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angelickks · 19 days ago

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I. damnation

REVENANT, au!remmick x reincarnated wife!reader

synopsis Vampirism is a curse of memory. Reincarnation is the curse of almost remembering. And so they dance, century after century: She returns with dreams she cannot explain. And he waits, starved and reverent and wrong. Never able to touch her without bleeding. Never able to stop following the scent of her soul. Because love—when cursed—does not fade. It rots slow. It burns gentle. It waits. And Remmick has nothing but time.

warning(s) nsfw. mdni 18+. prolific dreams. religious undertones. oral implied (f and m recieving). choking (implied). alcohol mentioned - reader is a bar owner. whole lots of sea imagery cuz well duh. yelling at annoying tourists. swearing. reader feeling lowk crazy. insomnia. slowburn asf. no use of y/n.

angel talks omgomgomg thank u guys for all the love u showed just my TEASER. holy fuck. ive been so fucking excited to share my first series w u guys, like truly. i have so much in store for u guys so i cant thank yall enough for all the love and support. i kindly ask u guys to read my authors note before starting, that will be greatly appreciated to give some clarifications about the story going forward. comment on either the teaser or my mlist post to be added on to my taglist if u guys enjoyed this first part n wanna stick around for the rest of it, ageless or untitled blogs will not be added.

#NAV.ᐟ revenant mlist, au!remmick x reincarnated wife!reader ⋆.˚ next - II. hunger

"i know you, i've walked with you,

once upon a dream..."

DAMNATION. Total. Inescapable. The kind that seeps, not strikes.

The nights were always the worst. Not for the work, or the faces that blurred together behind the bar, or even the endless crash of waves chewing at the black rocks beyond your window.

No—that sound had become something else. A lullaby. Crooked and ancient. The kind of tune that clings to your bones like smoke. It didn’t soothe, not really. It hovered. Whispered.

Like a hymn sung just behind your ear, in a voice too old to be trusted.

No, what unsettled you came after the lights went out. Sleep had never come easy. It arrived fractured, vivid, like slipping into another version of wakefulness where your body remained behind but something else wandered freely. The doctors once called it “sleep paralysis,” scribbled it down like a footnote in your medical chart and moved on. But in the darker and bone-chillingly quiet cracks of your mind, you figured it to be a twisted sense of familiarity

It wasn’t paralysis—it was memory. Or something close enough to rot.

You saw him there, always. A figure stitched together from shadow and something too devout to be holy—reverence soaked into every movement, every word he spoke like it might sanctify or damn you in the same breath. Dreams of knives kissing skin in acts too gentle to be violence and too brutal to be love. Hands that held you like an offering. Eyes that glowed wrong, just enough to keep you from calling them human. They burned with a light that didn’t belong to this world, red and undeniably angry, but when they were on you, it was an entirely different story. Just wrong. Too steady. Too knowing.

And God, the teeth paired with those eyes, so sharp. Sharp enough to split bone from breath, sometimes white, sometimes not, but always too many. One word had always lingered on the edge of your thoughts, even before you knew how to spell it—before you understood what it meant. Damnation.

Not just a curse. Not the flaming, shaking-fist-at-heaven kind they talked about in church pews and hymnals. This was something quieter. Older. Something that didn’t beg for repentance because it never offered redemption in the first place.

Damnation was not a place—it was a condition. A blood-deep certainty that you had been marked, chosen not for salvation, but for ruin. That your soul had been spoken for in a tongue older than any holy text. Signed and sealed in dreams that left your sheets tangled and your heart pounding like something had been chasing you through sleep and nearly caught you.

It wasn’t punishment for sin. It wasn’t justice. It was possession.

A slow, creeping inheritance of something unspeakable. It smelled like salt and coppery blood, like storm-drenched wood and old stone. It moved through you like instinct. You��d feel it in the pit of your stomach when the world went too quiet, in the corners of your eyes when shadows moved against the grain of the light. And in those dreams—those vivid, breathless, too-close dreams—you felt it fully. His touch like worship. His voice like rot dressed in silk. A liturgy of ruin sung only for you. He didn’t bring damnation. He was it. And somehow, impossibly, part of you was too.

You didn’t fear him. Not exactly. Despite the way his form shifted—familiar one night, monstrous the next—he was never made to be purely feared, or even truly frightening. There was something reverent in him, something patient. No, the fear didn’t lie in him.

It lived in the part of you that reached back. Or maybe not you, exactly—not the version you see brushing your teeth in the mirror, not the one who pays bills and walks the shoreline with salt-stung eyes. That version felt like a decoy, a performance of normalcy. The one in the dreams… she was older. Wiser. Willing. And somehow, terrifyingly, more true.

There were days when the boundary between the two began to blur, when waking up didn’t feel like waking, just moving from one version of consciousness to another. Days when your reflection seemed slightly off—as if your body remembered things your waking mind tried to forget. The dreams had lasted so long they no longer felt like dreams at all. More like bleed-through. A haunting with no clear source. And on the darker days, the ones where the sky felt too still and the silence too loud, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder: what if your dream-self isn’t separate? What if she’s always been you?

And what if he’s not just following you into your dreams— but waiting for you to remember what you really are?

That, in itself, was your damnation.

Not the holy kind. You weren’t raised on pews and psalms, didn’t bear the weight of stained glass judgment or whisper penance through trembling lips. You didn’t kneel beneath crucifixes with bruised knees and bloodied prayers like the wives in town—those women with salt-bitten hope clinging to their throats, who beg for husbands the sea refuses to return when it storms just right, cruel and alive. Though even that grief, in some crooked way, felt familiar to you too. Like you’d once known what it meant to wait on a shoreline for something that would never come back.

But no—this wasn’t religion. This wasn’t the devil in red or the wrath of any god written in someone else’s book. This was personal. This was knowing. A damnation etched into the marrow of your bones, whispered to you in dreams that smelled like brine and blood. It didn’t ask for belief—it didn’t need it. It knew you. This wasn’t a punishment handed down.

It was a homecoming.

But tonight, while the dreams always feel as real and vivid as your heart beating. This stirred differently, closer and too near on the horizon to be deep in the far depths of your mind.

You dream of that same man with rough hands. They move over your skin with the certainty of someone who’s done it a thousand times—someone who’s bled for the right. His palms are wide and calloused, like he’s spent whole lifetimes carving out places for you in the dark. He doesn’t touch you like a stranger. He touches you like a man who built you up, broke you, buried you—and never stopped coming back.

You don't know his name. Never really have.

But in the dream, he says yours like it’s sacred. Like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to whatever soul he still has left. He kneels between your legs, jaw tight, eyes darker than sin. His mouth is hot against the inside of your knee—soft, reverent. Your stomach pulls tight, breath catching in your throat.

“Mine,” he whispers into your skin. “Always been. Always will be.”

There’s a scar on his collarbone. Fresh, jagged. You don’t know how you know, but you gave it to him. A mark left in another life. One where you wore knives the way other women wore perfume.

You don’t know this man, no matter how familiar he is. But in the dream, you know how he sounds when he’s falling apart.

He mouths down your thigh, murmuring filth like prayer, eyes half-lidded like this is the end of the world and he’s choosing to spend it between your legs. You should be afraid, you think you were, once—but all you feel now is heat and grief.

His hands tighten on your hips. His tongue moves like he remembers every time you've ever broke, just like this.

“Still taste like sin,” he growls, mouth full of you. “Still so fuckin’ mean.”

You writhe beneath him. You don’t know why you're crying. You don’t know why it hurts.

There’s a weight to it. A mourning. This isn’t the first time.

This is never the first time.

“Don’t leave me again,” he says.

And it’s that line—that broken, gutted plea—that shatters the dream.

You wake gasping. Sheets twisted around you like chains. The room is cold but your body is slick with sweat, skin flushed and humming like a fever’s still clinging to you. Your heart hammers in your throat. Thighs aching.

You stare at the ceiling, blank-eyed, trembling. Hands no longer feeling like your own.

You've had dreams before, always had. Vivid ones. Strange ones. But this—this was different. This felt real. Like a life lost. Like a man you buried. You don’t know him.

And still, you're sure, after years spent tangled in sheets that no longer bring comfort—he’s looking for you.

╭━━━━━ ━━━━━╮

You slipped into what looked, at first glance, like your own little slice of heaven on earth. A quiet coastal town buried deep along the East Coast, the kind people send postcards from and never truly leave behind. You arrived like the fog that drapes the shore most mornings. Quiet at first, uninvited, but somehow meant to stay. Even if just passing through, you’ll still be here when the tides roll back in. The kind of town where the buildings don’t sag from age alone, but from the weight of stories pressed deep into the earth. Stone walls cracked with salt and time, quaint to the untrained eye, but if you looked closely—really looked—you’d see the carvings. Etchings. Traces of lives that never quite left, lives the sea took without asking.

The wind doesn’t just whistle, it claws. Scratches at your windows, as if it knows your name, as if it’s been waiting for you all along. The sea that surrounds the town speaks in a language older than words. Not in waves or spray, but in something older. Older than maybe blood itself—ancient, low murmurs that awaken something buried deep within your bones.

The place is silent not because it’s empty, but because it holds too much memory. If you stand still enough—listen beyond the hush and the roar—you’ll catch its whispers. Names of forgotten places, footsteps that vanished long ago, shadows of lives once lived and never fully laid to rest. The soil here is heavy with blood and claim, a patchwork of hands that took without asking, resting over bones denied peace. The salted mist clings to you like a second skin, a quiet mourning that seeps into your very being. No matter how raw you arrive or how much you try to wash it away, it remains—wrapping around you, pulling at your soul, like the land itself recognizes you as one of its own.

Your Home.

Though today, beneath a deceiving sky and promising clouds, the sun shines bright and the tides bring ships of men and women finally coming home. The town hums with a restless energy today—the docks alive with the sounds of creaking wood, shouted greetings, and laughter tangled with the sharp tang of salt and smoke. Mariners, returned after months of chasing horizons far beyond the map, pour off their ships with rough hands and tired smiles, clutching letters, gifts, and stories that shimmer with hope and heartbreak alike. The air buzzes with the weight of reunions, farewells, and the quiet promise of another voyage yet to come. Amidst the scuffle of footsteps and the town’s rising hum, your bar remains still—quiet as breath held underwater. It waits, as it always does, behind its stone walls, patient and expectant, listening for the voices that will soon fill it again. Your shoulders rest the way they always do after a night like the last—tense, worn down by a treacherous sort of familiarity. Not quite pain, but close. Not quite peace, either.

A tiredness that settles deep in the bones, edged with something stupidly hopeful. You wait for the only kind of relief you know how to ask for—not rest, not escape, but that strange, addictive calm that money can’t buy but often pretends to: the clink of glass, the scrape of boots on old floors, the same familiar faces with the same half-truths on their tongues. A little penance, a little pleasure. That masochistic ritual you’ve built your life around.

Your bar. Your haven. Your crown.

“Busy night tonight. Y’ready to see everyone?”

You didn’t turn right away. Just stood for a moment, eyes on the sea, its silver surface breaking like cracked glass in the late sun. Your voice came easy, even if your mouth pulled a little crooked with it. “You know, I see enough of everyone when they owe me money.”

A low chuckle answered you. Boots scuffed wood behind you, the weight of someone used to slipping in and out of places unnoticed.

“You know, most people might say that with a smile.”

You finally looked over your shoulder, slow and deliberate. “I’m not most people.”

There was a pause—just long enough for the breeze to lift the edges of your coat, to let your perfume coil into the salted air like something sweet laced with danger.

“That’s what they say, anyway. This godforsaken place. Whole damn town talks like it’s yours and you’re just lettin’ the rest of us drink here outta pity.” Carmen teases, light and playful as he is.

He's young—too young for the weight he carried behind the bar—but bright in that firecracker kind of way. All sharp teeth and quicker wit, brash enough to mouth off to sailors twice his size and charming enough to get away with it. He moved like he’d been raised in places with neon signs and trouble on tap, but something about the Crown suited him. He was exactly the kind of respectable you liked to keep on payroll: knew how to pour a drink, shut down a fight, and make a broken man laugh—all without ever letting on how carefully he was watching the room. He said things with a grin, but his eyes were always checking exits.

Just smart enough to survive. Just loyal enough to stay.

You turned then, fully, one brow raised, lips curled in that almost-smirk you were infamous for.

“It’s not pity. It’s taxes.”

The Widow’s Crown was the heart of the town—its pulse, its compass, its crown jewel. A bar tucked into the craggy cliffside like it was carved straight from the bones of the sea. Stone walls, stained glass in storm hues, a fireplace that crackled year-round like it knew secrets, and a back room only the brave or the stupid asked about.

Locals whispered that the land it sat on had been cursed or blessed depending who you asked. That your name was etched into the foundation somewhere, beneath the floorboards or deeper still, down in the cellar where no one but you ever went. The truth was simpler: you’d earned it. Fought for it. Outlasted men who tried to own it and townsfolk who thought you too sharp to hold anything soft.

You rebuilt it with salt and spite—stone by stone, drink by drink, until the walls held your shape better than your own skin ever did. Now they come to you. Always.

For drinks. For comfort. For penance.

The very things you chase yourself, just dressed different— burning in their throats as liquid courage, slipping through your veins as sleepless nights and hollow comfort. Familiar devils, all of them. And somehow, still so welcoming. Still so easy to mistake for home.

And tonight, the sea brings them back in droves—sunburned sailors, ghosts wrapped in skin, wanderers who remember your name even when they shouldn’t. “You pourin’ tonight, or is that honor left to your poor trembling staff?”

“Depends. You planning to behave, Carm?”

“Not in the slightest.”

You just rolled your eyes and turned toward the Crown’s doors—painted black, scuffed by boots and years, still shining like a secret—throwing over your shoulder:

“Good. I hate a slow night.”

And it wasn’t.

The evening bloomed loud and warm, thick with the scent of brine, sweat, cheap perfume, and something cooking slow in the back—probably stew, possibly regret. The Widow’s Crown filled like a throat: laughter wedged between throaty shouts, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, boots thudding against floors worn down by too many storms and too much living. The jukebox flickered alive like it needed to be summoned first. The first song it spat out was older than half the sailors inside—gritty guitar and a voice that sounded like it smoked three packs a day and made love with a knife tucked in its boot.

Glasses clinked like windchimes in a storm. Someone passed around a story that wasn’t true—about a siren, or a curse, or a woman who walked into the sea and never walked out—and no one cared enough to correct it. Not here. Not tonight.

You moved through it all like a current—barefoot in your boots, sharp-eyed, that rag always slung over your shoulder like a flag no one dared question. The crooked half-smile you wore wasn't an invitation, and everyone knew better than to mistake it for softness. You poured drinks. You counted cash. You made someone cry in the hallway without saying much at all, and someone else fall in love by the jukebox just by listening a little too long. You reminded the room—without raising your voice, without even really trying—that this was your place. You didn’t run the Crown. You were the Crown.

"You're late," you said flatly when Carmen finally slid behind the bar, shirt wrinkled and smelling faintly of oranges and gunpowder. "You're early," he shot back, ducking beneath the swinging shelf with all the grace of someone used to being chased.

“You work here, dumbass.”

“Debatable,” he muttered, already flipping a bottle upside down with one hand and wiping the sweat off his brow with the other. “I prefer the term essential presence.”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll make you essentially unemployed.”

He grinned, all teeth. “That’s the spirit, boss.”

Across the room, Old Lemmy—the drunk with a glass eye and a tattoo of a flamingo he swore was a phoenix—slapped the table and yelled, “Where’s my goddamn drink, woman! I’m dyin’ over here!”

You didn’t even look up. “Lemmy, you’ve been dying since Nixon resigned. If it’s taking this long, I’m not rushing it.” The bar howled with laughter, and Lemmy wheezed so hard he nearly fell off his stool.

“You’re cruel,” Carmen muttered, pouring him a whiskey anyway.

“You’re soft,” you replied, lips twitching. “That’s why I keep you around.”

Near the jukebox, Birdie—sweet-faced, sharp-tongued, and back from her third divorce—was already telling someone half her age to stop breathing near her unless he had a boat or better cheekbones. She winked at you across the bar like you were in on a secret. You were.

You always were. Everyone inside had their place, their rhythm, their role to play. You just happened to be the one who remembered how the script went when they forgot their lines. Someone leaned too far over the bar and you stepped forward, not saying a word. He backed off with an apology before your hand even reached the rag on your hip. Respect came easy here. Not out of fear—but because they knew you’d earned it.

Carmen slid you a glass of water you didn’t ask for. “Hydrate or die, boss,” he said. You took it, downed it, rolled your eyes. “I swear, if I ever go missing, they’ll find you at the bottom of the harbor with my boot in your ribs.”

Carmen just smirked. “At least I’ll die hydrated.”

The night spun on, full of sharp turns and too-loud laughter, sweat-slicked forearms, sloshed drinks, and the kind of camaraderie that stung a little the next morning but never quite disappeared. And through it all, you stood at the center. Like a lighthouse. Or maybe—like the storm that breaks against it.

But time, like the tide, always rolls back. And when the last round poured, when the stories grew slurred and the ghosts of the sea called their children home, the night changed.

The laughter faded. The sailors filtered out with the last of their pay tucked in calloused palms. Music dimmed into memory. And the salt in the air thickened—not bright and bracing like a summer breeze—no, this was heavier. Older. Like the tide had dragged up something it shouldn’t have, and now the town was bracing for its scent. You kicked the door closed behind the last straggler and twisted the lock. The sound echoed, too loud.

The bar swelled with the sea’s return. Outside, the fog began to gather. Not the soft kind that kissed your cheeks and vanished with the wind—but a thick, bone-deep kind. The kind that didn’t move so much as settle. Stubborn. Intentional. Like it had been called here.

You stood in the threshold of the Crown, arms crossed, gaze locked on the docks below. From this cliffside view, the town looked like it was sinking beneath pale ghosts of clouds. Streetlights flickered down the narrow streets, amber pinpricks in a wash of gray. Footsteps grew quieter. Doors clicked shut.

Even the gulls had gone silent. All that remained was the sharp-teethed wind and the crash of waves gnawing at black rocks—daring anyone still standing to feel it, to bear witness to the sea’s temper without flinching.

The days that followed moved like the storm circling slow, waiting for the right time to strike. There was no rain yet, no thunder—just that hush that comes before something breaks. Despite the new faces that rolled in with the tides—sunburned tourists and wandering souls looking for something nameless—there were still those who had lived here long enough to know better. Men and women weathered by salt and time, whose skin remembered storms even when their mouths refused to speak of them. They’d seen the sea show its teeth. They’d lost half the town to it, years before the wind ever began whispering your name too.

The town loves cruel, in its own way. A deep, briny kind of love. Gentle only in its consistency. It seduces the naive with postcard charm, then leaves them cracked and hollow, forgotten in doorframes and stonework. You’ve seen it happen more times than you can count—tourists who stumble in under starlight and salt, only to leave pieces of themselves behind. Not always by choice. It’s a funny thing to witness. But so unmistakably human.

Over time, you’ve learned the rhythm of it all. The faces that return. The ones that never leave. The patterns—of footsteps, of stories, of half-truths rinsed and repeated. Calloused hands gripping scuffed glass, promises passed across the bar like currency. It’s all part of the tide. They come bearing sea-dreams and sunburned hearts. Eyes strung with salted hope, voices worn thin from chasing the horizon. But with them—always—come stories.

Tales whispered late, when the lights are low and the whiskey’s burned clean through the throat. Of creatures with eyes too sharp to be human. Of voices that echo too closely to the ones you hear in dreams. Of things that look like people, but aren’t. As unforgiving and brackish as the waters that birthed them.

Hungry things. Waiting things. And lately—you’ve begun to think they might not be stories at all.

First, like it always have started with, came your damnation. Like it always had for as long as you could remember. Tonight, a new image surfaces, one that always follows, always clings: arms around you. Strong ones. Holding you like you’re already gone.

They’re warm, yes, but not comforting. Not safe. It’s the kind of warmth that comes from fire licking too close to skin. Desperate arms. Pleading hands. A grip that trembles, not from fear, but from refusal. They love you, you think—whoever they belong to. But it’s a love that feels misplaced, off-kilter. It doesn’t fall soft like morning light or stretch out slow like trust. It crashes. It clings. Reverent and forceful. Obsessive. A love that wants not just to keep you, but to claim you. Like an oath. A curse.

You don’t know why you’ve chalked that haunted embrace up to love. Maybe because you’ve never really known what love was supposed to feel like. Or maybe because whatever this is—this endless, hungry thing that holds you in dreams and memories and waking shadows—wants you so deeply it feels holy.

But even holiness can rot—can calcify into something brittle and cruel. It doesn’t strike with the hand after it’s fed you, but as it does—a sanctified cruelty, masked in comfort, bleeding you slow with grace still on its tongue.

Another night, another dream that leaves you wrecked. You wake the way you always do—panting, pulse slamming against your throat, sweat slicking your skin like a second, fevered layer. There’s a familiar ache—deep in your chest, sharp between your legs—and it’s so goddamn specific, so precise, it almost feels like punishment.

Twisted. That’s what it is. Downright fucking twisted.

You lie there staring at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath and think—not for the first time—that maybe you’re the fucked up one in all of this. Maybe you hit your head as a kid. Maybe you buried something so traumatic your brain decided to toss you scraps of it in cinematic, semi-erotic nightmares. Maybe this is just how madness blooms—Soft at first. Slow. Sensual, even. And then, all at once, it lives in you.

These dreams don’t just haunt you. They know you. Have been haunting you for longer than you care to admit—long enough that whole years have blurred, and you’re not sure if they’re memories or reruns. Moments you feel in your bones but can’t pin to a place, to a date, to a version of yourself that ever really existed. Time doesn’t run straight in your world. It bends. It folds. And it leaves you chasing after ghosts you’re starting to think might’ve once been you.

Is this that imposter syndrome bullshit Carmen’s always rambling about when he’s three shots deep and pretending he’s a therapist?

Because if so—great. Spectacular. Guess you’re officially losing your mind at your grown-ass age. Perfect timing. Really.

Then came the eeriness. Not the kind you feel as a kid, tucked in a blanket fort whispering ghost stories with wide eyes and sticky fingers. Not even the kind that creeps in on a lonely walk through town when everything’s gone too still, too quiet—when the streetlights flicker and you swear the shadows breathe.

No, this was something else. Something older. Hungrier.

This was the kind of eeriness that drained a person—not just their nerves or their sense of safety, but their essence. Their warmth. Their blood.

The morning sun broke sluggish through the fog, bleeding gold across the wet stones and half-drowned streets. The sea had not receded so much as curled back to watch. You showed up to the Crown early, as always. Keys biting your palm, shoulders tight beneath your jacket, throat sore from the dream you couldn’t shake. You hadn’t slept—not really. You just laid there for hours, haunted and raw, your body still echoing with phantom touches and that voice, his voice, whispering ruin like a promise against your skin.

Still, you moved. Still, you worked. That’s how it always was.

The windows were fogged and beaded with sea spray when you unlocked the front. The jukebox flickered like it had seen a ghost. You cleaned. You stocked. You counted out registers with a precision that had nothing to do with money and everything to do with control. You’d nearly convinced yourself it was a normal evening by the time the regulars started trickling in.

“Storm's rollin' in slow,” one of the dockhands muttered, shaking off rain from his coat. “Don't they always?” you replied, not looking up.

But there was one new-old face at the bar today. Captain Eli. A relic of the docks. A man with sea-glass eyes and fingers like driftwood—bent and brittle, stained by pipe smoke and salt. He’d been around since the town’s teeth first showed. Sometimes you forgot he was still alive. Sometimes you wondered if he was. He sipped his drink like he didn’t have teeth and started talking like he didn’t need an audience.

“Saw fog like this once before,” he rasped, voice dragging like an anchor chain across the floor. “Back in ‘77. Cold as death. Fog so thick it swallowed a man whole. Sea gave ‘im back a week later. Hollowed out. Eyes still blinkin’. Mouth full of someone else’s name.”

You didn’t flinch, but your jaw went tight. Someone near the bar chuckled. “Just a drunk sailor’s tale.” Eli didn’t laugh. His stare locked onto you.

“Nah. Some places remember. Some faces too. They come back wrong, though. Same skin, new time. But they carry things. Like scars. Debts.” You stopped wiping the glass in your hand.

“My grandpa had seen it. Woman just like you once, long time ago. Mean as a cut lash and sharper than God’s own sword. Married a man who didn’t stay dead. Or maybe he just refused to stay gone.” A silence fell so deep you could hear the gulls scream outside.

You met his gaze and spoke low. “You see a lotta things that ain't there, Cap.”

He smiled with only half his mouth. “Maybe. But some of it sees me back.”

And then, just like that, he turned to sip again. As if he hadn’t cracked the spine of a nightmare and left it open on the bar between you. You walked away slow, each step deliberate. But the hairs on the back of your neck stayed raised. Because his story felt more like a memory than a lie. And somehow—you knew he wasn’t talking about anyone else but you. The night carried on. At least, it tried to.

Voices rose, laughter echoed, and the Crown did what it always did: held the town’s secrets between its stone ribs and didn’t spill a drop. Men came in with weather-worn hands and salt still in their boots, nodding greetings, passing flasks, scraping chairs loud across the floor. You poured drinks like always. Cashed out the machine. Fixed the jukebox when it spat static instead of song. But it all felt… off.

Like a memory you didn’t know you had. Like déjà vu with blood under its nails. Every word the old sailor had rasped was still rattling around in your head like storm wind in a boarded-up attic.

“Married a man who didn’t stay dead.” “Same skin, new time.” “Carried things. Like scars. Debts.”

You didn’t believe in curses. Not exactly. But you knew the feel of something following you. You’d felt it your whole life—lurking just behind your reflection, moving beneath the skin of your dreams, speaking in a voice you swore you never learned but knew in your bones. Tonight, it whispered louder.

You moved through the bar like a ghost in your own body. Wiped tables, nodded politely, smiled when you had to—but your hands kept twitching. Like they wanted to grip something. Like they remembered holding a blade, perhaps even a rifle. And then came the words. Not out loud. Just there. In your mind. Words that didn’t belong to you. Not really.

“What a fool you were, to love him past the grave.”

“Don’t ask a promise from a man you have to bury.”

You didn’t know where they came from, but they sounded older than the floorboards beneath you. The captain looked at you once across the bar, like he heard them too. He raised his glass halfway, eyes shining with something just this side of recognition.

“Y’know,” he said, voice low, dragging like low tide, “we used to say it different, back then. Before the war. Before the sea took half the town.”

You raised a brow. “Say what?”

He swirled the amber in his glass. “Love. Damnation. Fate. We didn’t call it that. Called it binding. Called it reckoning. Said some women were born with blood that called monsters to their door.” You swallowed, throat dry.

“And what’d they do with women like that?”

He smiled, all teeth. “Married ‘em. Then buried ‘em. Never stopped loving ‘em.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The words were in you now. Like a second pulse.

Mine. Always been. Always will be.

You stared out the bar window then. Toward the black mouth of the ocean. Toward the fog that hadn’t lifted since last night. Something inside you ached—not fear, not grief—something more like homesickness. But not for a place. For a moment. A face. A name you couldn’t say without bleeding. You were forgetting something. Or maybe—remembering it. And still, the bar kept humming.

The sailors told stories they barely believed themselves. The drinks kept flowing. The jukebox played a song older than it should’ve been allowed to remember. And Eli, half asleep in the corner, muttered something into his glass that sounded like a prayer.

“Let the sea take him this time.”

You didn’t ask who. But for a second, you wished you knew. Deep down, maybe you did.

And just like that—like the slow, unexpected drip of a cracked fountain—everything stopped.

Abrupt. Jarring. Like a needle screeching off a record mid-song, leaving behind a silence that felt too sudden, too knowing. The storm, still coiled somewhere out beyond the horizon, still clinging to your skin and leaving your bartop slick with condensation, simply… stilled. Not gone, not over. Just paused. Like the whole damn world had exhaled—one long, tired breath held too long.

It reminded you of those rare moments behind the bar—you, Carmen, and the poor souls that got roped into the shift—sinking onto overturned crates, backs pressed to liquor boxes, a stolen cigarette making slow rounds between burned-out hands. Not rest, exactly. Just a break from the chaos. The kind that doesn't last long, but hits like grace when it comes. Time, it seemed, had taken one of its own. And for a second, everything felt too quiet.

And yet, your irritation? Very much alive.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” you snapped, slamming a towel down hard enough to rattle the bottles behind you. “Get this son of a bitch outta my bar before I personally handle it. Where the hell is Jaime?!”

Carmen popped up from the back with a half-eaten orange slice in his mouth. “He’s bouncing some frat guy who thought the jukebox was voice-activated.”

“Ain't that a damn miracle,” you muttered. “Then someone else can bounce this one—preferably out the front door and into oncoming traffic.” The offender in question—a sunburnt, tank-top-wearing caricature of bad decisions—was currently arguing with one of your servers about why he shouldn’t have to pay for the drink he spilled on himself.

“Babe,” the tourist slurred, gesturing with a lime wedge like it was a threat. “I’m just saying—where I’m from, the customer is always right.” You were already halfway around the bar.

“Where you’re from, do customers get their teeth knocked in for being dickheads, or is that just a charming local tradition I can introduce you to?”

The guy blinked at you like you’d just spoken Latin. “Whoa, no need to be hostile—”

“I’m not hostile,” you said, sweet as cyanide. “I’m fucking working.”

Before the conversation could evolve into something more physical, and oh, it was close, Jaime appeared—broad, silent, and cracking his neck like punctuation.

“Please escort this pile of Axe body spray out of my building,” you said, already turning back toward the bar. “And if he resists, consider it cardio.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jaime rumbled, hand already on the guy’s shoulder. “Hey—hey!” the tourist protested as he was hauled toward the door. “This is, like, discrimination or something!”

“Yeah,” Carmen muttered, passing by with a tray of dirty glasses. “We discriminate against assholes. Tough break, man.”

The bar laughed—your people. Your locals. The townies. Regulars who knew to duck when glass flew and when not to test your temper. You swept behind the bar again, mood dark as thunderclouds, lips pressed into that dangerous little smirk that made grown men shut the hell up.

Carmen handed you a fresh towel. “Feel better?” he asked.

You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut rope. “You wanna join him?”

He held up his hands. “I’m just the talent, boss.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched. Outside, thunder groaned low and slow—like it approved. Despite the growing irritation thrumming just beneath your skin from the frat boys, the condensation, the low hum of thunder that hadn’t cracked yet—you were, admittedly, beaming on the inside. Quietly. Secretly. Like someone hoarding the last piece of chocolate or the best corner booth in a diner.

Because for once, you weren’t running on fumes and stubbornness alone. The stillness tonight? It wasn’t empty—it was earned. With the storm’s pause came something better: ease. A rare, elusive creature in your world. You hadn’t opened the bar this morning, hadn’t dragged yourself in at dawn on pure caffeine and curses. Instead, you’d woken hours later to a room still dark with fog, sheets wrapped loose around your limbs, your body heavy with the kind of sleep that didn’t ask questions or pull you under screaming. Inky silence. No dreams. No whispers through the cracks in your memory.

Just...nothing. And it had felt like a blessing.

Nine hours. Maybe ten if you counted the blurry half-conscious phone call to Carmen where you’d slurred something about prepping ice and not setting anything on fire. He’d grunted something in reply that vaguely sounded like “yes, boss,” and you’d hung up before your brain caught up.

You’d slept, by your very loose and slightly cursed definition of the word, like a goddamn baby. No ache in your chest. No tremor in your thighs. No sweat-soaked sheets or phantoms pressed too close. Just warmth. Stillness. Peace.

You’d even stretched when you woke up—stretched, like some self-care influencer and not a woman who usually started her mornings with a shot of whiskey and a half-forgotten scream into a cracked mirror. And now, even as you wiped condensation off the bar with more aggression than necessary, even as you threatened to personally exorcise the next tourist who mispronounced the town’s name—you felt the echo of that rest clinging to your bones. It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

Enough to make the thunder seem poetic instead of ominous. Enough to let your smirk linger a little longer. Enough to make you think—maybe just tonight—you’d make it through without a dream dragging you back under.

But even that peace, small and stolen, carried a warning. Because the calm always came first, before the sea took something back. And your body, whether it remembered it or not, had always known how to brace for the storm.

Sweat clung to the base of your spine, a thin sheen catching on the small of your back and soaking deeper into the black tank top stretched across your shoulder blades. It stuck tighter with every shift and lean, every dip between tables and worn barstools, the humid air turning skin to velvet and breath to fog. The kind of heat that softened the bones and sharpened the edge of every sound. Heat that made even the ghosts restless.

The Crown boomed with unmistakable pulse despite it all—rowdy, salt-laced, a little mean like all good places should be. Boots dragged across warped floorboards slick with sea-damp. A woman's laugh broke too loud and too fast, slurring into something just shy of a yell. Carmen was yelling back, of course, but it was the charming kind—him snapping a bar rag at someone with that shit-eating grin, bright eyes catching yours across the room.

You gave him a nod. Wiped the back of your neck. Told yourself you weren’t imagining the way the condensation on the windows seemed to crawl upward instead of down. The regulars were in rare form. Ricky, with his chipped tooth and lifelong tan, was in his usual corner nursing the same whiskey he’d been pretending to sip for twenty years. He was mid-story, as always, and by now you could mouth along with it like a song. “And I told the bastard, you ever touch my boat again, I’ll gut you with a spoon!”

Laughter followed—boisterous, a little too easy. “Bet you tripped over your own feet trying to get to that spoon,” someone heckled. “Hell, he probably drank the boat dry!” another shouted.

You smiled without thinking. Tossed a lime slice across the bar at Ricky’s head. It missed. Barely. He flipped you off with the kind of affection only earned by pouring a man drinks for a decade and dragging him off the floor at least twice a month. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

But then the jukebox hiccupped. Not skipped. Not glitched. Just… stopped. A single note held a little too long, like something got caught in its throat. You looked up. Carmen paused mid-pour. It started again a beat later—different track, older one. One that hadn’t been in rotation for months. You frowned. Made a note to check it later. Or maybe not. These kinds of things happened in the Crown. Electrical, magnetic, or just plain weird. It wasn’t new. Still, something about it crawled up the back of your throat and sat there. You shook it off.

Someone slammed a shot glass onto the bar. “Another round, boss lady!” You poured. Wiped your hands. Turned just in time to see the ceiling fan slow, its blades groaning like they’d aged fifty years in the last minute.

And then you heard it—faint. A scrape. Like nails dragged gently across the underside of a table. Like someone whispering their name just barely out of earshot. Your head snapped toward the hallway. Empty. Just the shadows stretching long and crooked in the corner, bending a little wrong in the flickering light. You blinked. They straightened. Carmen was talking again, someone was singing along with the jukebox, a glass shattered somewhere near the bathrooms and two patrons laughed like they’d seen it coming. But underneath all that—beneath the sweat and salt and noise—something pulled. Tugged low in your stomach like a muscle memory. Like recognition. And then it bled through.

Not a vision, not quite. Just a feeling. A warmth that wasn’t from the bar’s heat. A pressure at your throat, gentle and possessive. Hands that weren’t there, but once had been—holding your hips, lifting you, laying you down on something not a bed but not the floor either. Stone maybe. Wet. Cold. Sacred.

You sucked in a breath so fast it burned. The bar kept moving. You didn’t.

For a moment, your eyes didn’t belong to you now. They belonged to another room, another life. Dim candlelight. A mouth full of devotion and ruin against your skin. A voice rasping your name like it was a prayer and a threat all at once.

“Mine,” he’d said. You hadn’t heard it in this life.

But your body remembered it. A gust of wind swept through the Crown. It rattled the windows like a tantrum. Every flame flickered. Glasses wobbled on shelves. Then the door creaked. You turned slow. Then—A gust of wind.

It swept through the Crown with no warning, no cause. Just… entered, like it owned the place. The windows rattled with a fury that didn’t match the calm on the street outside. Flames in their low glass homes danced frantically. One blew out entirely. Glasses trembled against shelves. A napkin lifted off a table, floated, then dropped in silence. You turned slow. And there was nothing.

No figure in the doorway. No tall silhouette carved in lightning. Just the door cracked open an inch too far, letting in a mist that curled around your ankles like it had fingers. The storm, settled now, breathed soft against the threshold. A cold that sank deep but didn’t bite. You exhaled. Long. Slow. Practiced. The kind of breath you’d taught yourself to take when the dreams got too loud.

The ache in your ribs eased, just slightly. Then came Jaime’s voice. Firm, but not urgent. Just that steady, dependable calm he carried when things started to fray around the edges.

“Bar’s almost at full capacity… got a guy outside askin’ if he can come in.” You blinked—like waking up.

Your fingers found the towel at your waist, gripping it hard enough to feel the fabric bite. “Yeah,” you said, voice still a little hoarse from whatever that was. “Let him in. Just… keep an eye out, alright? Tourists are one thing, I don’t need this place flooding or fists flying in the middle of all this.”

Jaime nodded. You didn’t need to say more. He was good like that. And just like that—Normal resumed.

But something had shifted. Not the kind you could see. Just a thread in the weave gone tight. The seal had broken. You could feel it. Like a draft you hadn’t noticed until it sank into your skin. Minutes that dragged like hours passed, and then the tide came in. You were mid-pour when the Crown tipped sideways into chaos.

Not the violent kind—no, just the usual barroom mess: someone on Carmen’s end of the counter didn’t show, a table of locals were halfway through a bottle and demanding fries like it was their divine right, and the cocktail shaker was jammed again, refusing to come loose unless you used the heel of your palm like a weapon.

You didn’t flinch. You moved. Like tidewater—brisk, automatic, and always knowing where to go before anyone else did. It was muscle memory. Breathe. Step. Smile.

Carmen shot you a panicked look from the far end. You already knew. Section three was slipping. Someone no-showed, and now you were the net. You pivoted off your heel and wove your way into it—your rag slung over your shoulder, boots scuffing the floor, voice low and cutting as you flagged two college kids who were trying to steal shot glasses again.

You didn’t notice the door open with Jaime’s invitation. You didn’t hear it either—not over the hum of the jukebox, the clang of the kitchen, the bark of laughter from a group of off-duty dockworkers. It wasn’t until you turned, trying to steady a tray with two whiskey sodas and a plate of wings, that the air changed.

Like sea mist, an odd man was just—there. No thunder. No drama. Just presence.

You didn’t even look at him first, your mind too full of orders and numbers and that familiar throb behind your eyes that always came on busy nights.

“Give me a sec,” you said out of habit, turning toward the bar with the tray still in your hands, the words barely formed.

Then—He spoke. Only a jumble of three muttered words.

“‘Scuse me, ma'am.”

Simple. Low. Soft like silk dragged across old wounds. You turned without meaning to. And the tray in your hands nearly tipped.

It wasn’t that he looked familiar. It wasn’t recognition. It was the gut-punch of déjà vu without memory—the sense that your body had already knelt for this voice in a life that wasn’t yours. The rest of the bar seemed to hum around him, but nothing touched him. Not the heat. Not the sound. Not even the mist that clung to his coat like it had followed him in from the sea itself.

He wasn’t wet. But the scent of rain came with him. And like it had been waiting for his permission, the storm broke. A crack of thunder. Then the slow, deliberate tap of rain on the roof. First soft. Then steady. Then relentless.

And you—you just stared. The tray slid from your fingers and thunked softly onto the bar. Not broken. Just forgotten.

And somewhere deep beneath the Widow’s Crown, the sea shifted.

“Can I get you anything?” Your voice came out soft as a daydream, but as certain as the thunder that now boomed proud and bashful right outside your doors.

His eyes flicked up at the sound of you—cerulean, deep, and sharp around the edges like the sea right before it swallows a boat. He barely reacted. A single twitch, maybe, just a hair widened—but you caught it. You always caught things like that. Reading faces came second nature. Especially the ones that wanted to be unread.

He sat too still. Back straight, elbows resting stiff on the bartop like they didn’t belong there. His clothes were wrong, too—off in a way that set something low in your stomach turning. Black work pants, sure, the kind dockhands wore, but too clean, too pressed. Like he wanted to pass. Gray shirt clinging to a chest that told you he wasn’t new to violence, no matter how carefully he stood. You could’ve sworn—just for a breath—his eyes took on that same deep gray when they shifted under the crackling firelight, dripping down from blue like wet ink. And then that chain. Gold, delicate-looking, stretched tired across the pale column of his throat. Like it had been worn too long and he'd exhausted it. Like it had belonged to someone else first.

The leather jacket was the final nail. Too many pockets. Too many places to hide something sharp. Closed up tight like a confession not meant to be spoken, like a damn secret. Like he was trying to look like he was playing nice. He looked like a secret pretending to be a man.

In all honesty, it fucking irked you.

The silence that followed your question went on too long—long enough to feel pointed. The heat in your chest twisted, coiling like a storm all its own, the ember of your earlier mood flaring hotter behind your eyes.

You leaned in just slightly, arms crossed, smile long gone.

“You gonna keep staring, or can I help you, sir?” Your words bit, soft and polite only in form.

The way he swallowed at it—sharp and slow—should’ve been a sign that he was nervous, his throat bobbed. But maybe, if you really were as delusional or insane as your dream-soaked mind liked to suggest, he was satisfied with being bitten and chewed up. Even if it played as being soft, if it was you. And that—more than anything—was what really set your teeth on edge.

And then, only then, after soaking in what was barely more than a nip, he smiled. Crooked and slow, like he was in on something you hadn’t been told.

“Just lookin’ for a respectable place to ride out the storm, ma’am. Nasty one, isn’t it?”

His voice dripped like warm honey, coating each word in a tone that sank beneath your skin—soft, slow, and deliberate. It prickled as it landed, made the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. That alone was the first red flag: he wasn’t from here. No one local spoke like that.

His accent was strange, but not off-putting—Irish, unmistakably. But laced with something else, something Southern and smooth at the edges, like bourbon poured over old songs and Sunday confessions. The kind of voice that didn’t belong in this town full of hoarse laughter and salt-split vowels.

Just like him—he didn’t belong.

And in this sea of familiar faces, of regulars you’d poured drinks for a thousand times and traded insults with like they were currency, he stood out like a ghost in rainsoaked moonlight. Strange. Unsettling. And yet… undeniably familiar.

That caused the flames riding high and mighty behind your eyes in that steady and blinding pulse, to move to lick at your throat. You weren’t sure why you were so goddamn irritated at this peculiar stranger, it almost left you speechless, almost.

You blinked, your mind catching up with your body too slow, too dream-drunk for your liking. Still, your voice came out smooth. Steady. A practiced thing, even as the air around you thickened like it was listening.

“Respectable’s a stretch,” you said, cocking your head as your eyes dragged over him, shameless and sharp. “But if you’re lookin’ to keep dry and outta trouble, you picked the wrong night and the right place.”

His smile twitched wider, and you hated the way it made your chest tighten—hated it so much you wished your words had been meaner, sharper, cruel enough to split skin on contact. It was a strange thing to hold against a stranger, really. Irrational. Petty. But that didn’t make it any less true.

Because despite all that he was—strange, unsettling, far too composed for a storm night—he was still just a man. And yet, you felt the need to bare your teeth like he was something else entirely.

You turned then, forcing your attention back to the bottle of whiskey itching with cold sweat and anticipation next to your elbow, shoulders tense with the weight of something unnamed. Something old.

“What’s your poison?” you asked, voice clipped. Because suddenly, the storm wasn’t just outside anymore.

It had walked in, slow and smiling, and asked for shelter.

taglist ; @lunaleah @idiotsatan @arquiiva @bleedingsunlight @kaelizl @nefertiti2003 @damnzelsoul @latebean

#˚₊‧꒰ა angelickk blog ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#₊‧꒰ა angelickks revenant series 💫໒꒱ ‧₊˚#remmick sinners #remmick #sinners remmick #remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick x you #sinners #jack o’connell fanfic #jack o'connell

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jinwoosbabyboo · 8 months ago

Text

Don't Panic

The lads men finding you asleep with your child in your arm while you were trying to feed them. You're a first time mom you're not going to be perfect. A/N: This is a mommy mc if you're uncomfortable with the idea of mommy mc this is your warning [Requested by: who-mentioned-rhys-larsen]

Summary: You were a first time mom and motherhood was the hardest hood you’ve ever lived in. Even with your husband doing his fatherly duties you were still exhausted. You checked the time on your watch and noticed it was feeding time. You hoisted your baby into your arms and sat down on the bed to breast-feed. You blinked rapidly trying to keep yourself awake “I’ll nap when you’re done eating” You said more so to yourself rather than the baby when suddenly …. you woke up. When did you doze off? The sun was up last time you checked now it's dark out. Where’s the baby? Oh shit where’s the baby!?

Zayne

Zayne came home to find you curled up with your child who was snoring quietly while you held them snuggly in your arms. He picked your babygirl up careful not to wake you and moved her to the adjoining nursery. She squirmed a little at the loss of warmth, but calmed down once Zayne swaddled her.

A few hours later…

MC: ZAYNE!

Zayne: Darling stop yelling before you wake the baby

MC: Where is she?? I fell asleep while feeding her oh fuck im a terrible mom

Zayne grabs you by the shoulders

Zayne: Breathe my love she’s fine I put her in her bed

MC: *teary-eyed* did I hurt her?

You dropped your gaze feeling your heart shatter at the thought of hurting your child

Zayne: You had her held safely in your arms she’s fine go look

You rushed to the nursery to find your babygirl in a peaceful slumber. A wave of relief washed through you causing you to fall to your knees.

MC: I won't let that happen again

Zayne: Go get some sleep my love you’ve earned it I'll take care of the baby

MC: but-

Zayne: You’ll be no good sleep-deprived go rest

Rafayel

MC: WHERE ARE THEY?

You rush out into the living room after tearing your room apart looking for your babies

Rafayel: Quiet down. Why are you yelling?

MC: I CANT FIND THE TWINS

Rafayel: You lost our kids?

MC: I-I accidentally fell asleep and and and when I woke up they were gone I-I-I omg im the worst mom alive

Rafayel: Are these two not ours?

You walk around the couch to find them each fast asleep, one laying in his lap and the other sprawled out next to him on a blanket.

MC: I should punch you in the jaw fuck I think I just had a heart attack thats not funny

Rafayel: I found you asleep in the bedroom with your titty out

MC: Well thats embarrassing

Rafayel: It was a nice surprise … This baby shark was trying to climb on you when I came in

Rafayel said pointing to your baby boy who was drooling all over his lap

Rafayel: and this little sea snail was curled up next to you

Rafayel placed his hand on the tummy of your babygirl

MC: I’m glad they're safe

You sighed, relieved that your babies were fine

Rafayel: You should probably go do that pumping thing you always do …. you’re leaking

MC: Shit!

Rafayel: My little leaky faucet

MC: Please put your top and bottom lip together

Xavier

You sat up quickly almost head butting Xavier who was standing over you

Xavier: Whoa you should change your shirt you have spit up on this one

MC: Where's the baby!?

Xavier: I just put him in his crib

MC: Is he okay? I didn’t roll over on him did I? Was he breathing?

Xavier: Yes. No. and Yes.

Xavier began removing your shirt

MC: Wait wait I need to see our son

Xavier: Okay but lets change your shirt first

MC: No—I need—-Xav move

You end up wrestling Xavier who’s just trying to get you out of your soiled shirt. He manages to slip it off and you dart out of the room with no shirt. You quietly make your way in the nursery and see your baby boy sleeping soundly. Man he looks so much like his dad it’s crazy.

Xavier: Here. *pulls a shirt over your head*

MC: Thanks Xav Im sorry I was just so scared

Xavier: I understand ... now according to Jenna since the baby is down you should get some rest too let’s go

MC: Are you going to nap with me?

Xavier: Jeremiah was in the living room when you ran through to get to our son

MC: Did he see.....?

Xavier: He won't remember even if he did

MC: JEREMIAH IM SORRY

Sylus

MC: WHERE IS SHE??

Kieran: Calm down

Luke: You’ll wa—

MC: DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN

Sylus: She’s right here

You turn to see Sylus holding your baby girl in his arms. She's playfully tugging on his necklace while he continuously moves her little hand away.

MC: Mommy is so sorry baby …. did I hurt her? I didn’t mean to fall asleep

Sylus: You’re going to make yourself sick with all this worrying

MC: I just fell asleep with our child in my arms that seems like grounds to worry Sylus

Sylus: She was fast asleep on your chest and you had your arm wrapped around her

MC: It’s still dangerous

Sylus: and yet she’s fine live and learn sweetie everything will be fine

MC: It’s like my third day out here okay im still learning this mom shit

Sylus: Rule number 1 don’t cuss in front of the baby

MC: Oh shut up

Sylus: Rule number 2 don’t be rude to her dad

MC: Anything else?

Sylus: Rule number 3 dont forget to pump

You look down and realize you have two wet patches on your shirt

MC: Shit!

Sylus: Rule number 1—

MC: Shut it!

#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads rafayel #lads xavier #lads zayne #lnds #lnds zayne #lnds xavier #lnds rafayel #lads sylus #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #nikaaaaimagine

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savannahsdeath · 2 years ago

Note

Ellie and reader having sex, but Ellie starts to talk dirty and reader gets embarrassed so she hides her face in ellies neck. But Ellie teases and tells her not to hide bc she's so pretty. (Imagining this w/ strap in missionary position if u could do that'd be wonderful😍)

shes so awhzjxbag ok i cant . also i got really carried away but uhh hushh warnings: just strap on smut, everything said in the ask;)))

: ̗̀➛ "you hear that?" ellie asked, smiling proudly as she looked down at you. you closed your eyes and tried to focus on whatever she meant, but the only sound entering your used, tired brain was your own moans. you strained your hearing and slowly drifted off to more distant things, like the strap pumping in and out of your desperate cunt, messily and noisily. "such a mess..." ellie chuckled, listening to the sloppy act. "but it's not my fault you're so wet for me."

: ̗̀➛ you gulped, losing a hold of your concentration. your foggy mind couldn't think of an answer - did you do something wrong? should you apologise? or was it some kind of a praise? "els—" you started, but the long s turned into a melodious moan.

: ̗̀➛ "speak up, sweetie." ellie whispered, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. you used the moment of closeness to hold the back of her neck, not letting her pull away. she cocked her head to the side, your gaping lips brushing her earlobe as another whine escaped your throat. you quickly pursed your lips, letting yourself make only muffled sounds. but you didn't last long, as every thrust and every inaudible whimper seemed to forcefully open your mouth from the inside. "don't hold back, i want to hear you." ellie reassured, but much to your surprise she didn't wait with her ear next to your face to hear your response. she tilted her head to face you, making you feel her piercing, but not judgemental, gaze.

: ̗̀➛ you honored her with another moan, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, to the point your eyelids uncontrollably closed. "mh— fuck." you groaned, your fists clenching around the bed sheets as your chest raised in a deep breath.

: ̗̀➛ "i can make you feel way better." ellie bit her bottom lip, holding back a proud smile. "i can make you be way louder. do you want that?" you huffed, way too dumb to speak up. she could as well start talking about the weather now, and you wouldn't have any idea how hilarious it is. "tell me, doll."

: ̗̀➛ you swallowed up another pornographic sound which wanted to sneak out of your throat. ellie's questions were usually easy to answer, so you thought a simple, weak "yes" will satisfy her.

: ̗̀➛ yet, her only response was an amused "yes... what?" as she brushed your messy hair out of your face.

: ̗̀➛ your face flushed, almost burnt with heat. your hands tightened their grip, bringing her closer, making your face find a spot to hide in - the crook of her neck. "i—" your lips parted again, brushing against her skin. she let out a sound similiar to your whine, as if to mock you, yet there was a loving undertone to it. "want you to make me feel good, els." you quickly murmured, finding a one second break.

: ̗̀➛ "well, i want to see your pretty face as i do." she whispered in a gentle tone, but didn't move away. "you have no idea how beautiful you look under me, with half lidded and watery eyes." she continued and your body slowly got rid of the previous tension, your grip on her also relaxing. she finally withdrew, glaring down at you. "just don't move and look pretty for me, yeah?"

✧˖°

#reqs open #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #wlw smut #ellie williams smut #ellie smut #ellie x fem reader

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rinsnumber1fan · 2 months ago

Text

"It's too much!! It's too big! Kaiser I cant!!!-" you wailed, with a big smack to your clit. "Really? Hm? Poor baby can't take it?" He said mockingly, looking down at you with you under him completely at his mercy. "I- how do you expect-expect me t-to?? You just s-shoved--" you screamed at him but he just covers your mouth mid-scolding.

"You're such a brat." He groaned, titling his head back, pushing harder and further, he wasn't even fully in yet. "This is exactly why I don't wait for you to get ready. You never listen to me, so why should I listen to you?" He said mockingly, putting his hand away down to your jaw and neck, holding tightly making you moan. "Kais-kaiser.." you whimpered and you felt him get harder, twitching inside of you. "Okay fine!! I promise I won't be rude or mean to you next time--" you said mid-squeal from the stretch but he isn't one to listen, he pushes till his tip kisses your end.

"Ahhhhh..." He groaned, rolling his eyes back "if you keep dawdling like that," he murmured lazily, leaning forwards, pulling out slightly only to shove it back in with immense force. "You'll make me lose interest in you." He pulled you up by your hair, so that you're closer to him, you spat at him, "fuck you, loser" and kaiser stopped for a moment before he licked off the spit from the corner of his lips.

He pushes your head down harshly. "I think you're into being thrown around and used like a fucking ragdoll, is that it?" He asked, his tone was visibly more angry, he shoved you down, pulling out and then in again, thrusting into you while you can only cry. "Ahhhhg!!! M-mich..Michael...!!!" Your hands twitched, and your eyes were half lidded. "Ill take that as a yes."

He knew you were close, the way you clenched, the way your eyes rolled back, "i-.. Micha.." and he pulls out.

A gasp of dissapointment leaves you, "you did not." Kaiser flips you over easily making you shake, and pushes you down, your head shoving into the mattress. "Don't speak." He sighed, "dont talk, don't say anything." He smacks the back of your ass "one sound and I'll fuck you to next Christmas, you hear me?" You noded frantically. "Good girl," He pats your head slowly, and then pulls your hair slightly, tugging on it. "I think you'd look good with a leash, hm?" And he shoves himself back in earning a scream from you. He moans softly, "maybe handcuffs.." He dreamed, "it's good for taming stupid dumb brats you know" He leaned down, pushing harder and then harder and harder. All the while leaning down only to whisper insults to you, "dumb girl" He grins, "slut," and all of the above.

But with aftercare?

He sooths you, caresses you, and carries you, placing you at where you're most comfortable, pushing away your hair from your face "I hope I hurt you" He said with a smug grin on his face, "you didn't." You replied , "maybe go harder next time" Kaiser blinks once, twice, "how about now? Next times never come sometimes." He said with an evil grin on his face. You smacked the grin away, "need anything?" He asked finally.

You cleared your throat, "fifty five burgers, fifty five fries, fifty five--" "Okay. That's enough." Kaiser smiled sarcastically.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #fyp #fanfiction #blue lock smut #smut #bllk kaiser #bllk x reader #michael kaiser #bllk michael kaiser #kaiser x reader #mihya #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser #bllk fanfic #bllk fanfiction #blue lock fanfiction

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k-aemi · 3 months ago

Text

nagi seishiro ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ its not that deep

no warning me thinks, little angst(?), fluff

boyfriend!nagi wouldnt even notice that hes hurting you unintentionally, he wouldnt know how to be a boyfriend, its his first relationship.

youre lying in bed—wrapped in his arms as he plays his games. youre quiet, just scrolling through your photos, at you and nagi. its funny because whenever you took the photos you took ten of them, but when you asked nagi, hed only take one, some of them were even blurry.

"you ever look at these?" holding up the phone so he can see.

"mm... no. i dont like photos of myself." nagi squints, taking a short glance at the photos before returning his attention on his game.

"oh," you say, your lips pressing into a thin line before continuing to scroll. "well, i like to. makes me feel like im part of your life. even when you dont... do much." your chest tightens.

nagi only lets out a hum, its not a yes, not a no. he taps his screen again and you frown. its like he didnt even acknowledge you. you turn his phone face down.

"nagi," you call out his name softly. "when was the last time you said you loved me?" your hands fall on is chest.

he blinks, dumbfounded by your question. his pauses mid-game, before thinking. "i dunno. i thought you already knew."

"thats not the point."

he looks at you—lazy eyes narrowing. "then what is the point?"

you sat up, face serious and eyes lowering. "you never try," your voice raises. "you dont plan dates, you dont say sweet things to me, and you dont notice when im upset unless i say it. i feel like im just here because its easy for you."

nagi slowly sits up too, with a confused expression planted on his face. "that isnt true, youre the only person i let stay like this with me. that means something doesnt it?" he asks genuinely.

"thats not love, just convenience." your chest heavy as you stared at him.

nagis still confused, not understanding the weight of the situation here. "i dont get it, were together. why does it have to be so complicated?" his tone still flat as ever, and it only makes you snap.

"because im not something you can just lie on top of me like a couch and call that love."

silence fills the room with just that, he opens his mouth to say something but nothing ever came. he doesnt know what to do, he was always good with games and goals, not people.

"i didnt mean to make you feel that way."

after that day you didnt want to text him, you wouldnt try if he didnt want to. you waited until he text.

nagi doesnt think nothing of it when you dont bother to text him, he just thinks youre asleep or busy. so hes back to his game.

the next day he still got nothing. you havent posted on your story, or send at least one meme to him. which was weird.

he taps on their last conversation, you left him on read. no message from you. he rereads what he said.

nagi 6:34pm "cool. cya then"

he doesnt see anything wrong, it was a normal response.

nagi on the fourth really thinks about it now. okay maybe you are potentially mad. but about what?

its a hassel to think this hard. did he forget something, say something off? hes scrolling through the old messages and everything looks normal.

your daily "i miss you"s, his lazy response of "same"s. you sending a selfie of yourself, hoping for a "you look pretty" but just a heart reaction and nothing else. hes confused, he always done that, so what changed?

after a week he caves in.

nagi 7:23am "hey"

but there was no reply form you.

two days later with no reply, he texts again.

nagi 1:43am "u good?" "did i do smth?" "tell me."

he just stares at the screen that lit the dark room, delivered. not read.

he doesnt know what to do, youre not responding to him. its quiet in his room. too quiet. and for the first time in a long time, he really cant focus. not on his games, on his phone, anything.

every time he entered in a match hed lose the motivation to just continue, or hed have a losing streak which would make him a bit frustrated.

another couple days later, hes spamming. flat, sort messages, to see if you were still there.

nagi 9:12am "yo" "helloo" "seriously?" "this is annoying." "y arent u saying anything?"

no message, he doesnt send one. he just lies on his bed, pone clutced to his chest, scrolling through old photos of you and him. you smiling, silly faces, and ones of you half asleep.

he misses your voice. he misses you saying things hed never respond to, but always heard. he can only sigh before he closes his eyes.

"if you dont text back soon, i think ill actually go crazy."

its a hassle.

no texts, no calls, no nothing. he doesnt like it, his chest tightens. he just thought of you as moody. but now its like youre gone. he doesnt know what to do, so of course he searches what to do.

"what to do if ur gf ignores u"

top results said: buy her favorite things: "show her youre thinking of her, bring flowers, candy, cute keychains and apologize. communicate with her."

nagi just reads, advice after advice.

"...lame." he sighs, shutting his phone off before putting on his shoes to head out.

hes at your place now. at least carrying five different kinds of snacks you like, your favorite drink, and a cheap bouquet from the grocery store flowers because apparently boyfriends do that.

he looks ridiculous carrying that much stuff in his arms, he doesnt even know how long he stands in front of your door before knocking. he almost walked away twice.

and there you were, hair messy and expression unreadable. you were wearing his hoodie that he had left at your place, way too big on you.

you blink, seeing nagi holding a bunch of...things.

he has to tilt his head to look at you.

"ah. you havent talked to me in weeks. so i brought this." you just stare. the silence is heavy and hes having second thoughts about this.

"... you like these, right?" he mumbles. its still silent.

youre just shocked right now, you didnt even know nagi would take the effort to actually do all this stuff, but considering it took him about two weeks still made you upset.

"i do sei." you give a light smile, face buried in his hoodie.

his eyes widen slightly but wrapping his arms around her slow and firm.

"can you tell me next time?"

"yeah."

"okay," he says. "then ill fix it."

even after that day, he still doesnt understand feelings, but he does understand reactions.

its when youre hanging out with him in his room, laying besides him while he plays games again. you got yourself a new dress and did your makeup the other day and wanted to show him.

"sei look." you showed him the photo of the self-photo selfie you took. "what do you think?!" you say excitedly, you thought you looked really good in this one, like your features were more enhanced with the dress.

he barely glances at it. "looks the same as your other ones." he goes back to his game. he didnt mean it like in a cruel way, he just said it like its a fact.

the second those words leaves his mouth, he can see the way your smile faltered.

"oh. yeah i guess so." you pull your phone back slowly, flipping to the other side. your back facing him now.

he didnt think anything of it at first, he just went back to his game. its been a while since he hasnt heard your voice, usually youre just talking to him about random things you see on the internet or a random story you remembered.

its not until his head perked up from the silent cries and sniffles coming from you. he turns his head to your figure.

"...are you crying?" you only shake your head.

"wait—what did i do..?" he asked with his voice soft, he still didnt even realize what he had done. his chest tightens, the silence was loud. he pauses the game, sitting up with his hand placing on your shoulder, shaking you a bit.

"did i say something wrong?" you wipe your eyes with your sleeves.

"forget it." nagi just stares, its suffocating to see you like this. he thinks hard. was it the photo you were mad about? he didnt know what he had said to make you sad.

he shifts closer to you awkwardly.

"wanna play a game with me?" holding his phone up to your face, only for you to swat his hand away with no response.

"ill let you pick." still nothing. his voice only gets quieter.

"you can have the good controller." still nothing from you. he doesnt know what to do. hes offering games to you, and asking what he did wrong, but youre just not responding.

he limps back on his bed, the bed bounces you and him as he stares at the ceiling. he looks to his side, your back still faces him and he sighs.

he takes his phone out, inches away from his face, completely clueless. he types into the search bar:

"how to be a boyfriend."

he thinks about it before rewording it.

"how to make ur gf not mad anymore"

deleting it once again, finally settling on:

"things boyfriends do in relationships"

and the results are very... overwhelming. dates, compliments, talking. so much talking.

"ask about her day"

"hold her hand"

"hug her out of nowhere"

"tell her shes pretty even if she looks tired."

"...weird." he whispers to himself with a squint.

he scrolls down, reading a few threads, which some of them sound exhausting. he always seemed to notice a common pattern upon them. every single answer had one thing—effort, something the lazy boy very much hated.

without a word he slides an arm around your waist. so casually as if he had always done this. pulling you in close to him while he still reads what to do on his phone with his other hand.

he can feel the way you tensed, but he doesnt say anything.

youre quite confused, hes never done that on his own unless you did it first, so it was surprising for you.

"what...are you doing..?" you tilt your head, but not enough to be met with his eyes.

"hm? nothin'," he says so calmly, as if he didnt just decide to change up his act and finally act like a boyfriend for the first time.

your eyebrows furrowed a bit. "did you want something..?" you face the wall again, theres no way hed do this unless hed want something you thought.

"no." he says bluntly.

"you looked pretty in that photo." he said with barely any emotion, but his voice soft. he settled his phone down to pat your head.

"but i liked the smile you had more when you showed me." he buried his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. your eyes widen, finally turning to him, you felt...like you had butterflies in your stomach for the first time in a while.

when he finally sees your face he gave a light kiss to your cheek.

"next time just say 'that hurt', okay? so i dont have to guess." his face blank again. youre pretty sure that was the first he had ever kissed you without you telling or initiating first.

you just nod slowly, too shy to face him.

nagi is so cute, hope nothing bad happens to him ^///^ I WILL WORK ON REQUESTS NOW SO SORRY

tags ✎: @rinrinniebaby @kaiserpussy

#fanfic #anime #bllk #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #k-aemi #nagi #nagiseishiro #bllk nagi #blue lock nagi #seishiro nagi

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bytemee · 5 months ago

Text

SO ANXIOUS, CAN’T TAKE IT — YU JIMIN.

“how do i keep these on? how do i let you know? girl, you deserve a show.

synopsis. karina learns that good things come to those that wait. or she learns that she should make sure your friend mason never speaks to you again.

pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader

warning(s). 18+ smut, g!p reader, p in v (unprotected), one lil slap, pet names (puppy ofc), semi public sex (in a car in a secluded parking lot...whatttttt???), karina is really down bad for reader, they say i luv u so much *throws up*, yeah the smut at the end is so ugh! i cant even omg

words. 4.5k

authors note. i didnt wanna name this naked (bc the lyrics are from naked by doja cat)...prob the last of the series that'll be over 2k words and the last thing i have in the vault. everything else will be requests from u guys

this is the part where i actually make a masterlist!!! & start updating where do you sleep.. iguess

navigation. main masterlist. series masterlist. prev.

the library was unusually quiet for a weekday evening, except for the steady murmur of conversation from a nearby study group and the occasional clatter of dice on a game board. karina sat next to you, one leg crossed over the other, staring down at a confusing mess of cards, pieces, and rules she didn’t understand.

it was one of your nerd friends who made the game—mason was his name. you explained how he’d spent months perfecting it and would proudly be the narrator for your group's first playthrough. karina didn’t care about the game. she barely knew what was going on. but you were there, and that made it okay.

she wasn’t even sure how to play or what she was supposed to do. you had tried your best to explain, but mason had been explaining the rules to the other players the entire time, and karina could barely focus. your friends were mostly the same as always. all a bunch of nerds that you were close to during high school and stayed in touch with through college.

and then you introduced her to your friends; they were a bit shocked when the president of the biggest sorority on campus said she wanted to hang out. but mason quickly welcomed her with open arms.

karina looked down at the game board, trying to understand the confusing mass of colors and shapes. a large blue square seemed to represent a lake, a path snaked through a forest of green, and there were lots of small tokens and miniatures scattered across the map. the rules were long and complicated. she hadn't understood a single one.

you took a deep breath and set down a card in front of karina.

"the evil king has captured the prince's lover!" mason announced. "it is now up to you, the player, to save her. but you have been locked in the king's dungeon. what do you do?"

"i…" karina hesitated, trying to remember the few things you had told her about the game. she could either go to the prince or to his lover. but she didn't know which one to pick. her eyes met yours.

"go to the prince," you said quietly.

"no, go to the lover," mason replied. "the prince is a jerk anyway."

karina sighed, feeling completely lost. she didn’t understand the dynamics of the game—why the prince was a jerk, why the lover needed rescuing, or what the king even wanted. she was just following your advice, since you were the one who had actually learned the rules.

“the prince,” karina decided reluctantly, even though mason rolled his eyes dramatically. she picked up a miniature knight figure and moved it in the general direction of the game board’s castle.

“bad move,” mason said with a grin. “you fell into a trap. you’re dead.”

karina glared at him so sharply he actually flinched. “seriously?”

“you suck at this game,” mason teased, but then quickly backed off when he caught her stare again.

the conversation around the table resumed, with mason narrating another turn, but karina had already tuned it out. she reached over and gently brushed her fingers along the nape of your neck. it was a small touch, but one that grounded her.

for the past three weeks, this had become her life. waiting outside your lectures just to see you. tagging along to the conventions she didn’t understand or care about. sitting through endless, painfully boring games and conversations, all just to be near you. she had hoped that by doing all this, things would go back to how they were before—when the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other, and all you wanted to do was stay in bed together.

but it hadn’t happened. you seemed content with how things were—maybe too content. you hadn’t even kissed her since your talk in her dorm three weeks ago. instead, it was karina who couldn’t stop herself from reaching for you. every time she did, she hoped you’d do the same. but you never did.

she was losing her mind.

“hey,” she leaned down to whisper in your ear, lips brushing the shell of it. “wanna leave? go do something else—just us?”

you didn’t pull away, but you didn’t look up either. “in a bit,” you murmured, eyes glued to the game. “i’m almost at the next level.”

karina clenched her jaw. mason smirked. she shot him another glare.

later that night, karina took you out—just the two of you. dinner at a small ramen place you both used to frequent, followed by a long walk along the river. it had been…nice. easy, even. but karina had hoped for more. every time your shoulder bumped hers, her heart jumped. every time your hand swung a little too close to hers, she wanted to reach out. but you didn’t.

when the night ended, she brought you back to her dorm. it was late, and when you set your bag down by her bed, her stomach fluttered. overnight bag, she thought. you’re staying the night.

her anticipation skyrocketed as you unzipped the bag—until you pulled out an old, beat-up console and started untangling the cords. karina blinked. you knelt by the tv, plugging the console in like it was the most normal thing in the world. then you paused, your expression nervous.

“am i allowed to do this?” you asked, hesitant.

karina quickly nodded, but she wanted to scream. allowed? was this a sleepover or something?

you started setting up the game, and karina flopped down on the bed, burying her face in the pillows. she didn't know how long you were going to keep this up. three weeks had felt like a lifetime. and she had thought…no, she was sure—she had made up for her mistakes. she was doing everything right now, and yet it still wasn't enough.

the game loaded, the familiar old-school theme music playing softly through the speakers. you adjusted the controller in your hands, fully immersed. karina slowly pulled herself up from the pillows, moving to the edge of the bed where you sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tv.

what was she supposed to do? she had done it all—played the role of prince—princess— charming, and still you were slipping through her fingers like a story without a happy ending.

karina leaned forward, her fingers brushing against your hair before gently weaving through it. her touch was slow and careful, as if trying not to break whatever fragile peace had settled between you. she played with the strands absently, twirling them between her fingers, her mind half on you and half lost in thought.

your hair was soft. it smelled good. but you didn’t respond.

then, she tugged lightly, her fingertips massaging your scalp. this was a thing she did. something you loved.

but you didn’t lean back into her touch like usual. your shoulders were stiff. you didn't look at her. you didn't even seem to notice.

you kept playing.

karina felt a surge of frustration. she tugged harder, her movements no longer gentle. you grunted, your hands faltering on the controller.

"ouch, karina. what was that for?"

karina’s jaw clenched, her fingers freezing in your hair. “what was that for?” she repeated, her tone sharper than she intended. “i don’t know, maybe because i’ve been following you around like a lost puppy for weeks and you barely even notice me.”

you paused the game, setting the controller down on the floor. “i notice you,” you said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

karina moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her legs brushing against your back. “no, you don’t. not really. i show up to your lectures. i sit through hours of your nerd conventions. i come to these stupid board game nights and watch you get all excited. and yet…” she trailed off, pressing her hands to her thighs, digging her nails into the fabric. "nothing."

you sighed, running a hand through your hair where she had tugged too hard. “i'm just listening to what mason has been telling me. i don't want to overwhelm you."

her brows knitted together. mason…who was—oh. that fucking mason. karina blinked down at you, processing what you’d just said. “wait—what? what has mason been telling you?"

you sighed and shifted on the floor, still not looking at her. “mason’s been playing therapist through all of this. he told me that if we’re not a couple, we shouldn’t be doing… couple things.”

karina’s brow furrowed. “couple things?”

“yeah,” you said with a shrug. “like kissing…and you know…he says that we shouldn’t move too fast if we're not girlfriends."

"excuse me?"

mason had no business getting in the middle of her and you. and besides, what did he know about what she could handle?

her brain seemed to short-circuit. “but… you are my girlfriend.”

you finally looked at her, one brow raised. “you never asked me that.”

karina froze. her mouth opened, then shut, and for the first time all night, she was at a loss for words.

the silence stretched until karina blurted out, “do you want to be my girlfriend?”

you blinked at her. “no.”

“what?” karina’s voice pitched slightly higher. “what do you mean, no?”

“that’s not how you ask someone,” you said, shaking your head. “that sounded like you were asking me if i wanted to go run errands.”

karina stared at you, stunned. was that a joke? you had to be joking. but there was no hint of amusement in your expression.

"you want me to ask you out? okay." karina cleared her throat. she was not used to being put on the spot like this. especially not with you. this was usually the other way around.

"y/n," karina started again, her nerves bubbling under her usual confidence. "i’m serious about you. i want to be more than this… whatever this is. i want us to be together—officially. so, will you be my girlfriend?"

you leaned back slightly, arms crossed. “karina, you’re asking me in your room. that’s not how you ask someone.”

karina blinked, thrown. “what do you mean?”

“it has to be… something grand. special. not just sitting on the edge of a bed with a game paused in the background. otherwise, it won’t feel like it means much.”

karina’s shoulders slumped for a second before she straightened, her hands curling into fists. there was no way in hell she was going to let herself fail at this. if that's what you wanted, then fine. karina would make this the most special, romantic thing ever. “fine. you want grand? i’ll give you grand.”

the next weekend, karina didn’t just take you somewhere—she took you everywhere.

she planned an entire day out: a visit to a scenic lookout, a boat ride across the river, a stop at your favorite dessert café, and finally, she led you to a secluded spot on a hill overlooking the city. you walked beside her, hand in hand, admiring the view. the sun had started to set, casting the sky in shades of red and orange. it was beautiful. the kind of view you could only see if you were high above the city. you leaned against the railing, watching the sun dip lower behind the buildings below.

karina stood beside you, her gaze lingering on the side of your face. you didn’t notice. or, if you did, you didn't comment. she reached for your hand again, lacing her fingers with yours. when you didn’t react, her chest tightened. she had a plan. a script. everything she was going to say, and yet now, standing beside you, looking at the sunset, her tongue was tied.

"this is beautiful," you said, your eyes sparkling as the last rays of the sun lit up the horizon.

"it is," karina murmured. she could have said a lot of things. that's why i brought you here. this is what we could have. but she didn't. her heart was in her throat, her palms sweating.

karina turned toward you, the words on the tip of her tongue. "y/n…"

"yeah?"

"i…i need to tell you something."

you met her gaze, tilting your head. your expression softened. "what is it?"

"i want this to be perfect. i want you to remember this moment because i’m serious about us.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but she pressed on.

“i’m not just following you around because i have nothing better to do. i’m here because i care about you. and i want to be your girlfriend. officially. so… will you be mine?”

a smile spread across your lips, and her heart stopped. you nodded slowly, reaching up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "of course i'll be yours, karina."

the words had barely left your mouth before karina practically pounced on you, pulling you into a kiss. her hands were in your hair again, her lips pressing against yours with an urgency that left you breathless. when she pulled away, her eyes were shining.

when she pulled back, her eyes sparkled. “so… you want to stay the night?”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “karina, it’s our first date as a couple.”

“okay? what does that have to do with anything?”

you gave her a teasing smile, leaning back slightly as you clarified, “it’s the first date as a couple, karina. you know the rules. third base only happens on the third date.”

karina blinked at you, her mouth slightly open as if to argue, but no words came out. instead, she let out a dramatic groan and fell back onto the grass, throwing her arm over her face. “seriously, y/n? third base rule? who even made that up?”

you smirked, stepping back to avoid her exaggerated flailing. “i don’t make the rules; i just follow them.”

she groaned again. "you're so annoying."

"says the girl who just asked me out with a video game paused in the background."

her groan turned into a whine.

by the time the third date rolled around, karina was determined to speed-run the process. she planned another full day of activities—brunch, a visit to an art exhibit, and a movie. afterward, she walked you back to your dorm. you felt lighter than you had in weeks, finally enjoying the ease of being with her.

as you both stood outside your dorm, karina hesitated, shifting on her feet. “so…” she started, hands fidgeting. “since this is technically the third date, maybe you could—”

you raised a brow, waiting.

“—you know, come back to my place?” she finished, giving you a hopeful smile.

you thought for a moment, lips pressed together. “mmm… i think i’m just going to sleep here tonight. my roommate’s gone for the first time in forever, and i kind of want to enjoy having the place to myself.”

karina groaned softly. “y/n… please? it feels like it's been forever since we've done anything together."

your cheeks flushed. "karina, i—"

"we don't have to do anything," she said quickly, cutting you off. "we can just watch a movie and cuddle. i won't even try to seduce you."

"karina," you warned.

"okay, okay. maybe a little. but only if you want me to!"

you laughed, shaking your head at her antics. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

karina gave you a playful pout, stepping closer. “come on, please? just a little more time together. i miss you.”

you sighed. how could you resist when she was being so sweet?

"alright, alright," you relented, giving her a smile. "i guess we could spend a little more time together."

karina let out a soft squeal, throwing her arms around you. "you're the best!"

that night, the two of you stayed up watching a movie, curled up on your small twin bed. karina's head rested on your chest, her hand stroking the skin just below the hem of your shirt. you were barely paying attention to the screen.

after a few minutes, karina lifted her head to look at you. "are you enjoying the movie?"

"not really," you admitted.

she shifted, propping herself up on her elbow. "do you want to do something else?"

you hummed, eyes meeting hers. "like what?"

karina's gaze dropped to your lips. "we could make out a little."

you rolled your eyes, smiling. "how subtle."

"is that a yes?"

"maybe," you replied, unable to keep the laughter out of your voice. "if you play your cards right."

"you're killing me here, puppy."

you shook your head. "come here."

she leaned forward, pressing her lips to yours. her kiss was gentle and warm, and her tongue flicked out to swipe against your bottom lip. you sighed, deepening the kiss. she tasted sweet, and the familiar scent of her perfume filled your senses. the rest of the movie was long forgotten as karina kissed you hungrily. her hands wandered under your shirt, tracing patterns on your skin. you pulled her closer, tangling your fingers in her hair.

when you finally broke apart, karina was flushed and breathing heavily.

"that was…"

"nice," she finished, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.

"yeah." you smiled back, resting your forehead against hers. "nice."

the next week, karina found herself in a similar position—only this time, the two of you were in your car, parked in a dark, quiet parking lot. the day had been perfect: a long walk through the park, endless conversation, and laughter that made your stomach hurt.

now, her lips were locked with yours as she leaned over the middle console, one hand cupping your face while the other gripped the back of your neck. your hands found her waist, pulling her in as much as the cramped space would allow. karina’s fingers skimmed along your jaw, her lips trailing down to your neck.

"y/n," she moaned, her lips trailing along your jaw.

"mmm," you hummed, arching into her touch.

"i love you," she murmured, her hands slipping under your shirt.

you froze. "w-what?"

"i love you."

you pulled back slightly, eyes wide as you processed her words. your heart thudded against your chest. “w-what?” you repeated, not quite sure if you’d heard her right. she leaned in closer, "i love you, y/n. i’ve loved you for a while now. i couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

she paused, studying your expression. "is that bad?"

you quickly shook your head, but the shock hadn't fully faded from your face. "no, it's just…i love you too, karina—"

"then it's settled," she interrupted, leaning forward to kiss you again. her touches were firm and confident, and you could feel yourself getting swept away by the intensity of her feelings. karina had always been one to go after what she wanted, and it seemed like now was no different. she wanted you, and she was determined to show you exactly how much.

karina let out a soft gasp as you pulled her into your lap, her thighs straddling your hips. she settled easily against you, the fabric of her shirt slipping up and baring a sliver of her hip. you traced your fingertips along the exposed skin, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

"y/n," karina breathed, her hands cupping your face as she leaned down to capture your lips once more. you sighed into the kiss, your hands gripping her hips as you pulled her closer. karina's body felt hot against yours, and the air in the car seemed to grow thicker as the moments passed.

your hands slipped under her shirt, and the bare skin of her back felt smooth beneath your touch. karina shuddered at the contact, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pressed closer.

"i want you," she whispered, her lips ghosting along the shell of your ear.

"karina," you murmured, your hands trailing along her back.

"i've missed you," she continued, her lips skimming along your neck. "i've missed this. i've missed us."

your hands tightened on her hips, pulling her flush against you. "me too," you murmured, nipping at her jaw.

she pulled back slightly, her gaze locking with yours. her eyes were dark, and her lips were swollen from your kisses. she looked breathtaking.

your hands slipped back under her shirt, your hands grazing every inch of her back, her sides, and her stomach. she shivered, her eyes closing. you couldn't help but smile. she was so responsive to your touch, and it made your heart swell with pride.

a part of you remembered you were in the middle of a parking lot where anyone could see you, but another part of you didn’t care. not when karina was looking at you like that. the car windows were tinted, and it was late enough that there were few people around anyway. and besides, you were beyond the point of rationality.

denying yourself of karina for the past three weeks had been torture. you had missed her more than you realized. and now, being with her again—feeling her warmth, her touch, her kisses—was overwhelming. you wanted more. she couldn't seem to get enough of you as well, her hands skimming across your skin, as if to commit the feel of it to memory. your bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, your curves molding to hers as she pressed closer.

karina's lips found your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin there. her teeth grazed your pulse point, and you swore you could feel your heartbeat everywhere, like it was thrumming through your entire body. she was driving you wild, and you could feel your control slowly slipping away.

you leaned in and captured her lips once more, kissing her with all the passion and desire that had been building up inside you over the past few weeks. karina moaned against your lips, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulled you closer. she tasted like the cherry lip balm she always used, and you couldn't get enough of it.

your hands slid up her back, pushing her shirt up until it bunched around her shoulders. you pulled away just long enough to tug it over her head, tossing it into the back seat. then, you were on her again, your lips finding hers in a heated kiss.

karina's skin felt hot against yours as your hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and dip. you trailed kisses along her collarbone, down her chest, and across her stomach. she arched into your touch, her head falling back as she let out a low groan. your hands skimmed along her thighs, the fabric of her pants suddenly feeling much too restrictive.

you tugged at the waistband, looking up at her for permission. karina's eyes met yours, pupils blown wide with desire. she nodded, her hands tangling in your hair. “just hurry up and take them off,” she groaned.

you slowly pulled her pants down, your fingers skimming along her skin as you went. she shivered under your touch, her eyes fluttering shut. you discarded her pants and took a moment to admire the view. she looked stunning, her chest heaving, her cheeks flushed, her hair mussed.

you could barely believe she was yours.

her hands fiddled with the string on your sweatpants before she finally slipped them off your hips. the feeling of her bare skin against yours made you both gasp. it felt like electricity was running through your veins, and every nerve ending seemed to be on fire. karina's fingers tugged at the waistband of your boxers, and you lifted your hips, allowing her to remove them.

karina couldn't even begin to explain how badly she needed you. every fiber of her being seemed to hum with desire, her body aching for your touch. she had been so patient, waiting for you to give her some kind of sign that you wanted this as badly as she did. but now, with your hands gripping her hips as if you were afraid she might disappear, she knew she didn't need to wait anymore.

then, slowly, gently, she lowered herself onto you. the two of you gasped in unison, the sensation sending sparks shooting through your bodies.

"fuck," she breathed, her voice shaky. "that's— fuck, you're— oh, my god."

you clutched at each other as if you were trying to meld into one being, your lips finding hers in a searing kiss. karina began to move against you, slowly at first, then picking up the pace.

karina's rhythm was tortuously slow, like she was trying to make this moment last as long as possible. but you were past the point of patience, and you found yourself bucking up against her, desperate for more friction.

"please," you whined, and she obliged, increasing the tempo.

karina let out a low moan, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "i love you," you whispered, throwing your head to the side, biting your lip to keep from screaming out as your pleasure intensified.

"y/n," karina breathed, her hand wrapping around your neck as she pressed messy kisses to your face. "i love you too."

a slap echoed through the car, followed by a small giggle that shortly turned into a moan. karina bit her lip, stifling another laugh as your head snapped over to her.

"did you just slap me?"

karina nodded, still smiling. "i want you to look at me, puppy. i've missed those pretty eyes."

you tried to say something, but the words were lodged in your throat; all you could manage was a strangled moan.

you tried to say something, but the words were lodged in your throat; all you could manage was a strangled moan. karina's fingers trailed along your neck, tracing the line of your collarbone.

"c’mon…look at me, puppy."

your eyes met hers. they were dark and hooded, the pupils dilated with desire. you couldn't look away, not even if you wanted to.

your name fell from her lips in a desperate plea, and you couldn't help but smile. you knew you wouldn't last long—not with the way karina was moving against you, her hips grinding down, her hands gripping the back of your neck. the sound of her voice, the sight of her body, and the feel of her skin against yours—it was all too much.

karina's movements became more erratic, her breaths coming in short gasps. she buried her face in your neck as she reached her peak, her whole body trembling with the force of her orgasm. "y/n," she cried out, her voice muffled by the crook of your neck.

your own climax followed soon after, the two of you clinging to each other as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. you held each other tightly, neither wanting to let go, the air in the car thick with the smell of sex. you didn't know how long the two of you sat there, basking in the afterglow, but eventually, karina's voice broke the silence.

"i love you," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

you smiled, the words falling easily from your lips. "i love you too, karina."

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