawn to the sound, and it’s not fair that you look like that when you laugh while Jihoon is trying to be kind of mad at you.

(Also, did you just call Junhui “Huijun”? What’s up with that?)

“Jihoon.”

“Sorry, hyung, sorry— I… am not following. Mark?”

Myungjun sighs. “She’s saying she’s your soulmate, Jihoon.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t go losing your mind,” Myungjun warns. It’s unnecessary, but he doesn’t know that their soulmate is literally standing less than five metres away from Jihoon. “It smells fishy to me, but Yejung is distracting her so we can confirm without revealing the fact that your marks… you know. There’s been no shortage of people claiming to be your soulmate.”

“Really?”

“You’re seriously never online, are you? The amount of pictures I’ve seen… the emails. But this is the first one that’s come right to our door. Must be rich or something.”

Jihoon’s brows furrow. A black cat walks up to his feet, staring up at him with oddly emotive green eyes, but he ignores it. “She’s got a mark like ours?”

“A mark or a tattoo, which is why I shouldn’t be chatting with you right now. Just sing a little diddy or something. Hum a jaunty tune.”

“I…” Jihoon looks at you again, at the way you talk to Junhui, still subtly tugging at your own sleeves to cover your arms. What would happen if he started singing? Surely, you’d notice. The last thing he wants right now is to be the guy who spilled coffee on you and your stupid soulmate. Besides, Junhui seems to be hiding his identity for some reason. “...can’t.”

“Why not?” Myungjun asks. “Are you not in the studio?”

“No. I’m out.”

“Alone?”

“With Jun.”

Something Junhui says makes you laugh again, and he leans closer to you, his eyes alight with… well, light. He’s smiling like an idiot.

Jihoon scowls. How does it come so easy to him?

“It doesn’t matter,” Jihoon spits into the phone. “One of the other dolts is singing right now. Send that girl home.”

For a few seconds, Myungjun says nothing, which is just enough time for Jihoon to realize his mistake.

“Jihoon. How do you know that?”

“Wait, no, hyung—”

Myungjun leaves no room for argument. He’s always been a little too good at reading them. “I won’t tell the higher-ups if you come back right now and tell me and Yejung what’s going on.”

And then he hangs up, because even though Jihoon could have argued, he wouldn’t have won.

Shit.

“I’m serious!” you tell Huijun when he doubts your affinity with the cafe’s grumpy white cat. “There’s no trick to it; Rush Hour 2 just loves me.”

He laughs. “Rush Hour 2?”

“That’s her name!” In your periphery, you see Heejun (who politely backed away when coffee guy walked off for a phone call) roll his eyes behind the counter. “Her full name. I named all the cats here, but Heejun’s too embarrassed to tell anyone, so we shortened them.”

“But Rush Hour 2?”

You shrug. “I’ve never seen the movie, but when she was a kitten, she was zooming all over the place.”

Junhui’s shoulders shake with laughter, and there’s something about his smile. It makes the corners of your own lips turn upwards.

“What about Ti?” he asks. “Is that short for something?”

“TI-83. Like the graphing calculator.”

You’re pretty sure you hear Heejun (wow, this name thing might get confusing) mutter, “Dumb…” but you ignore him completely, just like you do every time he pretends to hate the names you’ve given his cats. “She’s smart, I tell you. Got a calculating look behind her eyes.”

“And Addie?” Huijun prompts, referring to the grey cat currently asleep at the top of his favourite cat tower.

“Adjustable wrench—”

Coffee guy returns with no warning, holding out a small, black piece of rectangular plastic. The look in his eyes seems… outwardly upset. You know you’re not the reason for it, but it still unnerves you for some reason. It’s strange; you have a weird feeling that whatever he’s worried about might just come right back around to you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, waving the card in his hand to encourage you to take it. “We have to go.”

Huijun tilts his head at coffee guy. “Why?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he deflects with a look that says shut up.

You gawk at the card. You fucking knew he believed in banks! But you don’t have time to convey your aha moment. Coffee guy bends forward, takes your hand, and places the card on your open palm.

His hands are cold, which you notice as he uses them to curl your fingers around the card.

“My name is Jihoon,” he says before he lets go. He grabs Huijun’s arm and tugs him to the exit, both of them tilting their heads together to speak privately — though you can tell Huijun is protesting leaving so abruptly. As coffee guy, no, wait, Jihoon opens the door, he turns to you one last time. “You might like Jun… Huijun more, but… remember me too. Don’t let the rest scare you off.”

And then he’s out the door, dragging Huijun past the big glass windows, where the cat-lover waves a cheerful goodbye with both hands.

You just stand there, blank in the head. Did you even notice when your mark slinked back to its origin on the back of your hand? You doubt it.

Heejun walks around the counter to ogle the plastic clutched tight between your fingers.

“Did coffee guy just give you a fucking black card?”

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updates for and the universe said, are not on a schedule. there is no taglist. thank you for reading!

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navstuffs · 8 months

Text

Heart to-go

Pairing: RE2Barista!Leon x GN!Reader

Summary: You hate coffee. Of course with your luck, you end up falling in love with a cute blushing barista.

Warnings: COFFEE SHOP AU, SUPER FLUFF, blushing leon, tooth-rotting fanfic, reader DOES NOT like coffee (i could never), reader/leon are clueless and shy, sabrina and gabriel are names used in this fic, image taken from google

Author's Notes: hey, im back (sorta?kinda?). i had this fanfic saved for a while and since i haven't been able to produce new material, i decided to edit and post some of my old drafts. i plan on posting the other coffee shop au - nsfw version, but from now i hope you enjoy reading this one!

If someone told you before that you would visit a coffee shop and actually order the same cup of coffee every day, you would laugh at their faces. You don't like coffee, period. There is something about the smell or taste you just don't like it. Warm, cold, sweet, unsweet, with chocolate, you tried it all. It just isn't your thing, which made some people look at you as an E.T. sometimes, but hey, to each its own, right?

Your co-worker Sabrina is the one who invites you out to a popular coffee shop nearby your work. Before you even attempt to say no, Sabrina explains that yes, there were other drink options and some delicious pastries, like "some of the best brownies" she had eaten her entire life.

So you agree, with the promise you wouldn't regret it.

There is no line when you enter, around 5 pm. You pass this coffee shop often going to work, the smell strong in your nose if the door is open. You never entered, of course, but now inside, you must admit it looked cozy. A lot of natural light comes from the big windows in the front, illuminating the entire space. There are tables and chairs, at this time empty, compared to how full and hectic they could get in the morning.

As Sabrina orders her long order, your eyes wander the menu, written behind the counter on a giant blackboard. They had other options, as Sabrina explained before, such as handmade Italian sodas and some juices. When Sabrina is done, you turn your attention to the very attractive cashier. The kind you see on the cover of magazines, like a model or something. And cute. He has innocent blue eyes, a soft face, and blonde hair under the black cap. Your eyes glimpse at his name tag, "Leon," as he waits for your order.

"What do you want?"

And the words come out of your mouth before you can even think, something you would never have ordered in a million years.

"A coffee?"

You can feel Sabrina's neck twist, shocked. You ignore her, ignore how your voice went two higher tones than it should, focused on Leon, who continues smiling, patiently waiting for the rest.

"Sure, which one?"

"Coffee?" Your eyes roam around the many, many names and sizes as if you know what all those names mean, and you decide to risk it all. "How about your favorite order?"

Leon's eyes widen briefly before a faint red tone rises to his cheeks. He chuckles, surprised, before placing the order on the computer.

"Right, okay then, my favorite order. Anything else?"

"Nothing, that will be it."

You pay your bill without looking up. Sabrina looks semi-concerned and amused when you are done ordering, a strange smile on her face.

"Are you okay?"

"I panicked," You whisper, hoping Leon can't hear the panic in your voice as you pull her to a table before she can start asking more questions.

You sit to wait for your order, and you notice Leon and another young blonde lady behind the counter. He seems to be blushing about something she says, and you wonder if that wasn't the most adorable thing you've ever seen.

"You are staring," Sabrina warns, her voice denoting humor. Why does it sound like Sabrina is having fun with your misery? You look out the window to the traffic slowing down since it is the end of the afternoon. When your order finally arrives, you turn excited, expecting to see Leon but being greeted by Ashley's happy face.

"Enjoy!" Ashley exclaims before leaving. You grab your small cup of warm coffee with a top layer of foam on it. It smells like cinnamon and vanilla. You really, really don't want to drink it.

"Careful now, Leon is watching," Sabrina teases, making you turn to look for Leon. He is indeed staring at you, his blue eyes filled with expectation. When he catches you looking, he turns his face away, a deep blush on his cheeks, too focused on cleaning something behind him.

"I can do this." You tell yourself, taking a sip from the cup. Yeap, still bad. Still bad as the first time you tried it. You drink another small sip because Leon could still be watching before placing the cup on the table. "I don't think I can do this." You confess in a whisper to Sabrina, who doesn't answer. She giggles, drinking her coffee as water. She saves you the dignity to not tease you anymore, at least.

Noticing she wouldn't be any help, you take small sips while listening to Sabrina's news. It was easier to drink while she talked so that you could ignore the sour taste in your mouth.

When your cup is finally empty, you sigh in relief. You have done it. You are NOT disappointing any cute blushy barista today. Leon appears at the side of the table, eyes filled with expectation.

"How was it?"

"It was so good. My friend over here loved it, right? Right?" Sabrina smiles happily in your direction. You want to strangle her, but you nod, smirking instead.

"Perfect, Leon. Thank you."

Leon's eyes lock on you, and you stare back, starstruck. No one should be allowed to be this charming. His smile lights up his entire face, making him look even more special. The type you could fall in love with if you aren't careful enough.

"I will get those for you, then," He cleans the table, then leaves, nodding in your direction. When he is out of a safe distance, Sabrina sings low.

"I think he likes you!"

"Shut up, Sabrina!"

-x-

After that, you start to visit the coffee. Daily. You get to meet the rest of the employees: Luis, a handsome man with a captivating smile who constantly flirts with you. You already know Ashley, a young college student who is always excited to see you. And well, there is Leon. It is odd how you click so fast with Luis and Ashley; you could joke with them as much as you wanted, but things worked a little differently when it came to Leon. He made you nervous.

He always welcomes you with a warm smile and treats you with respect. You tried to tease Leon once, but it died in your throat when you watched his expression. He just looked so innocent, you just didn't want him to dislike something you did or said. What if he misinterpreted?

You also continue ordering the same coffee. Your newfound trick to not throw it away? Take it to work and give it to Sabrina. You know you are wasting money, but Leon's smile is worth every cent, especially when you place the money on the counter for "Leon's order". Like one morning, two weeks after your first visit, you enter the shop, and it is Luis at the register.

"Hello, pretty thing. Same order?" Luis asks, winking.

"You know me, Luis, I am loyal."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Luis sighs, pretending to be disappointed. Ashley waves in your direction when she sees you, asking. "Let me guess, another Leon's order to go?"

"You know, it is my dream. One of those days, you will enter those doors and ask 'Can I get Luis's order or maybe Ashley's?" Luis teases, "No, it must always be Leon's order. I have started to wonder why."

"I like his coffee," You whisper in your defense. Luis smiles, knowing exactly what you like. He points to Leon's back, too focused on a coffee maker. "Your boyfriend is waiting."

You show off your tongue, rolling your eyes and going toward Leon. He guides a cup of steaming milk into a to-go cup, almost as if he is drawing. You don't say anything, watching his concentrated face as he finishes. Every inch of his attention to whatever he is drawing. When Leon is done, he turns toward you, opening a smile.

"H-hey. Here it is."

He puts the to-go cup in front of you, uncovered. You find it weird but don't discuss it.

"Morning. Thank you. My favorite, as always." You grab a lid nearby, closing it. Leon seems disappointed but doesn't say anything. You quickly take a sip, holding back a scowl. "Perfect as always, Leon. Thank you. I don't even know where I would be without Leon's every morning... Leon's order, I mean!"

The frown is gone, and Leon smiles timidly, blushing. Of course, you must embarrass yourself in front of him, but honestly, you don't mind. Your mornings always got much better after seeing his smile. You leave the coffee, waving bye to Ashley and Luis. When you are gone, Ashley and Luis surround Leon, too curious.

"Did they see it this time?" Luis wonders.

"No."

"Such a nice person, but so clueless," Ashley sighs, holding her chin. "Maybe you should just try writing your phone number on the cup, it would be more direct."

"Or maybe they don't like me that much..." Leon declares, making his co-workers groan.

"Not this again, Leon."

-x-

Three weeks pass like that. You go in, say hi to Ashley and Luis, get your coffee with Leon, smile at each other, and leave for work. There is some teasing here and there from Ashley and Luis, you tease back, and that is it. You wonder if you should get a different order, but Sabrina seems happy enough with the coffee, you are happy enough to see Leon, so it works.

The next morning, you enter the café to find Ashley organizing a casket of brownies. After greeting each other, you grab one from the basket. So those were the limited edition brownies Sabrina always talked about.

"Hey, Ashley, are those the famous delicious brownies?"

"Yeah. Made by an extraordinary chef, but I can't reveal his identity. It is top secret."

"Can I get one? And also a Le-"

"Leon's order? Yes, yes, I know," She groans, sounding tired. Leon appears from the back office, opening his usual smile when he sees you. You like to think it is your special smile, but it is probably how he smiles at every single client.

"Hey."

"Morning, Leon."

He starts preparing your drink the way he always does. You wonder if Leon is bored or if he can even make it with his eyes closed. Maybe you should ask him if his favorite order has even changed next time? As you watch Leon work, you give a big bite to the brownie. It is delicious. The perfect balance between chocolate and sweetness.

"Ashley, those are so freaking good!" You exclaim, bringing her attention back to you.

"Oh really? Our chef will love to hear that!" Ashley says with a suggestive tone, giving a quick side look to Leon. You finish the brownie in a few bites as Leon puts your cup on the counter, his cheeks painted red. Again your cup is uncovered. You grab the lid and close it. It has become a ritual by now.

"Thanks again, Leon."

When you look up at him, Leon has a different expression in his eyes. He blushes, no more than he usually does, his hand raised. Before you can ask what is wrong, he places his hand over yours on the cup lid. His hand is warm, probably normal for someone working with hot drinks all the time. You don't say anything, waiting. Leon seems to be waiting as well, for you to say anything. Neither of you does, and the moment is broken when the door opens, a huge group of women coming in.

"Sorry, I don't know—"

"Bye!" You rush out of those doors, not looking back.

Well, that was certainly odd, you think. Leon has never touched you before. It seems that he wanted to tell you something, but at the same time, he was waiting for you to say something? When you get to work ten minutes later, the cup still warm in your hands, you search for Sabrina, not finding her. Gabriel, your other co-worker, explains she is sick.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Nasty flu."

"Oh, okay. I will message her later then."

You look at the cup in your hands to her empty table before asking Gabriel.

"Hey, do you want some coffee?"

"Free? Don't mind if I do! What has on it?"

"I guess coffee, milk, cinnamon? I don't really know."

"You don't know?" Gabriel asks, grabbing the cup from you. "You don't know what is in your cup? Here, let me smell it, I have an excellent sense of smell." He opens the lid to smell it and exclaims, "Awn, this is cute."

"What?"

"The heart."

"What heart?"

Gabriel carefully gets the cup to show you a heart drawing on top. You want to hit yourself in the head; is that what Leon has been doing? That's why he held your hand this morning to show the heart? No, it couldn't be. When Gabriel starts taking the cup to his mouth, you pull the cup back, placing the lid.

"Sorry, Gabriel, gotta go! I will return with another one!"

You rush back to the store, holding the cup firmly. Maybe, just maybe, Leon has been drawing those for you only, and you always close the lid? Maybe this is what he was trying to tell you this morning. What if Leon draws a heart for everyone? Shouldn't you be paying for that? What if—? No, no time to think of that. Perhaps this is your chance. You enter the shop, gasping for air. Ashley is nowhere around, and Leon is dusting around the table. When he sees you, his brows furrow, but he doesn't hesitate to get close to you.

"Are you okay? Something wrong?" Leon sounds concerned, his eyes scanning you.

You try to speak, still catching your breath. You pull the lid, triumphant.

"What does this mean?"

When you two look at the cup, the drawing is gone. There is just a mess of brown liquid, smelling like vanilla and cinnamon. You can't believe it. You turn to Leon, pointing at the cup and him, your mouth opening and closing.

"Have you been drawing hearts in my cup this whole time?"

"I have." He admits, blushing.

"Thanks?" Jeez, you couldn't come with something better. Leon nods as if understanding before starting to turn away. "No, wait, please, I mean, I like them. A lot."

His face lights up, and you wonder how someone can look so adorable. It is so unfair for you poor heart.

"Tha-that's good, then. I was wondering when you would see them."

"Well, 'cause the lady who drinks my coffee doesn't open the cups!" You try to explain to him, biting your tongue. Leon waits, confused. "Yeah, I don't like coffee," You finally confess your secret somberly, like a sinner talking to a priest.

"So wait. You don't like coffee and keep ordering it? Why?"

Well, now it is your turn to feel your face burning. Realization passes through Leon's face, and he starts stuttering something before three older ladies walk in, going directly to the cashier. He grabs your cup, his heart thumping as he rushes to write something. When Leon gives you back, you see his number written in black ink.

"Ca-can we discuss this better later tonight? If you want to, of course," Leon asks. You nod. "Then you can tell me all about your hate for coffee."

"I would love to."

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy fluff #am i happy with this? not entirely. but i laughed a lot writing this so this has to count for something

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biaonww · 3 months

Text

"something about you" rin itoshi based • angst based on not-so-bf trope <3

may contain errors, similar content is coincidental.

watching rin itoshi’s match is always mesmerizing. he shines in destroying things that are close to him.

it’s complete monstrosity when he plays, which is the complete opposite of his brother sae’s gameplay.

a completely calculated person, while rin is a monster.

but still—

why does rin still shine so much?

why does he stand out the most in your eyes, as if he was a twinkling star in the sky you would wish on?

why is he so captivating, yet always out of your hand?

bothered by your thoughts, rin wins his match. of course, another easy win for him.

… but its noisy. it hurts your ears.

announcers announcing his win.. interviewers excitingly waiting for him to get out of the stadium and start asking him questions… the horn sounds and people shrieking….

but everything goes quiet when he manages to find you straight away.

no matter how many people are in the stalls—

his eyes always seem to capture you.

those beautiful eyes that could even challenge a diamonds beauty.

but there he is again, confusing you.

he’s looking at you pleadingly, right after he scored the last shot.

shouldn’t he be focused on the crowd, and the way they scream his name in joy?

did he maybe finally realize that he left you mesmerized every single time?

did he maybe finally realize that you were always admiring him from afar?

or will he push you away again when he gives you mixed signals?

you sigh thinking of it, so you stand up, going to the exit of the stadium.

but once you finally reach the corridor, you see rin.

so you pause from walking, while he jogs towards you.

“you should celebrate your win, itoshi.” you remark.

“don’t call me itoshi.” he says in a tone that sounds like he’s still trying to catch his breath, while gripping your arm tightly.

(but of course, not in a way that would hurt you. he wouldn’t want that.).

“i think it is only proper of me to call you itoshi. considering you never let me see what’s under your disguise.”

“i said don’t call me itoshi.”

“fine then.”

“— you know what, rin? i actually think it’s better if you keep pushing me away.”

“i mean i don’t know if you’re just another unreachable dream, or a one-in-a-million person i can achieve.”

“but i also don’t know if you’ll destroy me. which i’m scared of.”

“after all, you said everything that grows close to you soon tears down.”

you look at the floor, eyes slowly but surely becoming watery.

rin stays quiet, his gaze softening when you immediately look down.

“… if you’re scared of me destroying you, then i’ll try and treat you like a delicate flower.”

“if you ever get scared, i’ll stay by your side to keep you safe.”

“if you hate the noise, then i’ll cover your ears for you.”

“if i don’t show my true self to you, then i’ll lower my guard for you.”

“just don’t leave like everyone does. not like nii-san.”

“but instead stay. i’m humbly asking you to stay right now.”

“i’m sorry that i give you mixed signals. but give me a chance to prove myself to you, please?”

“i’m not perfect. i’m not the best yet. love is foreign to me. we may have fights and disagreements when we’re together. but for you, i’ll try.”

you finally look up at him, the tears in your eyes spilling out already.

but he wipes them for you, and looks at you so fondly.

“then why couldn’t you do all this in the first place, you idiot?” you mumble.

“i’m sorry.”

“but what’s your answer? will you accept me, or not?”

he chuckles softly, slowly letting down his facade for you. and only you.

“… you know it’s a yes, rin.”

— fin.

now that im rereading this, it actually looks so SHITTY WTF... but i hope its good enough to be posted </3 reblogs, likes and comments are highly appreciated pls !! (btw, tags kinda foreshadow the fic so hehe)

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin imagines #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #blue lock angst #bllk angst #itoshi rin angst #bluelock #blue lock x you #rin itoshi fluff #rin itoshi angst

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antimony-medusa · 1 year

Text

Okay so, the thing about Boundaries, and why people keep bringing them up over and over again to creators, is I think there's a bit of a desire for what people are doing here to not be weird. Cause like, the creator signed off on it, so like, I'm fine and you can't make fun of me or get mad at me.

And like, I understand the desire to not be made fun of or have people get mad at you, believe me, I know, but I think we have all just gotta accept that what we're doing is— it's a little weird, bro.

Like by definition what fandom is is getting a little too much into your thing. Fan comes from Fanatic. We all saw some block men and we went way too hard with it. And I think that sufficiently viewed from the outside, there is just no way to do any kind of transformational creation and it not be weird to the wrong people.

Like, taking a character and making them miserable? One of the honourable fandom traditions, whether you're whumping them or if you go hard into comfort at the end. For someone entirely outside of fandom, that's just like why are you DOING that, bro, and when you add in the fact that we're using people's real names (well, gamer tags), there's no way for that not to be odd. "The creator said it was okay" is not going to make people go ??? any less. (Let me emphasize that this is fine, it's just like, also, you bring that up on the bus and peope go ????)

Let's look at fluff. You want to write about your characters in a coffee shop au? You want to write about your characters in a cuddly family dynamic, taking care of each other? You want to age down characters and write kid fic where they learn to face the challenges of the world and it's just so cute and you love them so much even if nothing really bad happens? I promise you that my non-fandom parents are gonna be like "why are you spending your time on that" and again, if you throw in the "is this real people" (it isn't, but that is a delicate thing to explain), you're looking at people staring at you in discomprehension and backing away.

Shippy stuff. Again, one of the honourable fandom traditions. You just love your guys and you want to write about how much they love each other (or maybe make it tragic about how only one person can make it out of the cactus ring). You spent all this time thinking about their feelings writing it out. You write out a kiss scene. It makes you flail happily. Most people don't do that! Absolutely fun to do? Yes! Something you can bring up as an ice breaker at the company potluck? Probably not! We are too much into the characters, and that's fine, but it's still gonna look a bit odd from the outside!

Plotty gen. You're writing an entire new story, but you're taking existing characters for it? Like it's original fiction, but you're using existing characters? Why not just write original fiction <I have had this conversation. Oh, you're writing a story about minecraft characters, and they— they get tortured? Like it starts with them being tortured? <also a fun conversation to be in.

I'm mostly thinking about this from the fanfiction side, but art, meta— we are just getting into things way too much. We're spending hours on this stuff. We drew the creators minecraft sonas in maid dresses. There are millions of words of fiction on the archive about every conceivable universe of good/bad things happeing to the characters. It is a primary hobby, where I could be learning piano or paying attention to sports. And I'm not, and like, that's fine.

I am here to tell you that people absolutely might find what we're doing weird, and also it's entirely fine. I just ran a poll about the sexiest minecraft character that got 68k votes on the most voted poll. And then I had to explain that to my doctor to explain why I didn't really have a normal baseline for the past week to compare to. (Doctor visibly thought it was weird but he was also like "you go" because he's a good doctor, but I had to start with explaining minecraft because he knew NOTHING about what I was talking about.) You just gotta accept that fandom is for a small segment of the population, we are all having fun with ourselves, and it's for us, it's not for the general population, and stop trying to make it palatable to people who don't care to understand. People on this site keep saying "racist white boys" and then they don't have the intellectual curiosity to pursue further as to why maybe that's not true, having a boundaries post is not going to make them nicer. It's fine. They're being jerks, we're just having fun.

And like, stop trying to get the creator to sign off on it. Accept that sometimes we're being weird and they can look at it if they want to see the weird fanatics going too hard with the characters. They will tell us if we're doing something they want to stop associating with their name, and up until that point, just accept that what we're doing is weird, and have fun with it.

We're weird.

Be more weird 2k23.

Have fun with it.

I wrote a time travel AU in DMs with a friend last night about a bird man and a minecraft piglin. Not normal. It's FINE.

#discourse #mcyt #medusas banger posts #fandom meta

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bonny-kookoo · 7 months

Text

Jungkook

ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕋𝕠: Notice

Jungkook knows the effect he has on people. So why won't you look at him the same?

Main Tags/Warnings: Model!Jungkook, Actor!Jungkook, Stylist!Reader, strangers/enemies to lovers, mentions of toxic beauty standards

Length: ~4k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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Jeon Jungkook.

He's not really what you see every day visually in the modeling industry, and from what you've heard, he's also quite the charmer. Clearly he has to have something going on if his constantly changing partners are anything to go by- one google search of his name giving you several articles about different names he's allegedly participating in the sensual bedroom tango with. Not that you're surprised- most male models tend to make use of their name in order to get what they desire.

Kill or be killed- you can't really blame anybody for using what they have.

"Did you know he apparently has a yacht?" Lea wonders, eating her sandwich your brought her this morning, as she sits on a table close to you. "I've never even been on a fucking yacht before. Apparently those things are like, 500 thousand coins! Imagine!" She sighs, making you laugh along with her. "I can't believe someone just spends that much money on a boat of all things." She mumbles, trying not to get her new acrylics dirty with the sauce.

"Maybe once you have too much, you just don't care?" Haru wonders, setting up his camera equipment close by. "I've heard that money loses it's worth to those who have a lot of it." He offers, shrugging his shoulders as he adjusts some cables.

"I mean, probably." Lea agrees. "With all the brand deals he has, he's got to have his bank account packed with doubloons." She huffs. "Can't he spare us a million each? He won't miss it, I'm sure.." She whines, finishing her breakfast while you shake your head, laughing.

You're all joking around, but at the end of the day, you'll all probably stay where you are financially and career wise until the end of your days. And you yourself are fine with that- you've accepted the fact that the life Jeon Jungkook for example is living isn't something you yourself would want. That man get's snapped by paparazzi almost daily, he's got no privacy from what you can tell, and he can't even say his opinion without being destroyed for it.

No thank you, you rather stay a nobody than have your entire life displayed for the world to judge.

"What's the concept anyways?" You mumble, looking at Lea who shrugs.

"They said he wants to play director today." She jokes. "So I brought a little of everything, really. We'll see what he wants to do."

You frown. You don't like being so unable to prepare anything- to be put on the spot like that. What if he wants something from you you can't pull off? You don't want to be shit-talked by someone with a name as big as his- that would be absolute career-ending for sure, and you can't have that. You've got nothing else than this.

"I heard he's kinda difficult." Lea sighs, picking up her coffee. "They always only look nice.." She huffs disappointed, before she takes a sip.

You just stay quiet. It's all the same anyways.

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Jeon Jungkook is, indeed, difficult.

Not only is he way too tall for you, but he also moves around constantly, talks over your head as if you're not there, and most of all seems to love making fun of you for no apparent reason other than to piss you off. You're not sure why exactly it has to be you- but it seems like he's chosen his victim, and he won't let go anytime soon.

Just do your job, you tell yourself.

His jokes about your height honestly suck, but no one's brave enough to say it, clearly. Everyone laughs at them and praises his good looks and professionalism while you're just trying to get through this whole ordeal. "A bit tired, huh?" The model looks up at you as he sits on the chair provided, your hands fixing his hair in place just the way he wanted it to. You're glad he's sitting. You hate when he's standing upright, not even trying to bend down a little to offer some help. "And not much of a talker." He chuckles, boldly letting his eyes roam over your face and body while you work.

If he's as observant as he wants to make himself to be, then he won't be too surprised if you don't answer now, either.

And he isn't- he just laughs softly to himself, nothing more than that, and you honestly don't want to know what he's thinking. He's probably judging your no-name branded clothes, ripped tights from having gotten your keys caught on them earlier, and your clear lack of makeup.

You're not the model here, so why bother?

You leave him quickly after finishing up, letting Haru and the others guide the model on where to look and how to pose- though honestly, Jungkook seems rather shit at following directions, always doing somewhat of what he wants instead of what's being suggested.

Why even bring a director when you're gonna do what you want anyways?

"I hate how good he looks." lea hisses at you from where she's standing right next to where you are. "He's so mean! Like, childish-mean!" She whines towards you, and you can't help but snort to yourself because that's hitting the nail on the head for you.

He does act like a spoiled child rather than an adult man on the road towards his thirties.

"Jungkook-ssi, please look at the camera!" One of the directors ask, and only now do you notice that the model looked your way- probably having heard you laugh. Does he think you were laughing about him? Hopefully not, even if it's somewhat true.

You can't have him yap about you to other magazines or whatnot.

So you instantly wipe that smile off your face and go back towards professionalism, and at that, he alerts his gaze as well, going back to what he's been hired to do.

"Do you think there's guys out there who look like him but are nice too?" Lea wonders now that you've both walked a bit morenout of hearing range, avoiding his radar as you hide amongst the other staff and equipment. "Like, I want a hot dude with piercings and tattoos too. But with the old-guy gentleman flavor, you know?" She dreams, stealing a snack from you.

"Dont think so." You huff out, stretching your arms high up to arch your back and legs, even going onto tip-toes as your muscles release all the tension you've been accumulating already. You sigh out in bliss after finishing, your body seemingly reset-

A smirking Jungkook walking right past you, probably having seen you throughout the entire ordeal.

What's that stupid half-smile for, though?

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You shrug. "He looks the same in every photo to me." You tell Haru, who looks at you a bit lost.

He sighs as he clicks through the photos himself, unsure. You know he knows you're right- but at the end of the day, people like those sultry eyes and that cocky expression that man makes in every picture. You're not sure what exactly makes it so appealing- but you're just here to make him look as good as possible. And his hair looks perfect in almost every shot- so that's good enough for you.

That's your job. Nothing more, nothing less.

"It's his signature look." Haru tries to justify, his soft voice unsure, however, as if he needs to tell it mostly to himself to be convinced of it. He's never been a fan of shootings like these- he's good at them, sure, but he doesn't enjoy shooting those pictures. He's too soft to say it, but you know he finds them boring and uninteresting. It's basics, nothing exciting, nothing new. But he's being paid for this- so he doesn't complain.

That's his job- nothing more, nothing less.

"Well, then his signature look is boring." You say, leaning back against the table behind you, sipping your can of sugary caffeinated soda- the energy drink by now the only thing keeping you somewhat concentrated. Hopefully Jungkook stops complaining so much so you can all go home soon- he's got the whole week anyways, so why is he so whiny?

Brat. It's only the first day and he's already getting on your nerves- acting like someone pissed in his breakfast, rolling his eyes and staring people down just for the fun of it. And women actually fuck that guy? Nepotism must be crazy.

He probably has sex in front of a mirror just to watch himself.

"Boring, huh." Jungkook's voice chimes up, and you spot him walking closer, now wearing a new set of clothes. The leather pants look awfully tight, especially in his private region- that can't be comfortable, can it?

You frown at him. He got his hair all chaotic again- but it's fine. It fits the theme. You won't retouch it for now.

"She didn't mean it like that-" Haru instantly tries to defend you, the young man intimidated by the model as always. You wonder how he can even operate the camera when he constantly shies away from him so much. Maybe when he looks at him through the lens he can detach the person from the picture? It would make sense. After all, you do the same.

You don't see Jungkook. You see Jeon Jungkook, brand ambassador and model- and it should stay that way.

"I did." You disagree with him, however, before you look back at Jungkook. You don't need to be protected- not for your own opinion. It doesn't have any weight anyway, you doubt that someone like you can hurt this man's ego either. It's at least as big as himself, if not taller, which is a lot, considering that he towers over you despite not even reaching the standard 1.80m height usually desired. Then again, there's quite a few things you could count as not being the standard of beauty. But he makes up for it in confidence- even if he seems to have a little too much of it for your taste. "I did mean it like that."

"What am I supposed to do instead then?" Jungkook challenges, crossing his arms next to you.

The hell were you supposed to tell him? You're neither a model, nor very fashionable. He should ask Lea about that, not you. He's trying to argue for no good reason, and that attitude is starting to piss you off.

"Nothing. It's good like that." You shrug, keeping your cool for now at least visually.

"You said it's boring." He bites back almost immediately. Your distaste grows.

"I did, because to me, it is." You respond calmly. Is he trying to pick a fight with you right now? He really is acting like a child beneath all that fake politeness and forced friendly tone he puts on. "But that's my personal opinion. I'm sure people will like those pictures despite that." You explain.

He plays around with his piercings, and gives you that odd look that you can't distinguish from hatred or being offended.

Unbeknownst to you, he's been trying to figure you out for the entire shoot- wondering what you're really like. Do you like softer guys like Haru more? You seem to have some edge to you, if the glimpse of your bellybutton piercing and the few lines of a tattoo poking out the waistband of your pants would be anything to go by. Maybe you're just someone who likes to be in charge.

He can't offer that, at least not sexually.

He's opening his mouth to say something, before he moves when the director claps, and tells everyone to get back to their respective spots-

Jungkook sitting in front of the camera once more, woth the same signature look, because that is his job.

Nothing more, nothing less.

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If it wasn't for Lea and Haru, you wouldn't even be here.

Sitting in a restaurant, special VIP part that's secluded for the rest of the people here, eating together with stupid Jeon Jungkook, who's busy crawling up your boss's ass. He's sitting right next to you too, which is just as ridiculous- it makes it impossible to have a proper conversation with either of your friends. So you just eat, casually, mostly whatever Lea puts on your plate for you.

You really hate social settings like this. You don't like being reminded that you can't even hold a proper conversation for longer than two sentences.

The moment he puts a piece of meat on your plate instead of Lea, your chopsticks stutter. You don't like this. He just tries to appear friendly- probably because everyone else is watching. You know how this goes, after all, you've been through shit like this before. He'll lure you in, be all nice and sweet, use you as his dirty little secret before he leaves you behind for someone that looks better at his side. Someone of his own profession, most likely- or maybe a singer, or an actress. Someone pretty, tall and famous, someone useful for his career. Someone beneficial.

Someone that's not you.

"You're really not much of a talker, hm?" He asks, sitting next to you with his head on his hand, elbow perched up on the table. He honestly looks a little tired without all the makeup Lea had put on for the shoot today- eyes a bit dull, darkness underneath them shadowing the glimmer they had during work today quite a bit. His skin is also not really as clear as it looked in the pictures taken. He's got a few beauty marks, a noticeable little scar, and some redness around his nose.

He looks like a person from this angle. Not like a model.

"…what am I supposed to say." You shrug, eating what he's offered, because why not? He hums a reply, everyone else at the table conversing with one another, Lea currently seemingly in a heated debate about the height of heels with another staff member across the table.

"Why do you work this job when you hate models so much?" Jungkook asks, catching you off guard as you look at him again. "Or is it just me that's your issue?" He challenges, and you sigh, shaking your head before you occupy yourself with your food once more.

"Was my work okay?" You ask him instead, not looking at him but rather his hands, because you can't stand those eyes he has.

"More than okay- it was just what I wanted." He replies a bit caught off guard, and you shrug.

"Then there's nothing to talk about." You simply reply. Because that's the way you need to keep things, that's how you'll protect yourself and have been for the last few years. You're there to work, not make friends, and especially nothing more than that.

"Oh I think there is." Jungkook chuckles next to you. "I heard you and Kim Yongsun had something going on a few years back when he was shooting for Dazed." He says, and suddenly, you put your chopsticks down, even Lea looing over at you, an expression of both anger and worry on her face. You get up and leave with a respectful bow to your seniors, leaving the restaurant and Jeon Jungkook behind, who's looking at Lea next to him as if to ask what's suddenly wrong with you-

but even she shakes her head, turning back towards Haru next to her, no longer interested in talking to him.

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Kim Yongsun is, at the moment, a very successful actor. Having starred as a leading role in several dramas, he's right now shooting for a full length movie, though the news aren't really as interested in his career-

but more so in his love life, and the baby on the way.

Articles about this perfect and untainted lovestory are all over the place whenever you search up his name- this picture-perfect dream he's created about how he only ever loved his now wife Jane, how he's never looked at anyone before.

Such a liar, but then again- he's an actor, and that's what he's pretty talented at.

Having all of those memories revived made you nauseous yesterday, and it also made you dread coming to work today. But this is your job, nothing more, nothing less.

"There's my pretty bestie!" Lea instantly hugs you the next morning, swaying you around a little childishly, pressing her cheek against yours. With her tall body and a few years above your age, she feels like an older sister that you can trust, years of working together having glued your souls to one another it feels like. "Did you get home safe yesterday?" She wonders, and you nod.

"Went to bed right away." You explain, getting out your breakfast, another one for her as well. She tends to get up late, so you always buy her something on the way- otherwise she would constantly forget to eat.

"I'm gonna have to try so hard not to poke an eye out of that guy today.." The makeup artist growls, pouting as she picks up her sandwich.

"It's natural that he knows though.." Haru softly buts in. "It's not really his fault?" He attempts to justify.

"Yeah maybe, but ever heard of being tactful? I don't tell everyone that you had a crush on Alice either even though that was hella' weird." She bites back, causing Haru's cheeks to flush red. Though she's right- even if Jungkook knows about it, there was no reason to bring that up, especially if he knows the full story of it all. Is he really that mean?

Could be. After all, he's not been exactly kind up until now.

The moment he enters the workplace, he seems almost surprised to see you there as well- greeting everyone on set with a nod. He's here early this time, and you're not sure why he'd do that. He's got almost two more hours until you're supposed to be shooting- so why is he here already?

"I'll protect you." Lea threatens, suddenly pulling you close to sit you on her lap, glaring at Jungkook.

"Lea!" You hiss at her, worried she might get into trouble. She can be a little too 'out there' for her own good- and someone like that guy is not one to mess with. One bad article about your company, and she'll be blacklisted from ever working in the industry ever again.

It's how it works, beneath the surface. Most agencies don't want staff that are not loyal dogs.

"Good morning." Jungkook offers, walking closer with a slight saunter you've come to realize he has almost all the time he walks around. "Can I talk to you for a second?" He asks, and Lea buts in before you can say anything at all.

"No, I'm sorry, Jungkook-ssi." She snarls almost. "We have to start working soon. Please talk to the directors if you have any questions." She says, making Jungkook eye her a little, before he sighs.

"Alright, then I'll do it like this instead." He tilts his head a bit irritated, crossing his arms in front of him. "I'm sorry for speaking out of line yesterday. I didn't mean to upset you." He offers. Lea scoffs.

"Well, you still did." She mumbles, and it seems like now the beast shows it's real face as he looks at her.

"I don't think I've talked to you at all yesterday, so I'm not sure why you're barking right now." He challenges, making the makeup artist visibly surprised at the way he addresses her. "I believe she's old enough to talk for herself." The model argues, and you can practically feel Lea's rage beginning to buzz inside of her, and to avoid any sort of crime soon about to happen, you stand up, and push at Jungkook's shoulder to lead him towards the restroom area where you're a bit more secluded.

"I don't care about your apology." You tell him right away. "Neither do I care if you're truly sorry or just trying to appear that way. We're both here to work, and that's it." You say, while he stands in front of you listening with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Please do not invite me to anything you might want to do for the staff. I'm not interested." You finish your small rant.

"I always wondered what really went down, you know?" Jungkook says. "With you and Yongsun, I mean. He said that you hooked up with him, but honestly, looking at you, I can hardly believe that. No offense-" He waves off any potential anger you might have over the hidden message in that sentence. "-but you don't look like someone who fucks around." He shrugs.

"What do I look like then?" You challenge, now your arms crossed in defense. You don't like this situation in general. You just want him to leave you alone.

"I'm not sure." He admits. "But just between us-" He leans in a bit closer. "Yongsun is a cunt anyways. He drinks straight up coffee creamer- I mean, who the fuck does that?" he says, and at that, you actually have to laugh.

You remember that, years back.

"Listen-" Jungkook sighs. "-I know you probably have trust issues now, I'd have them too if I had to be with someone like that-" He tries to joke, "-but let's try and at least be civil with one another, okay?" He offers.

"You talk as if I was the one constantly picking fights." You bite back, a little annoyed again at the prospect of him victimizing himself right now.

"Yeah- it's a bad habit, sorry." He rubs the back of his neck. "I try and make jokes whenever I get awkward- and they don't land sometimes."

"You mean most of the time." you say, and he presses his lips together.

"Touché." He clicks his tongue, before he sways a bit on his feet. "Anyways, let's work well together, alright?" He offers his hand, and you shake it-

though you feel like this could be a terrible mistake.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic

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v7knp · 3 months

Text

Telapath [a.a]

a/n: fluff, coworker romance, idk what else chapter one. mindreader, reader!x loser!abby (this is also kinda long, srry)

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

Ever since you were young, you could tell what someone was thinking. You knew by looking at them and focusing on their inner thoughts.

It's been both a gift and a curse. Having to hear people disgusting thoughts, but you also got to know what people really thought.

You knew it was wrong to intrude on people's privacy so you usually tried to ignore people's thoughts, but sometimes you get bored so why not?

No one knew not even your best friend, Dina. You wanted to tell her, but you thought it would freak her out, so you kept your mouth shut.

You're now a retail worker, it's actually pretty fun, and easy. How could it be hard? All you do is fold, cash customers out, and get breaks, etc.

But today was different, there was a new hire. She was tall, and muscualar, and so fucking bueatiful. Her name was Abby Anderson.

Your manager asked you to train her, you instantly said yes.

Your manager meet you two and you went to the cashier to train her.

Her first thought when you two meet was

"Holy shit she's pretty"

"Hi, I'm y/n, and you're obviously Abby" you giggled. She just let out a breathy laugh and a "Yeah".

"Umm, okay I guess I'll show you how to work this" you smiled.

She was looking down at you as you were explaning all the buttons which opened the drawer, and which told you how much money to give back, etc.

But she wasnt paying attention, a million thoughts were running through her head.

"She smells so good, like vanilla"

"She has such a pretty smile"

"Oh shit, what did she just say? I wasn't even paying attention"

"Sorry could you.. um repeat that I didnt hear you?" she had spoken up.

"Oh yeah" you said, knowing why she couldnt hear you.

You finished training her, and went back to work. Like 45 minutes later she came up to you.

"Y/n?" She seemed nervous. "Yeah?" you asked looking up at her. "You okay?" you said after a moment of silence.

"Oh.. uh.. yeah, how do you take the security tags off?"

"Oh duh, shit I totally forgot about that, sorry, I'll show you." you walked up with her, a customer was on the other side of the counter.

"Okay, so you just use this tool, and you just pop it off" you looked up and smiled at her, watching her try.

"Her smile is so nice"

"Alright, come get me if you need me agian"

after the course of a couple weeks and listening in on Abby's thoughts, you knew how she felt, and you felt the same.

You were clocking into work in the morning, and when you turned around when you finished, you bumped into Abby.

You had accidentaly spilt her coffee, and it got on her white shirt "Oh shit, Abs I'm sorry, I'll help you clean up" you said

"Does it hurt?" you questioned seeing if she was burned. She seemed to have a dull reaction.

"Abby, I jusy spilt hot ass water on you, are you okay?" You said sternly, trying to get her attention.

"Y-yeah no I'm fine" abby said blandly, you could tell she seemed off.

"Did it sound like I didn't care she was trying to help me?"

"Hope not"

You dragged her to the bathroom, and helped her clean up, her shirt was still wet though and very see through.

You could see every muscle, from her slightly coverd bicep, to her abs, down to her pants line.

You were starring and once you realized you've been starring for too long, you looked back up to see a pink face.

"U..um do you have an extra shirt?" Abby said with a slight shake in her voice.

"No, just use one from the store, no one will notice" you chuckled dryly.

It's now your lunch break, and Abby's about to go on hers.

"Hey Abs, so since I spilt your coffee on you this morning, I'll go buy you another one... If.. if you want" you said on the customer side of the counter.

"Oh my god, is she asking me on a date?"

"Should I ask if it's a date, no it'll werid her out"

"Abs?" you asked her obviously hearing her thoughts, you still needed the okay.

"Yes, yeah I'll go with you" she said with a big smile.

"Did I sound too excited about it, shit, I hope I didnt"

"Okay cool, finish here and I'll come back here to pick you up" you smiled and walked away.

moments later after getting ready to go out, you walk up to the counter, you guys went to the coffee shop down the street.

As you two are walking down the road, talking and laughing, you hear more thoughts rushing into Abbys pretty head.

"Her laugh is so nice"

"I wonder how she feels about me... Should I ask, no, what if she doesnt feel the same and I embarrass myself?"

"So who do you listen to?" you say "like music" you continued on not knowing if she knew what you ment.

"I listen to a little bit of everything, like umm Noah Kahan"

"I'm gonna be up front with you I don't know who that is" you said chuckling.

"It's okay, not to many people do" she says sarcastically.

"Oh so that makes you mysterious?"you joked and Abby laughed.

You guys made it to the coffee shop, and each got a coffee.

"Do you have a favorite genre of movies?" you asked trying to spark a convo.

"Yeah, I like comidies, you?"

"I love horror movies" you said excitedly.

She laughed and you two finished your lunch break and headed back to the store, finished your shifts and clocked out.

On the way out, you heard footsteps behind you, you turned around and saw Abby.

"Hey Abs, what's up?"

"Um so me and my friends are having a little get- together or party or whatever you wanna call it, do you umm, mabye wanna come?"

"Yeah I'd love to I have zero plans tonight anyways"

"Well if I'm going anywhere I'm gonna need your number to go" you said as a tactic to get her number.

"Yeah, yeah, here" she said unlocking her phone.

"was this a way to get my number? That was so sly"

"Okay well send me the address and I'll be there." you smiled.

#tlou #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x you #abby anderson fluff #abbyandersonx blackreader #black history

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archie-sunshine · 5 months

Text

Peacetime(Hot Rod Gets Slammed Down Bigstyle)(TF: CYBERVERSE)

SYNOPSIS: Hot Rod is bored during the relative peace that the wall has brought. He comms Soundwave for some fun. Soundwave says Hot Rod can't handle more than a quickie with him. Hot Rod makes an ill advised bet about it. (aka Hot Rod Gets Slammed Down Bigstyle)

Word Count: 4,764

TAGS: Soundwave/Hot Rod, overstimulation, humiliation, degradation, frenemies with benefits, rivals with benefits, face fucking, dirty talk, valveplug, denial, teasing

Author's Notes: spiritual successor to the soundrod art I drew earlier this week. please enjoy!

It wasn’t as if peacetime wasn’t needed and loved and wanted on Cybertron. Not at all, really! Who could complain about a world without fighting, who could complain about a world where for the first time in millions of years Hot Rod didn’t really have to watch his back?

Well… Hot Rod could. Things had slowed down, people were worrying about stuff like infrastructure and public services and reconstruction. Things were going back to normal but it was a hard sell, especially considering the entire populous was comprised of antsy trigger happy veterans who’s ‘normal’ was waiting for the call to arms. The wall certainly didn’t help either. Tensions were cooled between them, especially since the Quinteson incident, but there were still plenty of Autobots who scowled at the concept of just letting the Decepticons be after millions of years of intergalactic war.

Hot Rod probably should have counted himself in that number, but he had it on good authority that the Decepticons weren’t all the same sharp, frightening cookie cutter shape that some bots painted them as. It still fragged with Hot Rod’s processor that he could be the type to stand up for the honor of a Decepticon, but… not all of his fellow Autobots had the experience that he did.

All that complex dichotomy aside, the fact was that Hot Rod had gotten a bit fond of some cons. Particularly the inscrutable, obnoxious Soundwave. He didn’t exactly have a name for what he and Soundwave had, but it was fun. It was thrilling.

It was a series of ill advised hookups that technically broke the laws surrounding the ceasefire wall deal, but Hot Rod liked that kind of danger. It was the same reason he kept getting in bed with a bot that could have- and probably should have- killed him a thousand times over: Hot Rod was a thrill seeker.

And so, as Hot Rod entered his hab unit and the lights flickered on, he was already in the process of comming the other mech.

HR: Heyyyyyyy

Hot Rod took a seat on his sofa, flicking on his holovid projector and beginning to flick through the channels. He had to have something to keep him occupied while he waited for Soundwave to respond after all.

SW: What do you want.

Curt, annoyed, and curious were all good things for Soundwave to be in Hot Rod’s opinion. They were a good look on him, even over text.

HR: You free tonite? ;P

He briefly paused his channel surfing on some old rerun of a- now ancient- cybertronian soap opera.

SW: Maybe. Why?

Hot Rod raised a brow ridge to himself. Maybe? He pondered the best way to continue for a klik.

HR: Maybe?

SW: I have work to get done.

HR: Sounds boring. You should come visit.

SW: You gonna make it worth my time?

Hot Rod grinned, reclining into the sofa and kicking his pedes up on the table. Bingo. He fished around for his handheld transponder, fiddling around to get to a camera function. He let his legs fall apart and brushed a tantilizing servo up the edge of his panels as he snapped a picture and sent it off.

HR: I always do ;0

There was a long pause, maybe a few minutes even. Hot Rod kept opening and reopening their comms chat in his processor, willing a new message to appear.

Finally, after what felt like an hour(but was actually 5 kliks), Soundwave responded.

SW: I’ll be there.

It was fun to mess around with a partner like Soundwave, usually mechs and femmes alike were falling all over themselves for a piece of his hot speedster frame, but Soundwave played hard to get. It was- again- thrilling. He didn’t get why he was so into it, but he wasn’t about to examine it either.

Hot Rod stared at the door to his unit, attempting to lounge gracefully(and sexily) as he waited for Soundwave to enter. He’d poured two cubes of engex for them to share, the kind that soundwave liked, the really light blue stuff.

The door to the hab slid open.

“Glad you could make it, how was traffic?” Hot Rod crooned, attempting to look effortlessly relaxed

“You know I always go through the backstreets.” Soundwave said, stepping in and letting the door close behind him. He strolled up to the couch Hot Rod was reclining on and shoved his legs out of his way before sitting down. Hot Rod looked at him indignantly, wrinkling his nose at him.

Soundwave ignored the look, picking up his cube and turning his faceplate away from Hot Rod to drink.

“Things all good on your side of the wall, Wavey?” Hot Rod asked, sitting up and trying to recover with a different sexy pose.

“Don’t act like you care, drink your engex.” He retorted flatly, gesturing at the cube.

Hot Rod rolled his optics and picked up his own cube. “You’re no fun.”

“That can’t be true, considering you’re the one who keeps bothering me for a quickie.” Soundwave raised a brow ridge at the speedster.

“Welllllll it doesn’t have to be a quickie, does it?” Hot Rod flirted, starting to sip his engex. “You could have me the whole night.”

Soundwave snorted. “Please. With your stamina? You couldn’t handle more than 2 hours, let alone the whole night.”

“I could too!” Hot Rod snapped. He took an indignant swig of engex and folded his arms. “I bet I could run circles around you.”

Soundwave finished his cube, slamming it on the table and finally turning to face Hot Rod. “Bet you can’t.”

“Well why don’t we find out?” Hot rod sneered, all flirtation melting away in favour of competition. “We’ll make it a real bet. 50 shanix says I can take whatever you throw at me, 4 hours of whatever you can dish out.”

“Whatever I throw at you? You’re playing with fire, Hot Rod.” Soundwave’s voice had lowered a bit, clearly showing his interest.

“Well thats fine then, I can take the heat.” Hot Rod boasted.

“I don’t want your shanix.”

“What?”

“I don’t want shanix.” Soundwave repeated, shifting a bit closer, looming over the other’s frame. “When I prove you wrong, the next 3 times you need a hookup, you’ll drag your sorry aft over the border to my hab unit and beg me to spike you down in person.”

Hot Rod’s engine flared, heat coming up to his faceplate. “W-Well alright-! And when I run circles around you, uh- um-” Hot Rod wracked his processor for a good enough punishment. “I get to put it in your port next time we do it.” He stuck his servo out with a malicious grin.

Soundwave shook it, not letting go when Hot Rod tried to pull away. “You’re gonna regret this, Hot Rod.”

Some had called Hot Rod a bit of a nymphomaniac. It was a bit of a harsh word, and not at all true, he thought about and did plenty of things other than interface. Others called him shareware, which was rude, but… not an unfitting title. Everyone knew he got around, which to some more uptight bots would be considered a mark on his character.

Hot Rod just considered it practice.

He leaned into Soundwave’s servo as it slid down the top of his crest to the back of his helm. Soundwave’s spike was heavy and thick in Hot Rod’s intake, sleek white and smooth on the bottom with blue ridges around the top. He could feel his cheeks distending from the stretch as he bobbed his helm in the larger mech’s lap. His fans had kicked on a few kliks ago, shuddering to life as his frame fought against overheating. He let the tip of his spike rub against the back of his throat, laving his glossa luxuriously against the underside of Soundwave’s shaft.

He allowed himself a pleased little hip wiggle when the larger bot stifled a moan from the stimulation, which earned him a tighter grip on the helm and an exasperated scoff. “You’re ridiculous.” Soundwave grunted, rocking his pelvis up into Hot Rod’s mouth and making him choke. He just slid his dermas tighter around Soundwave’s spike and pushed himself down harder. He forced back a gag as it passed into his throat, nearly hitting his vocalizer as he began to nestle his nose against the top edge of Soundwave’s lifted modesty panel. He swallowed around him, flicking his optics up to the other mech’s and winking.

HR: still think you’re gonna win?

SW: Want me to stop going easy on you?

Their gaze stayed locked on each other, a spark of competitiveness glinting in Hot Rod’s optics.

HR: Do your worst, big guy.

The comm had barely appeared in their channel before Soundwave shifted his position, rolling Hot Rod over onto his back with his spike still in his mouth and beginning to thrust deep into the autobot’s waiting throat. Hot Rod let out a choked gurgle. His servos flew up to claw at Soundwave’s thighs.

“Don’t be so dramatic, I know you can take it like a good bot.” He growled out, steadying himself on the arm of the sofa. The rhythmic clank of Soundwave’s hips hitting Hot Rod’s face filled the room.

Hot Rod’s optics flickered and thinned out as his fans roared. He could feel his frame shuddering. He was so desperately wet and strained behind his panels he thought he might die. He could feel the pings in his processor demanding him to relieve the pressure, demanding he open his panels and let his array breathe.

Soundwave slammed in particularly hard, hitting the back of his throat. Hot Rod let out a muffled whine, his thighs quivering as he fought to keep his throat from spasming. He began to open his panels, hoping to give himself just the barest amount of relief.

A servo jammed down between the gaps between Hot Rod’s panel and abdominal plating, holding his modesty panel shut. Hot Rod’s back arched. A gurgling wail escaped his vocalizer, drowned in intake lubricant. “Ah- Don’t think so~...” Soundwave chuckled, keeping his spike hilted in the speedster’s throat. “You wanna last, don’t you?”

“Mm-Mghhf!” Hot Rod growled, squirming under the bigger bot. He went to bite down, finding Soundwave’s other servo coming down to jam a thumb between his jaws to keep him open.

“If I knew you were gonna be this much of a mess, I’d have asked for more from you.” He taunted, beginning to grind his hips into his throat again. “Keep those panels shut, got it?”

“Mhhn…!” Hot Rod whimpered, offlining his optics as he willed his modesty panel shut.

“Good bot… see thats the nice thing about you autobots.” Soundwave grunted, once again beginning to jackhammer into Hot Rod’s throat. “You always do what you’re told.”

Hot Rod growled indignantly, hoping to sound intimidating and angry. It came out more like a gurgle, spittle bubbling around the edges of his intake.

“You can’t help it, can you? It’s in your programing, any big bad mech could walk up to you and if he told you to jump you’d ask how high.” He laughed raspily, pulling out almost all the way.

He watched Hot Rod’s chassis heave and quiver for a moment, trying to get his frame under control. He watched the speedster take a long, heavy in vent, waited until it was about to leave him, then jammed his spike back home.

Soundwave savoured the desperate choking noise that eked out of Hot Rod’s throat.

Hot Rod wheezed. His frame felt taught and overheated, processor fuzzy with pings warning him of the stress on his throat and jaw, the strain of his fans, and again, begging, PLEADING for him to open his panels. His digits weakly gripped at Soundwave’s plating one last time before limply petting at the metal there. His frame went pliant and limp underneath him.

Soundwave laughed to himself breathily, slowing to a halt and carefully drawing his spike out of Hot Rod’s intake. A gush of prefluid and saliva splattered across Hot Rod’s chest. The autobot coughed weakly, glaring ineffectually up at Soundwave.

“Want me to go back to being easy on you, Roddy?” He taunted, bringing a servo down to stroke slowly at his own spike.

“N-No chance…” Hot Rod growled hoarsely, sitting up and wiping at his face with the back of his servo.

“Good bot. Let’s get you to the berth then.” Hot Rod couldn’t get a word in edgewise before he was being lifted bodily off the sofa and flung over Soundwave’s shoulder.

Hot Rod cycled his vocalizer, coughing again and continuing to wipe his dermas. Embarrassment nibbled at the back of his mind at his messiness. He wanted to flip the positions, try pistoning into Soundwave’s- well if he had an intake he’d frag it silly, see how he liked it. Hot Rod was broken out of his stewing anger by the sound of Soundwave snickering to himself.

“What-!” Hot Rod snapped, the question cut off as Soundwave drew a digit up the edge of his panels. Oh no.

“You’re leaking, Hot Rod.” Soundwave sing-songed. He gathered the prefluid up between his digits and rubbed them together absently as he unceremoniously dumped Hot Rod onto his berth.

The speedster quickly squeezed his legs together around his panels, trying to hide his eagerness. He winced at the feeling, rivulets of slick prefluid smearing against his plating. Soundwave looked down at him, amusement clear across his borderline unreadable faceplate.

“Shut up…” Hot Rod muttered.

“You shouldn’t have made the bet.” He chuckled, reaching forwards and effortlessly knocking Hot Rod’s legs apart. He stood between his knees, slowly smoothing his servos over Hot Rod’s armour. “Nice paint job, you buff it before I got here?”

“Pfft… no, you’re not worth the trouble..” Hot Rod rolled his optics. For the record he had shined his armour a bit before Soundwave got there, but that wasn’t even for him! It was… y’know, for someone else.

“Oh I’m not worth the trouble?” Soundwave arced a brow ridge. “So who were you thinking about that made this happen, huh?” Hot Rod hissed as Soundwave knocked two of his knuckles on his panels, optics fizzing and fritzing as his processor produced yet another urgent pressure warning for his array. It was starting to hurt, he could feel his array hot with energon, mashed against the back of the panel.

“H-hhn- S-soundwave-” He gritted out, clenching his fists.

Soundwave leaned down to whisper in his audial. “I dunno, Hot Rod, I think this was all me right here…” Hot Rod’s invent punched out of him in a surprised moan when Soundwave ground the heel of his palm against his panels. He dimly felt his processor ping another warning. His engine revved loudly as he arched his back, helm clanging against the berth.

“But if you’re so sure it wasn’t we can call off this bet right now, call it a draw, let you get your valve pounded out by some other mech, huh?” Soundwave crooned. Steam poured out of Hot Rod’s dermas.

“N-No-!” He whined out too quickly, his face suddenly even hotter with shame. He went to dismiss his needy beg,“I- hhahhh-” The words fell apart in his vocalizer. His jaw dropped open and his optics went lidded. He ground his hips up, his array burning as Soundwave pressed his modesty panel down against the soft protoform with two digits, slowly moving the panel in little circles. “Ggghh- P-please- Primus- frag- j-ju-just lemme open- S-Soundwave-!” He babbled, gripping at the bigger mech’s sides desperately.

“Aw… Hot Rod, are you saying… you can’t… take it…” Soundwave drew his words out slowly, venting steam into Hot Rod’s audial.

“N-no- I can- ah- I’m- Hhuaahh- I’m f-fine- I haven’t evennNnnNn gotten ss-st-started!” He tried to boast, even through the embarrassing moans that he was letting out. Finally Soundwave let up, and Hot Rod went limp against the berth, fans stuttering to vent off excess heat.

Soundwave leaned back and folded his arms, looking down at the autobot as he shuddered and whined. Hot Rod tried to look aloof and fine, even with the coolant already beading on his brow and the way his frame was quivering like a leaf.

“S-...See? I’m just fine… completely normal.” Hot Rod panted out, giving Soundwave a shaky smirk.

“Alright. Open up.” Soundwave ordered, flicking his panels one last time as Hot Rod jolted and glared at him. Hot Rod offlined his optics, body shuddering as he finally opened his panels. He felt embarrassment, hot and thick, gathering in his tanks. His spike shot out of it’s casing like a rocket, already pulsing and drenched in prefluid. His valve was no different, puffy and needy, his anterior node peeking between the plush lips. He was completely soaked, so much so that a puddle of the stuff splattered out onto his berth as his panels tucked away.

Hot Rod bit his glossa to keep from howling as Soundwave drew a digit up through his lips, over his node, and up the underside of his twitching spike. “Primus you’re easy. Can’t believe you got off this much on me fragging your throat. Maybe I should do it more.”

“Not on your life- n-not after I win-” Hot Rod taunted feebly. “You won’t be able to walk right for a week when I get done with you-O-OUH-”

“You’re cuter when you stop talking so much.” Soundwave sighed, rocking his fingers up to rub at the front two calipers of Hot Rod’s valve. He drew his fingers apart, mapping the edges of his yielding hole as he brought them down and together along the edges.

He pulled his servo back, lifting them to Hot Rod’s waiting intake and jamming the two slick digits in. Hot Rod wined, saliva dripping from his dermas as Soundwave mashed the flavour of his own prefluid into his glossa.

“That’s enough foreplay, don’t you think?” Soundwave teased, cocking his head playfully.

Hot Rod could feel his legs quaking. He felt like he was going to break his dentas from how hard he was gritting them. His fans felt like they were on the verge of melting under their own heat.

Soundwave stroked his servo up Hot Rod’s spike again, squeezing just enough to milk out another dribble of prefluid. He could feel every burst of steam that escaped the bigger mech’s vents, condensation gathering against the side of the speedster’s helm. He could feel how stretched he was around the decepticon’s spike, but Soundwave refused to move, leaving him impaled on it to suffer as he gritted back his moans.

“You know, I’m not on this side of the wall often, but don’t worry, I know all about the kind of reputation you have… I hear you pick up so many mechs you might as well be a taxi service..” Soundwave murmured in his audial, spreading his digits over the head of Hot Rod’s spike and teasing the edges. “How many of them treat you like this, huh?”

“Nnn-N…None-!” Hot Rod gritted out, offlining his optics to focus on venting the heat and not immediately crumbling to a pleading mess. “T-they’re all act-tually NICE to mm-mme!” His voice stuttered as Soundwave drew his digits up again, teasing his slit and massaging the shaft lightly.

“Thats funny, I didn’t think anyone had the time to be nice to a nasty little piece of shareware like you…” Soundwave growled, slowly grinding his hips up to push against Hot Rod’s soft protoform. Hot Rod bit his derma tightly, clenching his digits around Soundwave’s thighs. That taunt made his processor spin. “They usually use their pretty little valves and toss them aside. Only difference between you and some street walking whore is that you're persistent.”

Hot Rod let out a moan, finally opening his mouth with a burst of steam. He grit his dentas back together, rolling his hips into Soundwave’s palm as he began to stroke his shaft again.

“I thought you’d move on after our little hookup but you're obsessed… they say not to humour animals like you so they don’t follow you home.” Soundwave growled, bringing his free hand up to grip possessively at his chassis. Hot Rod keened weakly at the insult, his faceplate flushed bright pink and hot with energon. “But you can’t help it can you? You love it, you love this spike, don’t you?”

Hot Rod mewled as Soundwave pinched at the base of his spike, rubbing his thumb across his anterior node. “S.. suh- Soundwave-” He gasped, optics sparking.

“Go on, say it…” Soundwave prompted, stroking his hand up his chassis and taking hold of Hot Rod’s chin. “Tell me how you love it, Roddy…”

“I- hhhnm..” He moaned. His optics flickered. He was just being unfair now, rubbing at his node like that while he began to gently thrust up into his valve. “I- l–love it-” He huffed out under his breath.

“What was that? Come on, you can do better than that…” Soundwave teased, rubbing his middle two digits against his anterior node while his thumb came around to stroke the base of his spike. He drew his own spike back, slamming it back into Hot Rod’s valve.

It was like he’d broken something. “I-I LOVE IT!! F-frag! I love your s-spike Soundwave!!” He wailed out, spittle flying from his dermas and across Soundwave’s hand. “I love it- I-I love it ff-fraaaag, primus- please- I- Ohhh s-slaaaggg…!!” His voice bounced pathetically as Soundwave began to thrust up into him. He could feel his spike bobbing in Soundwave’s grip, now squeezed tight at the base. “I’m aa-aallyours, nnhh- nomore- ah- no more s-shareware- f-frag- I’m all yours-!” Hot Rod babbled deliriously.

Soundwave chuckled in his audial, before speeding up his servo, his spike suddenly beginning to vibrate. To say Hot Rod screamed was an understatement. It sounded like his vocalizer was being shredded, glitching and fritzing and leaping in tone as overload washed through his frame. He thought he might die, his body shaking as he rode out the sensations that refused to let up. Every bit of his wiring tingled with lightning, every ounce of his frame wracked with pleasure. He felt another burst of steam flush over his audial.

“Loser.” Soundwave whispered.

And that was it. Hot rod arched his back, clanking his helm hard against Soundwave’s shoulder as his transfluid splattered across the floor and Soundwave’s hand. His valve cycled down tightly around Soundwave’s spike, pulsing and throbbing. He was distantly aware he was making some pretty unflattering noises, but more than that he couldn’t even see past the cloud of white that overtook his optics. He jerked and crackled, steaming with spent charge as he finished and went limp against the larger mech’s chassis.

He was ebbing into an early recharge when he felt Soundwave’s servos close around his hips. He snapped back to full consciousness as he felt him swing his frame around until Hot Rod was face down on the berth.

“Bwuh-?” Hot Rod moaned intelligently.

“Oh, I thought you could take a full four hours, Roddy!” Soundwave feigned surprise, pulling his spike back until he was teasing the oversensitive node with his tip. “And besides, you still owe me at least one overload.”

Hot Rod keened as Soundwave slid back in and began hammering into his valve. “Nnnhh-! Oooohhhh Primussss…” He whined, vocalizer shot and hoarse. “I- ah- s-Soundwave I caaan’t!”

“Oh you can’t?” He felt a servo slide from his hips up to his spoiler. Soundwave gripped the delicate bit of metal tightly, using it as leverage to slam Hot Rod’s hips against his. “I thought you said-” there was a quiet fizzle before Hot Rod’s own voice repeated back from Soundwave’s speaker. “I could run circles around you- Didn’t you say that Roddy?”

Hot Rod let his jaw hang open, processor filled with warnings and popups as overstimulation forced his spike to stiffen. “Nn- Nuh uhh..” He moaned.

“Doesn’t ring a bell? How about this one?” Soundwave adjusted his grip, hooking an arm under Hot Rod’s chin and pulling him up into a headlock. All the while his hips jackhammered away. He could already feel the blue paint transfers forming on his aft. “-ag! I love your s-spike Soundwave!!” Hot Rod keened in humiliation at his own voice. “That sounds more like you, doesn’t it, shareware?”

“S-soundwaaave- PLEASE-!” Hot Rod wailed. “I C-CAN’T!”

“I need one last thing from you, Roddy…” Soundwave crooned. Hot Rod could feel his spike twitching inside him, nearing overload.

“U-uhuhh??” Hot Rod whimpered, clawing weakly at Soundwave’s arms.

“Admit you’re a big stupid loser.” Soundwave snickered, snapping his hips forwards and making Hot Rod’s optics fizzle.

A lance of heat shot through Hot Rod’s already overheated form, his body suddenly tense, strung tight with need. Why was all of this doing this to him? He was being… so cruel… “Nn-gguhh-! C-Come onn-!” He whined out.

“Say it, tell me what a big stupid loser you are!” Soundwave cackled, reaching a servo down to begin jerking Hot Rod’s spent spike.

“Oh-OH-OH PRIMUS-” Hot Rod wailed. “I’M A BIG S-STUPID LOSER!! FRAGG-F-FRAG- I’M AN IDIOT FOR T-TUH-TAKING THAT BETTT!!”

Soundwave growled in his audial, pounding his spike in one last time before Hot Rod could feel a gush of transfluid hit his ceiling node.

He felt his vision white out again as his frame rocked through a second, more painful overload. He felt his processor short and then empty, his optics forcibly offlined again.

His frame jerked and spasmed weakly until finally Soundwave mercifully pulled out. To say the gush of transfluid that coated Hot Rod’s thighs was embarrassing was an understatement. It was like a fragging waterfall.

And to make it worse, Soundwave just unceremoniously dropped him on the berth, only adjusting him long enough to make sure he didn’t fall off before beginning to pace around the room. He was making haughty flexing gestures, playing his own personal victory music as he gloated.

“C-c’mon I didn’t do that bad-!” Hot rod panted, lifting his quivering legs up onto the recharge slab. Without even looking at him, Soundwave flexed over his shoulder, conveniently pointing at the clock on Hot Rod’s berthroom wall.

Hot Rod paled. “N-no, that can’t be right.”

“Not even an hour and a half, barely an hour and fifteen.” Soundwave confirmed. He did a nasty little turn, waggling his shoulders as he remixed Hot Rod’s words back at him. “C-c-c-c-could run circles arou-ou-OHH PRIMUS!”

“QUIT IT!” Hot Rod shouted, faceplate flaring with embarrassment.

“-BIG STUPID L-L-L-LOSER!” Soundwave parroted at him, continuing his victory dance. Hot Rod buried his face in his servos, shouting in agony at the embarrassment.

He felt Soundwave eventually sit on the edge of the berth, shoving him a bit out of his way as he climbed up to relax. He let his victory music die down as he folded his servos behind his helm.

There was a long klik of quiet between them.

“... you don’t really think of me like that, yeah?” Hot Rod asked meekly. Soundwave raised a brow ridge. Hot Rod Cycled his vocalizer. “Like an annoying animal that followed you home.” He clarified.

Soundwave glanced away. “... No. You’re not like that.” He muttered.

“So what am I like?” Hot Rod probed.

“Tight, wet, and easy.” Soundwave said matter of factly. Hot Rod punched his arm, scoffing and rolling his optics.

“You’re the worst.” Hot rod grumbled. “I don’t even know why I invite you over.”

“Invite is putting a bit of a slant on it.” Soundwave mused. “I didn’t know begging for spike was an invitation.”

“Ha Ha.” Hot Rod said flatly, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Now shut up I’m trying to recharge.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll join you then.” Soundwave said.

“What- No you’ve gotta go-” Hot Rod started, before Soundwave reached over with one harm and pulled him up tight against his frame. He rolled over and squeezed, holding him like a teddy bear. Hot Rod went pink, optics wide and blinking in confusion.

“Night Roddy.” Soundwave said nonchalantly.

“Yeah.. uh… Night Wavey.” Hot Rod mumbled.

Hot Rod offlined his optics, trying to sink into recharge without thinking about how tightly he was pressed against the ‘con. If he wanted he could easily kill him right now, he was already pinned.

Hot Rod let out a long, quiet sigh, leaning into Soundwave’s embrace.

Primus, he was glad it was peacetime.

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